Russian Mob Books Novels & Stories

“Leo keeps his word,” Susan scoffed, “Oh sure he does. He threatened to hurt you if you didn't return his money in two weeks and sure enough, he did. Of course he keeps his word. I see why you have such faith in him,” she added sarcastically. “And what exactly are you ‘working on’ this time around? Are you going to borrow money from yet another mob boss or are you going to make another bad investment?”

One month later When I hear Clement’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, I quickly hide the folded newspaper beneath my school books, but my heart is still bouncing and zigzagging off my rib cage, the bold headline impressed on my memory. Body of Russian Mobster Washes up on Riverbank.

And this business had been able to build a stronghold within the city. George Nahart. He is the operator of this business, also known as the Kingpin in this district. George had been silently eyeing Marco Alfonso ever since the words that he has a well protected built-in vault in his basement has reached his ears. According to his informant, Marco Alfonso possesses the Russian artifact that Goerge Nahart’s target client was asking to present to him as a token of alliance.

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I poured myself a glass of water and drank it in one go. Nikolai “The Devil” Costello, El Padrino. I shook my head, nope, not going to believe it unless I talk to him myself. I made my way out of the kitchen and went straight to the library. Since I had nothing to do, I settled on reading a book. I surveyed the huge library and finally found a book that seemed interesting enough to read. “Mafia and Mafiosi by Henner Hess” With a book in my hand, I walked back to Nikolai's seat to read but halted in my steps as I saw him already sitting on it.

"Like reading. I already know you're a bookworm, Ruby." Ruby's eyes lit up instantly, her inner literary critic emerging. "Oh, so the billionaire remembers? Please don't tell me your reading list is just boring finance textbooks and business biographies." "Actually," I leaned in a fraction of an inch, a teasing glint in my eyes, "I prefer classic literature. Russian realism, psychological thrillers. Dostoyevsky, Fitzgerald, Hemingway. I like substance."

‎My eyes widen instantly. ‎“Russian Mafia?” I repeat, almost choking on the words. “How did the Mafia get involved in this?” ‎“I don’t know, Alice,” he says helplessly, shaking his head. “But honestly, I would rather hand the document over to them than to Victor.” His voice lowers into a fearful whisper. “The Russian Mafia is not a force to be reckoned with. They are dangerous… absolute lunatics in the Mafia world.” ‎The fear in his face sends chills through my body.

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.

Elky said. Rick hesitated. Just long enough to make the answer interesting. “Russians,” he said. “Or something that answers to that name. The money came from offshore accounts that smell like mob connections. Their mob, not ours. They already had training sites where nobody asks questions.” “For what,” Elky said. Rick laughed again, weaker now, like a radio running out of batteries. “For building an army that doesn’t quit.” I thought of the clinics in Lucia’s ledger. Of Buenos Aires. Of men convulsing under fluorescent lights. Of silence after they were taken away.

Rose then turned to her father. “This is the one chance I had to win this stupid case. If Stan did something to my lawyer, I would be the one to kill him!” she warned with a serious expression. Rose seemed different and very angry. This wasn't the girl I had spent some time with before the nailing of that man, this was Lord's daughter, the Mafia princess. “Let me give him a call” Lord suggested, but Rose refused. “He knows he has messed up and won't take your calls” she said as she pulled out her phone and began talking to someone. When she was done, she turned to look at me.