Richard Russo Novel Novels & Stories

“Take her to the Ivory Suite on the second floor. Stay close, watch her from time to time. And instruct Zee to see to whatever she needs.” Roman gave a short nod, no hesitation in his expression. “Don’t try anything stupid.” I warned Rosella. I yanked the door open and stepped out, their scuffling footsteps trailing behind me seconds later. Five hours later, I sat in my private room, shirtless, working through a shipment file on my laptop. I’d managed a brief rest after discharging all of them. Rosella flickered through my thoughts—unwanted, persistent. And I hated how easily her tempting face and sinfully sculpted body lingered, refusing to leave my mind.

The real mastermind was still out there. His jaw tightened as he turned the final page. And there it was—the one name that he had suspected. Richard. But this time, Richard hadn’t just come for Adrian’s empire. He had come for Elena. Adrian closed the file, his fingers pressing into the leather cover as a slow, controlled breath escaped him. His fury was ice-cold now, no longer a wildfire but something far more dangerous—something calculated. Across the room, his CSO, stood waiting. "Sir?" CSO finally asked.

I could lunge forward and punch him in the throat. "Didn't that bomb go off on Don Russo's car?" I ask and try to suppress my revulsion. His eyes widen a fraction, but his lips tug into a smile. He's surprised and he's struggling to pretend like he's amused instead. "You know about it then." "The Russo family talks, especially when they've been drinking." Improvising now, desperate and stupid. If I mess up and he sees through my story then I'm screwed, but I have to try. He's rattled, and rattled men make mistakes, that's what Alessandro said. I have to try. I'd hate myself if I didn't.

She entered the car and waited for Mateo to do the same. When Mateo finally sat in the driver's seat, he drove back to the mansion. The Cassano Mansion, Jake already left for the company. But in his own secret mind, he did this so that he'd find an opportunity to meet alone with Susie. The living room of the Cassano Mansion, Alexander took the kids to the living room, and coincidentally, that was exactly the time Mina and Deborah arrived inside. "Mommy! You're finally home!". Tessa left Alexander's side as she went ahead and cuddled Mina's leg. (Note: Mina was in the early state of pregnancy, so couldn't bend down quickly to cuddle Tessa).

(author note - English is not my first language. so if there are any grammar mistakes please let me know in the comments and thanks for reading the book. this is my first work so I hope you all will support me. -thank you) ruso also called his lawyer's so that he can get out of this situation. when Adam showed up he was surprised to see Patrick in his brother's office but as soon as he entered his brother ruso started hitting him without giving him a chance to speak "you bastard you m****f***** bastard. I will kill you. you Dum fu**"

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."

He grinned at this—poor Georgie and his Chicago Cubs, keeping the faith for his beloved team all these long, interminably endless years. There were bookcases in here, too, and Richard was surprised to see his own first novel, Malignant Regions, mixed in with the other texts. The book was a highly fictionalized account of his wife’s battle with leukemia, and although the critics had been kind to him, sales never really launched into the stratosphere as he’d hoped. It wasn’t the debut piece he intended, but he had felt compelled to write it at the time because of Michelle’s dire condition. Still, he did snag a two-book deal from it; now he could return to those original ideas he’d scrapped ear

“Tell everyone what you were thinking. The fantasy you were playing out in your head just now. Don’t make me repeat myself.” The color drained from his face, but he tried to mask it with a tight-lipped smile. “I—uh, I wasn’t—” “Speak.” My voice cracked like a whip, and the room went even quieter. Russo shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting around the room. Then, he began to speak, his voice shaky but low enough that everyone could hear him. “I was... imagining her,” he started, swallowing hard, “tied up. Taken from behind.”

Slightly. The ride to the airport was quiet. She fell asleep halfway through, her head tilted toward the window. I should’ve told her to wake up. Instead, I turned the AC down and let her rest. --- We arrived in Chicago just past 9PM. The hotel I’d booked was one of our mid-range partnerships. Discreet, modern, with suites for executives who hated excess but loved privacy. “Only one suite?” she asked, staring at the gold keycard in my hand.

Isaiah handed over the keys like he was used to it. I followed carefully as he entered a private room. Through the partially open door, I saw several young men dressed in sharp suits. They looked like the typical rich heirs you would see in tabloids. Pretending to be on a phone call, I loitered in the hallway near the room. From where I stood, I could see the table piled with dishes like lobster, king crab, and caviar—things I would only ever see on cooking shows. "Isaiah, seeing you in those cheap clothes cracks me up. You're the heir to billions, for crying out loud!"