Scarface Novels & Stories

“Get to the point.” “Gaspare met with someone this morning. None of our men knew the guy, so I did a little digging…” “And who's the fucker?” I urged. “His name is Aldo Mancini.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And the name is supposed to mean anything to me?” “The guy is from the Chicago Outfit,” Lanzo said. “He is Ardian Cavalieri's second.”

"I'm sorry to interrupt...but is this seat taken?" Linessa looked beside her at the empty seat and then at the alpha who held onto the back of it. "No, nobody was sitting there." "Good." He pulled the seat back, the scar on his neck glinting beneath the blue light. Unlike Clive's, his scar was big and noticeable; a line drawn across more than half of his neck. "I'll take it." As he sat down, Linessa took a sip of her whiskey. Two fishes latching onto one bait at the same time...would she lose both or would one let go?

"Bitch? Asshole? Motherfucker? Jerk? Dick? Prick?" "Shut up, woman," I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Fammi finire, vuoi? Quella tua lingua ti metterà nei guai." [Let me finish, will you? That tongue of yours is going to get you in trouble.] "Get to the point," she hissed, her patience thin. "I wanted to apologize for acting the way I acted," I admitted, forcing the words out. God, look at me—Ace De Santis, mafia king, cold-blooded and ruthless, apologizing to a woman because of my own temper. What the hell is happening to me?

A flicker of fear crept over me. Scar was heavily built and almost as tall as Wraith; his eyes were blue, and his hair was a shock of white. He too was covered in scars, but the most gruesome was on his face. It seemed like someone had carved him open from the forehead down, only to restitch him back up. The Ironside Pack were on their feet now, cheering. I could finally understand why Rex thought of ‘Scar’ as a worthy opponent. He definitely looked the part. “Last calls for bets!” a man called out, and Rex motioned him over.

A burly man with a deep scar slashing across his cheek clicked his tongue in disdain. "Too bad Romulo didn’t finish the job. That bitch is still alive." "May Romulo rest in peace," murmured one with mock solemnity, crossing himself. Silence fell. Only the crackling of the cigarette filled the air until one of them—a man with dark hair and slanted eyes—spoke in a low voice. "She heard me." Every gaze snapped to him. "What did you just say?" asked the scarred man, his voice sharp as a blade.

Tears began to leak at the corners of my eyes. Martin was the leader of one of the scariest and biggest mafia groups in Italy. He was tagged as the Scarred-face Man. Anyone who would hear his alias would gasp in fear and hide. Although he was like the grim reaper, he also had a soft heart, and only a few knew about that. I learned a lot of stuff from him, and I would stick them into my stubborn insensitive head from now on. The scariest thing I learned from this jerk was if he called me with my whole name, it only meant one thing... I'VE CROSSED THE LINE!

Marco, known as the spin man, walked forward holding a silver coin, and the guards got their weapons ready. "What... what are you doing?" Sophia could feel the atmosphere becoming more tense when this man said 'spin.' Was he going to kill her brother? Marco spun the coin in the air, and it landed softly on his palm. He took a glance at the coin and then at Carlo before he smiled. "Live or die?" Luca asked. Heads meant live, while tails meant death. This was Luca Greco, the mafia lord who determined the fate of his enemies through a worthless silver coin. He took life like a joke.

"Now, now. I really doubt that he'd actually go into the fire." The mockery all around left Scarface furious, and he bellowed, "Who are you calling sugar baby?! That man is not who you think he is… because…" He trailed off, because he had no idea who Frank really was. After some hesitation, he bellowed, "He's my brother!" "Brother? Boo…" "Just look at his scarred face. You can tell right away that he's nothing good, just like the sugar baby." "Hell, I think he's beneath said sugar baby…"

His gaze moved to the twins, glinting with a predatory gleam before settling down on her with a sneer. A wave of icy dread crashed over her, and Scarface saw it because his face split into a cruel smile. "Friday, or they pay the price. You know what I'm capable of, don't you?" She knew. She knew what Scarface did to people who owed him. And worse, she knew the kind of shady business Scarface was into ranging from loansharking to organ harvesting.

His eyes were alight with a mixture of anticipation and authority, his presence commanding and assured. As Georgina stood there, captivated by the casino's allure, a presence crept up behind her and Marcelo. Startled, she turned, to see a man slightly taller than Marcelo. His long beard added an air of rugged charm to his already commanding presence. A surge of unease mingled with her curiosity, unsure of the man's intentions. The man's voice, rich and resonant, broke the silence. "Amico," he greeted, his tone carrying a hint of familiarity and warmth. Georgina's gaze darted between the man and Marcelo, sensing a connection between the two. It was evident that they shared a history.