Richard Russo Novel Novels & Stories

After breakfast, Luciano left for work and I retreated to the enormous library, ready to lose myself in a world of novels. But my escape was short-lived. "Camila, can I come in?" I looked up to find Russo at the door, his head peeking inside. A smile stretched across my face, and I ushered him in. He was holding a red plastic bag, making me squint to catch a glimpse of its contents. He hugged me, and plopped down on the long sofa, beside me.

Being is bar is directly proportional to getting the hand on first hoe that is present at hand. James Russo turned to her and give her his enraged glare, "you know how much I hate it when you use fowl language. Act like docile woman! And no I wasn't with any other woman. I just enjoyed with friends and came home. Trust me or but I have been faithful to you since our marriage." "Okay," she said calmly and was about to walk out of her room but James Russo held her wrist stopping her. "Okay? After shooting a question as sharp as blade, where are you off too?" He asked with gritted teeth.

"Thank you, Russo. For everything." "Famiglia," Russo said simply. Family. "Rest. We'll talk strategy in the morning." He left, closing the door behind him, and suddenly the room felt too small despite its size. Cade turned to me with a smile still lingering from lunch. "God, I forgot how funny Russo is. Did you hear the story about the Russian? That was, " "I don't care." My voice came out flat, cold. His smile faltered. "What?" "I said I don't care about your hilarious friend and his hilarious stories about stealing from the mafia."

Then Dante drags a hand through his dark hair and exhales heavily, almost like a man finally surrendering to the inevitable. “Fine,” he says quietly. The air suddenly feels too thin. “Russo,” he says. “Dante Russo.” The name hits me immediately. Because everybody in New York with money knows the Russo name. They basically run the security in this damn country. From security contracts, private military connections, luxury hotels and every fucking political tie you can name. There are rumors whispered behind closed doors about batshit load of-money influence and things far darker beneath the surface. My stomach drops.

He walked up to Gary, who had a little furrow on his brow when he saw him. “What’s the matter, Robbie? You were supposed to k—” He was interrupted by the opening of his office door again to see Darken Reliso, the son of Henry and Ansel Reliso, in his usual expensive Gimanni dark blue suit, clean cut and shining pair of shoes. He had that annoying static smirk on his lips and kept his right brow up. He was holding a document. Darken walked slowly into the office and stopped just as he was in front of Gary; he nodded in greeting and let himself sit on the chair in front of Gary before placing the document he was holding on the table.

Nikolai The tapping of blood drops filled the silent dark room, I glanced at the body which was tied upside down with the wrists cut down. Looking at the condition of the man, I didn't feel anything. I didn’t feel bad nor pity, but all I felt was anger. All those horrible things he did rush to my mind, Venessa's condition was the first thing that hit my mind. Enzo and Venessa are both in the hospital, fighting for their lives and who’s responsible for it? This man!

The following two days became a dangerous game of Russian roulette. Richard remained at the villa, working from his home office and making calls late into the night. To the outside world, they looked like the perfect blended family—sharing meals, swimming in the pool, and enjoying the island sun. But underneath, Elena and Alex were burning alive with forbidden hunger.

Dante's POV The call with the Volkovs ended just after midnight, their voices laced with suspicion. “Rumors say you lost the shipment, Russo. That you don’t have the goods.” Rumors. In this world, rumors were the first scent of blood in the water, and once sharks smelled it, you either showed teeth or they tore you apart. In the middle of all these was Marco Powell. In the married suit, Marco lay on his side, the white sheets tangled around his legs, bare chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.

"You can count on me, Alissa. I will make sure that nothing bad happens to you. We continued to converse long into the night, the burden of previously held anxieties and unexplored terrain laid open between us as we did so. Russo, who was normally reserved, revealed parts of his history, including the wounds that had helped define him. As he talked, glimpses of the flames that had consumed the warehouse outside could be seen flickering in his black eyes. A unexpected yell shattered the calm mood, startling us out of our reflection just as the discourse was weaving a tapestry of common suffering and shared aspirations for the future.

Russo said, his tone hard. "Do you know that you're such an idiot? If you were here, I would've ended your life already" I tried to control the rage I was feeling, as I clenched my fist. "I just -" "You just what? How is Kingston a.k.a our Mafia rival being in Mexico a good news? Tell me!" I screamed. "He's at Kingston Villa. Tell me Grisella isn't in his territory" Russo spoke calmly amidst my scream "Holy shit!" I cussed, picking up my key.