Russian Mafia Books Novels & Stories

“You know what? Just start talking… and for your sake, you better have something good.” He nodded, his countenance still calm, almost as if he understood how I was feeling and why I was lashing out. “I’ve been keeping tabs on Madeline for some time now, Dylan…” He told me. “…looking for anything I could use as payback for what she almost did to my family—” “Get to the fucking point, man.” I cut him off impatiently. “Madeline’s involved with the Russian mafia, they have several warehouses across the state which they use to transport drugs, firearms, and…” He paused uncomfortably.

All I could think about was ways on how to kill that son of a bitch. It's been years since me and Enzo have been planning to take him down. Vladimir Molotov is the Leader of the Russian Mafia, the second most powerful mafia after the Italians. The Italians and The Russians have been at war for longer than I can remember. But the main reasons why Enzo wanted Vladimir gone was because first, he was a threat and secondly, he killed Enzo's sister.

All the gossip about the Russian Mafia are way worse than anything can imagine (2001 words)

. From the way Frankie The Mob Girl 38 would fidget and flatter in his presence, Arlyne could tell he was a dangerous man, that term meaning, both then and for the rest of his life, the ability to command respect and more generally, to get things done. Red Levine, as he eventually learned, was a good friend of Meyer Lansky, a soft-spoken Polish immigrant who by then had become a Lower East Side legend. Shortly after his arrival in America in 1911, at the age of nine, he embarked on a career as a street bookie, and in the years to come managed to forge a criminal empire based on gambling, rum smuggling and protection. Considered an outcast by the Orthodox religious leaders, he was nonetheless

The city’s underworld churned with blood and ambition, and Vincent Russo’s empire, though ironclad, wasn’t the only beast prowling the streets. Across the river, in the industrial sprawl of the city’s eastern docks, the Volkov family held court, a Russian mafia dynasty as ruthless as they were cunning. Led by Dmitri Volkov, a bear of a man with a shaved head, ice-blue eyes, and a penchant for carving his initials into traitors’ flesh, the Volkovs had been gnawing at Russo’s territories for years.

He was the almighty Mafia lord, and he shouldn't be attached to anyone. Since this happened already, he would make sure he protects her with his life. Her parents only made it easier for her to finally and legally be his. There was only one threat, Blackie, and his current trip to City G, where his meeting headquarters was, to remove him from human existence. “Is everyone on ground?” he asked. “Yes, boss,” Ryan replied, switching back to professionalism. “Good.” ~ City G ~ “Sir,” a mild calling. “Sir,” louder, and Cedric Huxley turned to the woman and man in front of him.

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Around him were four other men,all smiling, all filthy, their faces hard and cruel as if the devil himself was taking the picture. But not Richard. Richard did not smile. He just starred soullessly into the camera. "That," Eleanor said, "is not your professor. That man's name is Viktor Petrovich, the Butcher of Bratva." Pamela blinked. "What's... Bratva." "The Russian Mafia. But not the kind you see in movies. The real ones. Blood-boind, sadistic, cult-like in loyalty. And Viktor?" She smirked bitterly. "He was the Bratva's most efficient killing machine."

We’d killed more than ten men in just one week, and even after torturing them, no one gave out the name I was looking for. The mastermind behind all this mess. “It must be someone from the Russian mafia,” Lorenzo sighed, exhaustion evident in his voice. “They’re the only ones capable of bribing Roberto over to their side. They have the money and the resources to get him over to their side.” Lorenzo was right. The Italian mafia was the most powerful organization in the world of crime. The only other group that came close were the Russian Bratva, our rivals for years now. Slipping a white handkerchief from my pocket, I wiped my bloodied hands, but it was of no use. I was only smearing the thic

She had lost it. With a small huff, Rosa sat back down, flipping through the book again to search slowly this time. That’s when certain words caught her eye. Mafia. Blood. Gun. Knife. Betrayal. Loyalty and many more dark words. Her brows furrowed deeper with each word. What kind of book was this? Rosa let out a soft sigh. Her fingers brushed the leather cover with disappointment. She hadn’t come for this. She only wanted to see the name on that letter. Just the name.