Russian Mob Stars Novels & Stories

said one—bald, with a scar on his eyebrow. "We were told they crossed through England," replied another, with a foreign accent. "And the weapons?" Eros asked, blunt. "Those are in the second shipment. But the Russians want more guarantees." "They'll have them," Eros murmured. "They always do." Lucy listened in silence. She didn't understand everything—but she understood enough. And the discomfort crept up her spine. She picked up her wine glass to distract herself—and that's when she saw it. Across the table, a man was staring at her shamelessly, and to make it worse, he raised his glass to her.

I try to get up from the table, but the mobster stops me. “I need you in this business, love—espabilo—, Erick, I need you to arm some bombs for Gian Lucas's whorehouse; love, you will be my bait, I need you to seduce the new boss in charge of the place. Italian asshole stole my merchandise and I want it back.” He wants to bring down the night club with them inside. Damn son of a bitch! ********

It's my favorite view, even better than seeing it from stories above in one of the high-rises. When I decide I've faked it long enough, I smack my lips and answer. "I'm not sure, but he didn't speak Russian and one time I read this book by Jenn Frederick with a hitman and he didn't remind me of that character." "He doesn't remind you of a character in a book you read?" "No." "The Russian mob doesn't walk around speaking Russian. They've been in the US for centuries. They are as American as you and me. It doesn't make them any less dangerous."

A United States MC against some unknown Russian force? Crow broke the silence, “Well, Fuck me…” The men all nearly jumped at his statement. Breed looked from the man approaching the compound over to his IT. Crow slowly shook his head. “If they are who I think?” He seemed to be stymied. “Like who?” Greer asked in frustration, stress obvious on his face. Crow sat back in his chair. “A special team sent out by the Bratva.” “The Russian mob?” Maverick asked. “Yeah.” Crow nodded. “They are a myth on the net… nameless and faceless. They appear out of nowhere, take men and their empires down, then take the men away. Reportedly to be executed by The Bratva Mob.”

"Robbie was just the man to help. He had a disorderly habit of forming dangerous associations and had become a multimillionaire almost overnight after developing a close friendship with a notorious London gang lord. The gang lord had links to the Russian mafia, and that Robbie laundered money for the crime group. Indeed, after meeting the gang lord, Robbie began closing multimillion-pound deals with loads of cash. He mastered the art of covering up a money trail." "Anyone else involved?" I ask. "Robbie became one of Akinfeev's most trusted British friends, helping to launder his money into Great Britain, using it to buy fabulous cars and luxurious homes on his behalf, and concealing the olig

Otherwise, he would be rendered incapable of carrying out the most simplest of daily routines while she consistently plagued his mind. Yes, he would have to most certainly make it his top priority once he landed in Australia. Soon enough a dark scheme begins to delineate within his wicked mind. I won't be simply tasting you this time Hazel Kashani. I would be swallowing you whole more like it. ____ Glossary; • Avtoritet: a Russian term for "authority" • Bratva: a Russian Mafia term for "brotherhood" • Molotov Ruskaya Mafia: Molotov Russian Mafia

Behind the rusty two-inch, thick bars of cell number five on the third lower level of El Sótano sits Andrya, a member of Timur Balandin’s little crusaders, a part of the Russian mafia. My town is a sacred ground. It is forbidden for the Russian mafia to set foot or even inhale the Las Mencían air. They aren’t even allowed to cruise on the waters surrounding these lands. They are not even fucking allowed to murmur the name of this town. Balandin just declared war by sending his men to my home.

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.

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.

Vadim remarked, rubbing his few days old stubble. "I would have done the same, Vadim." He said, shrugging his shoulders, understanding his cousin's fury, and frustration. “I haven't seen Russo this enraged before, he's been wandering around, searching for his wife, looking like a God of death. He's uncontrollable.” He said with a long exhale. Vadim locked eyes with him. "No doubt. You two are the most feared leaders." He said with a smirk. "Brother! See! I brought your lost girlfriend home!" Their heads turned to the door as they heard a loud voice.