Small Italian Mafia Tattoos Novels & Stories

Here, it was me who only attended to bring shame on the Silver Wolf Pack. " Oh my my! Why is the princess here alone?", a voice came from the opposite side, tearing my attention from the sky above. Glancing up at the way, I saw a blad headed man around thirty, getting his way towards me. He stood there with his hands in his pockets. The tattoos beneath his little ears were the proof of his Mafia Empire. I assumed that most of the Mafias were obsessed with tattoos. I gave him a questioning look. He chuckled, coming forward to introduce himself,

What a waste of beauty. She acted smart, I knew the moment she walks in at the VIP section that she doesn't look like a regular whore, and her perfume is too expensive for a street girl. Her nails look perfectly done. Her body language made me know she was sent here as a trap. Everything made sense when I saw the omerta symbol tattooed on her breast. An Italian Mafia mark. I played along all the while. “La famiglia oscura should know me better than to send a lady to me. They will end up crawling to my toes begging for a taste of my joystick.”

“But I have other aspirations in life. Becoming a mafia wife was never part of my plan.” “Watch your words when you speak of my son,” Mirella warned without looking at her, her attention fixed on the painting as if each word she spoke was just another stroke of the brush. “Dante isn’t just a simple mafioso, as you say. He is the leader of the ’Ndrangheta. The mere mention of the Bellandi name makes lesser men tremble. Don’t get it twisted, girl.” Her tone was soft, but every syllable carried a sharp edge—a reminder that Svetlana was a foreigner in a world that didn’t belong to her.

A smile paints onto my face as I answer. "Yes, I'm alive." I say, laughing into the phone. "I had to call and make sure." Dionne says, laughing back. "Did you make sure to get your tattoo the other day?" she asks. "Yeah, it's already healed up pretty well." I say feeling behind my ear. I had to get a tattoo of the mafia crest to signify my place in the mafia. Dionne did the same in the same place to let it be known that she mine and that she's the Queen. Once our children turn seventeen, they'll get one too, in the same place. Everyone else who isn't a Foster by blood has the same tattoo on their wrists. If it fades, we get it filled. Just a mark of loyalty is all.

" I don't get it. What's that supposed to mean? I mean how does this concern the situation I'm in right now." She sighs and pulls her crop top above her head. She turns around and asks me to glance at her back. I did and there's a tattoo on her back and it's so little. Omertà is tattooed on her back. Gray got that tattoo , I've seen it on Nick too. She turns to look at me and put on her shirt.

Like Luka, Marco and Ace, his body is in definitely good shape and his tattoo was sticking out of his neck from his fitted V neck shirt. Is being drop dead gorgeous one qualification to be part of this crime family? Their looks are dangerous. He tossed the leather jacket draped over his shoulder on the top of the island and pulled a stool for him. Blinking my eyes and picking up my jaw from the floor, I came to my senses that I was drooling over another Italian. “Oh… uhmm no. Would you like some?” his smile widened before nodding. I heated the extra salmon I cooked and put together a salad for him. “We can share the avocado. This was the last one.”

“I caught a glimpse of that intense conversation you had with Cade in the service hall during intermission. Is... is that what has you so shaken up tonight?” I let out a long, ragged sigh, staring at the moonlit water. “Yes and no,” I answer quietly, my throat tightening. I want to tell him about the blood. I want to tell him about the knife and the shadow of Scarfo, but the mafia code of silence is a physical noose around my neck. I don't know who I’m allowed to trust anymore.

Martin asked casually, leaning on the rail beside him. Lorenzo didn’t answer directly. "You recorded it? Or hacked it?" Martin shrugged. "Does it matter? The important thing is: I have it." "What do you want? Money?" Lorenzo asked, already fishing for how deep this would go. Martin let out a low chuckle. "Money? Please. That’s too simple. No, I want something much more useful." He turned, locking eyes with Lorenzo. "I want access. You’re Raphael's brother. You work inside his empire. I want you to be my eyes and ears. Feed me information. Sabotage when necessary. Undermine quietly."

The gun stayed in my ear. “What?” “I love it when my girls act innocent,” he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips. I looked at the exposed part of his chest. A tattoo. Black ink curled over the left side of his chest. I knew that symbol. Everyone knew that symbol. There had been warnings, articles, whispered rumors. The mark of Giordano's family. I felt the blood drain from my face. “I hope you keep it up when I fuck you so har d—because you’re mine now,” he finished.

“There were probably mafia guys there too. Eveline, did anyone catch your eye?” “I don’t know, Noah,” I said, thinking. Then the Russian guy came to mind. “Oh! Right—his name is Vladimir. Dante called him that. He had a tear tattoo under his eye and tattoos all over his fingers. He looked terrifying.” “Vladimir is a Russian name, so maybe he’s in the Russian mafia. I can only imagine how many powerful people were there.” “That’s probably why Dante told Marco and Diego not to take their eyes off me,” I said.