Novel & Cerita Russian Mob Books

“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.

I said casually. Gab had a handgun pointed at the left side of the lawyer. Another man came into the room, he had the same body built and stand as with the lawyer. Attorney Newman was led to sit at a corner and given a book. Gab typed words on his phone and showed it to the trembling lawyer. The lawyer embraced the book to his chest and Gab carefully removed his vest. The other guy who walked in wore the vest instead of the lawyer and sat on the chair Attorney Newman was guided to sit on. Then the guy pretended to read the book, flipping the pages ever so slow as if he was indeed looking for something on it.

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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.

"It just so happens that villainy pays better." Robbie shook his head. "You know there's a special place in hell for fellas like us, right?" "Yeah, buddy, but I hear the highway to hell is paved with diamond titties and gold coins with chocolates in the middle." Author notes: Below is the translations for the Russian words (Damien is a Russian Mafia leader that's why) Translations: derzhatel obshchaka : common fund holder moy brat: My brother. baystryuk: Dear brother. Brigadier Kommandir : Right hand man

I was more interested in our position and wealth acquired. "We have had reports that the Russian mafia is doing extremely well. Well enough to threaten our position and to take over our territory." Sabre spoke as he waved his hands about. Everyone stilled as they watched him. I also stared at the overgrown ape and the hideous tattoos that covered his neck. "There have been rumours of a rat in our mafia Boss." Sabre said as he glanced at me. Why the fuck is he looking at me.

"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."

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.