Novel & Cerita Murderino Book Club

3 YEARS AGO MATTEO'S POV NIGHT OF MARDI GRAS 02:00AM Everything is deathly quiet as I turn into the Church parking lot, which is completely empty except for an old maroon golf someone probably abandoned. Smiling, I enter the Church, thinking about all the jokes Adriano use to make about me catching fire if I ever were to enter one. Guess God still thinks my soul can be saved I think bitterly, but that will probably change by the time I leave.....because I have always been and will always be a killer. Nothing can change that.

he blurted out, and pushed the book into her hands. Mj smoothed her palms over the front cover, it was made of fabric with a single name heat pressed into the front, “Doran,” she pronounced out loud before opening the book and skimming through a few pages. Dante chewed the inside of his cheeks as he watched Mj’s eyes dart back and forth over the pages. She began the way one does with a book. Intrigued by the initial information, but as she began flipping, her emotions started reading on her face, first concern then shock and by the time she flipped to the end chapters she was almost sweating with anxiety. Mj slowly closed the book and looked at Dante with confusion written all over her face,

He asked. Elio brushed his nose. “Someone murdered him.” He said. “Murder or any rate of crime is not normal here. This is done by an outsider.” Alex never doubted Elio’s instinct because he was always right no matter what. But when he said, outsider, the only thing that came to his mind was the group of that bastard. He instructed Mia and Neko to tell them to stay in their chambers. Perhaps the instructions were not clear. He could only doubt them.

As the news broadcast reported a random serial killing near my residential complex, I knew—I had been reborn once again. In my first life, my husband insisted on going out in the middle of a snowstorm to buy weapons for self-defense. I locked every door and window, waiting at home, anxiety clawing at my chest. I never imagined the killer could pick locks. Before I could even react, a blade plunged into me, and I died on the couch. In my second life, I didn't hesitate. I hid in a concealed storage room, holding my breath. But the door was still pulled open. A man wearing a rabbit mask stared straight at me. "Found you," he said. In my third life, I ran to the police station. I rushed ins

At that moment, it seemed like something was about to well up in my eyes and was ready to spill over. Meanwhile, Brutus lay stiff on the floor with its eyes wide open. Dominic had shot the dog. A bullet pierced its skull so fast that it did not even have time to howl before falling dead to the floor. I dragged my bloody leg over to Brutus and gently closed his eyes with my fingers. Dominic called for a doctor and a nurse. He told them to make sure my leg was fully healed and as fine as before. He warned them that if they made even the slightest mistake, they would end up like Brutus.

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, I shout at the guy. “Elliot, stop”, I hear Killian say in my ear as he pulls me away from the lifeless body on the floor before the security team arrives and takes the fucker to have paramedics treat him. Good thing no one is fucking allowed phones in this club, otherwise, I know that my face would be on every newspaper cover as an assassin, and the police would come to bite my ass.

“Miss Irina, since you decided to enter this house, I expected you to understand what kind of world you were entering. The Bratva, the Pakhan, and the rules above the rules are Miron Pavlov.” “What?” “If you want to survive here, sometimes you have to be blind, deaf, and lacking empathy. It would be easier for you if you knew a little more.” Everything Ella said sounded absurd to me. Let’s just say, I’ve had a hard life. I’ve had it all. I don’t know how I came to love all of Agatha Christie’s thriller books. What on earth would I actually witness a murder before my eyes? Blood, corpses, and murder weapons. Moreover, a husband murdering his wife.

The hand left my mouth. Now it was just me and him. Eye to eye. His presence swallowed me whole, tall, sharp, his face unreadable, like it had been carved from stone. Jawline sharp. My throat burned as he wrapped his hand around it, his grip firm but not crushing. Cold steel pressed against my neck—the knife. I gasped, my bag slipping from my shoulder. It hit the ground with a dull thud, spilling open, and my book tumbled out. He glanced down. The cover showed a girl in a tattered white dress, standing alone, shadows stretching around her. Black roses curled up the sides, thorns sharp, almost alive. The title dripped in blood-red letters across the top.

Volume/Book 1: The Stylish Mafia Girl & Her Muse Mafia men have been the trend of town for ages; their dominance over the world resembles a ghost ruling the graveyard—driven by that statement when exceptionally beautiful female Simone Thompson—the ruling Mafia of Austria vows to change the belief, then destruction is accompanied by terror, action, and the everlasting love to kill for adventure.