Nico Russo Book Novels & Stories

“Drive.“ Then he turns back to me. “So. What made you decide to come?” I look out the window. “Maybe to piss off my husband.” “Mmm. Honest. I like that.” --- DANTE’S POV The lounge at Russo’s club smells like cigars and bad decisions. I’m on my third drink, and even that can’t help keep me calm in their infuriating presence. Russo is laughing at something Vito said. Something about a shipment in Naples. Vito blows out a ring of smoke and slaps my shoulder. “You’re too quiet tonight, kid.”

I said loud out. His eyes narrowed at me and he took a sip from the wine, “unlike you ms. Ronaldo, I belong to a very reserved family, where flings and night stands are considered taboo. That is why I am marrying you straight. As for the girlfriend, I didn’t had time for such nuisance.” I pouted at him and then fake smiled, “for you kind information, Mr. Russo! My family is also reserve and I don’t whore around! So you better check that tongue of yours!” I told him with gritted teeth and glared at him furiously.

“Here you go,” Niko says holding out an old brown book. Like the mafia rules, there’s nothing written on it, no title, or author's name. not even an abstract design. Just a plain book. At least this one seems to be just an old journal not like the other one Niko described to be bound in human flesh, yuck. The original Mafia rules, not the copy I read but still. I still sniff at it a little. Only smelled old woodsy smell and nothing gross like rotten flesh or skin.

He can literally crush me into pieces if we get into a fight. I click my tongue, “You’re a bodyguard so behave like one.” Nico walks past me, his petal-like scent filling the air as he heads for the door, “If you say so. Try to keep that book away though, the Don doesn't like them.” It's like Nico has hearing problems or he's just naturally annoying because he's doing everything but keeping his mouth shut. “Oh? Is that because he's a criminal? Makes sense,” I breathe a small laugh.

Claw my way out of this place with bare hands and bloodied fingernails. But I don’t. I just stand there, staring at Nico with too-wide eyes and trembling bones. “Why?” I manage to whisper. “Why is he doing this?” Nico shrugs. “Because he can? Because Rox touches what’s his? Because it’s a message? I don’t know. Or maybe he just wanted to bleed something that isn’t you tonight.” “This is sick. You should stop him. He’s your friend. Rox might die and…” “No.” Nico tilts his head. “this is Massimo Bianchi. And he’s walk through hell just t drag you back by the wrist if you ran. Might even smile while doing it.”

YOU WIN SOME AND YOU LOSE SOME, WELL…EXCEPT FOR ME I ALWAYS WIN.” DANTE. "We have a problem." Nico's voice is calm but I can hear the tension underneath. "The Russians hit another shipment. Two of our guys are dead. They're getting bolder." I close my eyes, forcing myself to focus on business when all I want to do is think about Sofia dropping crayons at the thought of me with someone else. "How much did they get?"

Nicole keeps staring at the beauty I'm talking to and I can tell how bewildered she is. I would have laughed at her jealous face but now is not the time. "Let's go" Mia whispers. I don't wait any longer before heading out, to find my prey. * Authors note; Spoiler; If you read my book his mafia princess, the girl mentioned in this chapter(Mia) will be the main character in Rico's story. It will be amazing. Most readers wanted to see rico get his happy ending and he will surely get his best. Stay tuned.

I knew I was playing Russian roulette with the devil, but my shadowed soul loved the game. I cleared my throat softly. “You killed a man. You pressed a gun against your cousin’s skull and pulled the trigger, painting my prison walls with his blood in order to keep me from being raped. Tell me, Nico, was there even a second that you regretted doing that? That you regretted pulling that trigger?”

The night I read the red ledger—the one Aureliano kept hidden in the safe behind the painting. I remember the columns of numbers. But more importantly, I remember the notes in the margins. Aureliano’s handwriting. Sharp. Angry. Russo shipment hijacked. Greco suspected. No proof. Russo’s youngest son. Car accident. Brake lines cut. Greco signature. I look at the map again. I look at the northern territory. The territory controlled by the Russo family. "Call Don Russo," I say. The reaction is visceral. Spadino stops flicking his lighter. He freezes. Then he laughs—a harsh, barking sound. "Russo? The Northern Butcher? He shot at Ciro in '19. He hates us."

I look up. "Marco asked what region of Russia you're from." "Volgograd," I say, and look back at the report. Marco says something in Italian I don't acknowledge. Nico says something back that I also don't acknowledge, and I hear the shape of it without the words. I know he's telling Marco to leave it alone. Marco doesn't leave it alone, because Marco is not the leaving-it-alone type. "He's very intense," Marco says to Nico, in Italian, at a volume clearly intended for me. "I like him."