Mr Tomato Novels & Stories

M A R C O Of all the experiences life taught me, there was a valuable lesson which I never forgot, and that was: when a Romano shows up at your door, unannounced, it means trouble. T-R-O-U-B-L-E in capital fucking letters. And right now I was staring at the epitome of trouble—Samantha Romano. Hurricanes and typhoons might as well be named after her. Beaming, she stepped up and raised her arms, revealing the takeout bags. "I brought Indian."

I’m sitting on the lap of a ruthless mafia boss. If I throw up on him, he may actually kill me. I can feel the burning, acidic bile rising rapidly in my throat. Frantic, I slap a hand over my mouth and wildly scan the table. I reach blindly across the table, my fingers wrapping around the handle of the nearest vessel large enough to contain the disaster, a heavy, crystal pitcher filled with fresh orange juice. I yank it toward my chest, bury my face into the rim, and immediately fill the crystal pitcher with burning, hot vomit.

He claimed I was the only one who was allowed to just come and go at his place, and a part of me hoped that was true. He was standing at his kitchen island having a beer, watching tv. He had on a black muscle shirt that showed his large tattooed arms and just a pair of khaki shorts that showed off his equally tattooed legs. I licked my lips. Old Robert was looking pretty good all of a sudden. “Hey Alex, any word on things with Lorenzo,” he said, smiling. *Hmm, I like this male,* Sasha said as I got closer. *Yeah, yeah you’ve made that clear, on a number of occasions,* I said to her.

No wonder he got the money and frame after working for a mafia. My eyes snapped, breaking my trance, and I looked towards the pleading old man in front of me. My lips parted in shock when I saw Mr. Romano pointing the gun at Thomas. James grabbed Mr. Romano's legs and continued to beg him to get some mercy for his only means of asset. That's what Thomas was for James. His only way of income. "Capo please! Let him go. I will do anything you want, but please spare my son." Mr. Romano was about to pull the trigger but stopped when he heard James's words. An evil smirk appeared on his lips which wasn't settling well with me, but I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the present. It looked

he trembled, trying to hold his ground. "Oh? Then, let’s prove it." I nodded to Zane, who brought my disabled robot onto the stage. Grabbing a steel rod as thick as my wrist, I brought it down on the machine in a hail of blows. "No!" Adrian lunged, but security, who was ready for this, pinned him in place. Helpless, he could only watch as I smashed the bot to pieces, muttering over and over, "System, I won’t change, I won’t change it…"

I gave two more hard thrusts and came. I pushed her, whatever her name is , maybe Cassie or Alicia or was it Calis, whatever I don't care anyways, I pushed her off not caring where she landed. I took out my cigarettes, lit it and left the restroom. My name ? Alejandro Armani Russo The heir to the Armani Dynasty, I'm also known as the devil. I fuck girls because I can, I fuck with people because I can , afterall I have the money and power and they always come crawling back, and I don't do second fucks.

I said and copied the phone number from Maya’s phone and left with Silver. ********** A few minutes later, we pulled up in front of Mason’s house. My number one hacker and tracker. He was the best. We both went in and saw him with a girl who stood up from his lap and excused herself to give us some privacy. “Are you sure this guy knows his work?” Silver whispered into my ear doubtfully. “One hundred percent,” I mumbled, and he nodded. “Good morning, Mr. Taylor. It’s an honor to have you in my house,” Mason greeted and dramatically bowed to me, making me roll my eyes and chuckle before he greeted Silver.

Money the Bratva gets from subjecting it's citizens to hardship. The smooth, shiny surfaces and custom made sofas do not appeal to me. "Where is Ramsey?" I direct my question at the guard. "Right here." Ricardo and I turn swiftly, coming face to face with Ramsey Mikhailov, the Russian golden boy. He is golden, alright. All bronze skin, blonde hair and blue eyes. Hate churns in my heart. Contempt threatens to choke me. Ricardo places a hand on my shoulder. I look up at him and he nods. I take a deep breath, facing my target.

He slid the card in, opened the door, and stepped inside like he lived there. Tamara, 24-year-old blondie young woman already waiting, curled up on the king-sized bed, wearing nothing but a thin silk robe and her signature red lipstick. Her phone was in her hand, but the moment she saw him, she tossed it aside. “Took you long enough,” she said with a smirk, stretching lazily like a cat. Rumero shut the door behind him, loosened his shirt buttons, and walked toward her. “Had to deal with Natasha first. She swallowed the bait—hook, line, and sinker.”

She was lucky they weren’t running down to the other coffee shop because of the bad wifi they had. “You motherfucker! Fuckkk” Roman gritted as he fired, trying his best not to yell “You realized that you murdered my mother and my brother!” he yelled, the waitress took a sharp glance at them again