Pulp Fiction 1911 Novels & Stories

Túlio didn't mind taking the man's gun and shooting him in the head. In the morning, a few hours later, driving Tatu's car, he arrived at Paco's mansion and just walked in with his head down, pretending to talk on his phone. Same height, same build, and dressed the same, he easily passed through the gate's security and reached the mafia boss's office in minutes, and Paco didn't immediately realize that this wasn't his loyal Tatu. He shouldn't have let his guard down after Jânio's death.

The entire process took less than thirty seconds. He then stood up and dusted off his hands. "He can't be saved. His pupils are already dilated. Find somewhere to bury him." I heard a buzz in my head. "What did you just say?" I lunged forward and grabbed his collar. "You barely checked him, but you already came to a conclusion? Did you even examine him properly?" The doctor staggered back. He clearly looked irritated. "Are you the doctor here, or am I? If I say he's gone, he's gone. What's there left to check in this condition?"

I cried, holding him tightly. “Perhaps let me do the talking,” he suggested. Two of the men opened the car door for us, “Get out” one of them said. The detective and I did just that. More men came out, all pointing their guns at us, “Search them” one of them said, “She has nothing on her” the detective quickly said. A hard punch landed on his face causing him to start bleeding instantly. “That is for us to decide” the man said, “I have nothing, just my phone” I quickly said,

Cleo’s POV The Paris morning was calm, a soft light spilling into the room, bathing everything in a warm glow that felt almost surreal after the stormy night. I stood at the window, trying to gather my thoughts, but they kept drifting back to Russo and the unexpected vulnerability I had seen in him. Last night, I’d seen a side of him that he kept hidden from the world, a side that reminded me he wasn’t just the ruthless mafia boss who had trapped me in this twisted marriage. He was also a man haunted by his past, much like me.

"Anything extra, I'll consider it the cost for offending Nick today." … My assistant was efficient, as always. In less than twenty minutes, two men in black suits arrived at the club entrance, each carrying a cash box. Every eye in the lobby turned toward them. The boxes were opened, revealing stacks of crisp bills, neatly arranged, gleaming under the chandelier. The crowd that had been pointing and whispering moments ago went silent. Tina's breathing grew heavier. Her eyes were fixed on the money. Even Nick was stunned, mouth open in disbelief.

He was pulled off of Lorenzo by two of Monzoon's guys. Lorenzo stood up and spit blood. Geo was still on the ground kneeling. Tired. Feeling defeated by his past and the inevitable trajectory of his life in crime. "You piece of shit !" Lorenzo pulled out a gun, took the safety off, and pulled the trigger. Geo knew his life was over. He closed his eyes when he heard the trigger click and heard a collective gasp from the crowd as the gun went off. He heard a large thud and smelled Carolina's perfume.

I caught a hint of nervousness in his tone. It was due to the fact I now had the mouth of my pistol pressed firmly to Mercutio's forehead. The clicking sound of the hammer cocking into place reverberated throughout the room, and through the dim lighting in the confined room; I saw blood rush out of Mercutio's already pale face. "Talk," I said quietly. "Y-yes," he gasped, his eyes widened. Nodding weakly, he continued, "The Sormien Bratva had a hand in the bombing. We helped Riccardo go through with it."