Moriarty Novels & Stories

"I will now tell you everything that you need to know." Three people are gathering in this room, a glass wall separating them from the rest of an office filled with people. A woman and a man sitting in front of another man's desk. This man is a famous detective by the name of Vanity Brown. A title that he gave himself to make himself seem like a crazy person to most, helped him not be noticed by unwanted people. A man who has been following the entire situation between everyone in the hotel since he was nineteen years old.

" My heartbeats have now gone crazier. Each question makes my heart pound louder in my ears that I no longer hear my voice. "It's taken care of, long before Mr. Mori's entry." I pull up a deep breath, exhaling it slowly to calm down my nerves. "Remember, Miss Sahara, Mr. Mori works for the Yamaguchi-Gumi group, known as the Yakuza."

In many ways, Mr Navpreet made a perfect Dr Watson, the guy who chronicled Sherlock’s pursuits, which in this case was the inspector himself. ‘Yes, the evidence is damning,’ agreed the inspector, leaning back on his chair, with the coffee mug in his hand. ‘Almost everybody has an alibi between 5.10 and 5.15, except Anubhav. But, the thing with circumstantial evidence is that it is always tricky. It might point towards one particular person but if you change your point of view a little, it can point towards a different person altogether. But, I must confess – at this juncture everything points towards Anubhav.’ He paused, sipping his coffee, ‘There is a saying in the army, if your attack is g

We left without my chauffeur, taking my car to the station. At the station, the air was heavy with the smell of stale coffee and paper. A lone detective sat behind a cluttered desk, sipping from a chipped mug. He looked up as we approached. “Ms. Harrington,” he said with a smirk. “Didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.” I ignored his tone, placing the tablet and flash drive on the desk in front of him. “I have evidence,” I said firmly. “Gabriel Moretti is behind the murders of Roy, Cassandra, Diana, and now his own wife, Emmanuella. Watch this.”

“Exactly. Whoever he is, he’s careful. Whoever set this up knows how to erase footprints. This isn’t a random investor. He’s someone who knows how we operate. And he is someone who has a close eye within the council, if not elsewhere as well.” I leaned back, staring at the file, the blank paper that somehow weighed heavier than a full one. A clean ghost. That was worse than a known threat. “Keep looking,” I said finally. “If he’s not a D’Amaris, then I want to know who the hell he is. Find every Lorenzo you can linked to the western packs. Or anyone who’s used that name before. And if not Lorenzo, then trace D’Amaris. That surname came from somewhere. I want a trail, no matter how faint. And

He paused and I could sense he wanted to say something but something held his tongue. "Speak" I gritted out. "15 bags of Molly was stolen from the harbour but we were able to get hold of three of the thieves. Boss..." I held my hand up for his mouth to go shut. "Why are they?" My patience was now running out. Those vagabonds think they can steal from me, that's a big bloody mistake. I am Marco and I was given that name for a reason. It screams fear, power and war and I would bring war upon their very household.

I mumbled, picking up the glass of wine on the small bar stand beside where I sat. "Anyway, I found out about it, but it's not as simple as that. Unfortunately, it's not Dante Morreti." He muttered a curse, and I merely shrugged. "I presume the guy would be a bit smart if he was aiming for Lorenzo's seat. But if it's not him, then who was it? I want details." I gave him a pointed stare, and he nodded. "Mr. Dain Saints. Owns a criminal gang well known for—" "Don't tell me assassinations," I sighed. Those amateurs were not assassins and should not even be classified as such.

“What’s going on with Adele, Mo?” “Nothing. I made it up to get us out of there,” Morris admitted. “The last thing you and I need is to be around federal agents. They’re worse than the cops.” Morris was a drug dealer. He made no bones about it, but he wasn’t arrogant enough to wave it in the face of authority. Plus, he knew Anthony specialized in fake IDs and paperwork. He thought Margo was legit, but she had been known to buy a little weed every now and again from Morris. Margo and Bobbi liked to spark one up from time to time. Anthony dropped Morris off at a less than stellar club located in the other part of the city. Anthony had told him that he was going to drop Margo off at home and th

Matteo explained, Spade sighed out, Matteo watched him before speaking further. "There's something else" he added making Spade to look at him with questioning eyes. "Liam wasn't the only one that was shot" he muttered out and Spade just scrunched his brows "Batroix, that Russian friend of yours, he was shot too" Matteo paused looking at Spade, the man wasn't reacting to what he was being told, he just kept his expression blank "Martineli was shot too" he added and this time Spade's jaw clenched at it ticked, Martineli was the guy Spade usually bought guns and other weapons from, he didn't even live in New York, he stayed in Italy

She lifted her chin. "I'll get into it. But you must know that this man is not just any man, he's a Don, and it won't be that easy to take out the head of a mafia empire." "Spare me the theatrics. He's a man like everyone else." She turned to leave. "Call me when you have evidence of a body." She exited and banged the door behind her. "Bitch!" The man screamed before he rubbed his bald head. _Isabella The second I opened my eyes, I looked around without any idea what time it was. The fact that we had slept in the morning was going to mess up my sleep routine for days.