Russian Mob Romance Books Novels & Stories

To say that mafia life is not boring is to have no idea. Surely the "rank and file soldiers", as I call them, have action and all those dangerous tasks that come to mind when we think of the term "mafia". The problem is that not everyone in that world is “private”. I certainly wasn't. I was the "prisoner-guest." I had been practically locked in my room for a week and except for visits from Cami and G, I was alone. At least I had my laptop to write and not go crazy. The positive part of my isolation is that I made a lot of progress in the new novel. My imagination, which previously seemed stunted, was now fired. The latest romantic incident (or whatever it was) with G had given me a needed pu

It was as if he demanded something from me, but I didn’t know what. A feeling I couldn’t shake off consumed me. Except, I couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Moya luna. Russian. The voice was speaking Russian. Could it have been Adrian? Except, he hadn’t called me that since that night in the gazebo. It was always pipsqueak and I had outgrown that nickname. The intense stranger watched me, his thick brows drawing over his eyes and something about him kept dragging me into his savage darkness. His dark eyes reminded me of the harshness of Russian winters - merciless and bone chillingly cold.

Dear readers, Please note that although this story has a Russian theme, it is written in English. When reading dialogue, please assume that characters are speaking in Russian, even though it appears in English. This is the book 2 in the Dark Desires Series and book one is Dark Obsessions, a MM romance. Maddest Obsseions will be out soon! I did not upload it because I'm still working with a few adjustments on the plot. Xoxo

C18 – KISS AND LESSON They both turned. A woman stood at the entrance. Slender, in a tight red dress that left little to the imagination. She had dark hair and smiled as if she knew every one of Eros's secrets. "Hello, Valentina. Good to see you," Eros said in a casual tone, placing a hand on Lucy's waist. Valentina Taylor was a trafficker. Known in the underworld for moving weapons, diamonds, and dirty favors to the highest bidder. She'd had a brief romance with Eros in the past—but it ended when she, in a moment of weakness, confessed she'd fallen in love with him.

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." "Substance?!" Ruby mocked, completely offended. "Are you implying my romance novels don't have substance? Excuse you, but enemies-to-lovers tropes require intense psychological maneuvering! The angst! The tension! It's art, Alexander. Your little Russian thrillers have nothing on a slow-burn romance."

As she entered, her eyes landed on a table set with food and, next to it, a stack of books in Russian. Her breath caught. She hadn’t expected that. Dante had ordered books in her language. She approached with caution, letting her fingertips glide over the bound spines. Dostoevsky, Pushkin… and there it was—as if fate were daring her to drown in melancholy once again—Anna Karenina. Her lips curved into a wistful smile. For the fifth time, she surrendered to Anna’s tragedy, feeling with each word the familiar desperation of a woman torn between duty and desire. She read voraciously, as if the pages were the only escape left to her.

She asked, teasingly holding the book up for Marcus to see. His reaction was instantaneous. Golden eyes widened in recognition, and a hint of embarrassment crossed his features, tinting his cheeks red. "Ah. That one. It's a bit different from the others." “Clearly!” Intrigued, Vivienne turned the book over to read the summary. As she scanned the words, her eyes widened in disbelief. "A mafia romance?" she exclaimed. "And it's about a woman who was kidnapped for a year?"

The auction house stank of blood money, ego and desperation. It dripped from the gold ceilings, soaked into the velvet curtains, and pooled between the cracks of polished marble tiles. It was the kind of opulence that could only be paid for in blood. Andrei Dostoevsky leaned back in his chair, disinterested, but at ease. He lit a cigarette. His movements were slow and precise — a predator in no hurry to hunt. The ember flared against the darkness, momentarily painting his sculpted face in shades of crimson and gold.

He didn’t even spare her a second glance Yes, he just kills people as a hobby instead. The woman’s fists clenched, her jaw tightening as she glared at me, before turning on her heels and disappearing into the crowd. Bitter, much? I knew what she must have been thinking. Mafia men don’t stay loyal. Affairs are common in this world. Mistresses even more so. Almost all the girls present at the party were jealous of me. But they don't know I was probably the last woman in this room who wanted to stand beside Nikolai.

We nearly eloped, actually, and in retrospect, that may have been a better idea than having a church wedding in the center of Manhattan with a reception at the Ritz to follow, but here I am regardless, waiting on my bride, praying shots don’t start firing the second she starts walking down the aisle. I lean into Tony, whispering, “Any news about the Russian problem?” “The Triads made it sound worse than it was,” Tony grumbles. “Whoever this Oleg character is, his faction within the Russian mob is closed off. He’s moving in secret and not disturbing my territory by any means. It sounds like his issues are completely internal.” My brows raise. “Nothin’ like a little infighting to keep things i