Temptress Hair Mafia Novels & Stories

Liam had a strong distaste for the whole no-fur trade and never dabbled in it beyond the bare necessity his position demanded. The mafia don had gone so far as to give the no-fur an affectionate nickname, Turquoise. Liam had always been kind, as had his second-in-command. Gran had forgotten to mention to the occult consultant that the dead feline was Terras Macaster, Liam's beloved right hand tom.

Tazz smiled back at her, pulling away a strand of hair off her face "Ah! why the f*ck can't they keep all that pda for their room, I'm not jealous, I'm simply so touched,' Mahira rolled her eyes. ‘Bro, man you rock,’ thought Anuj as he saw expressions n Mahira’s face waver from sweet to sour to otherwise with the roll of her eyes. Mahira remembered how Tazz had just done her hair for her affectionately sometime back, she felt irritated, nevertheless she still downed the entire glass of wine and slammed the glass back on table. “Everything alright?” Tazz looked at her, pretending to be worried. “yeah ! Just a bit of headache,” she pulled the hair tie and let her hair loose, flicking her head

Joe asked “It’s obviously a shading deal gone wrong, Temper is involved with a lot of shady people, he obviously did something to piss this set off, he’s a crook” Rex scoffed, “show me a politician who isn’t” “So what do we know now?” Joe asked again “We know it’s the don, a powerful mafia lord that has Tiffany, we know Temper is aware, we know they are demanding for some money which Temper is refusing to pay - the fucking bastard. Putting his only child’s life in such danger, just to save his ego.”

"Mr. Marchetti sent us for you. He really did all that, huh.” They move through the apartment like they've done this a hundred times, rolling the wardrobe into the living room, laying out brushes and palettes across the counter with practiced efficiency. "Please, have a seat," the stylist says, already combing her fingers through my hair, testing its texture. Another woman kneels at my feet with a tray of polish, and a third starts pulling dresses off the rack one at a time, holding each up against me like she's solving an equation. "You're so lucky," the nail tech says, glancing at the roses. "My boyfriend can't even pick up food without complaining."

Mia’s heart froze when she saw it. Subject MIA THE RED ANGEL — premium tier. Rental only. “Untouched by industry. Intelligent. Perfect face symmetry. Vegas-based. Known mafia ties. High-value novelty. Grooming required but minimal.” Her name. Her face. On a list of products. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered.

I encouraged her to continue. “It's that bastard. He attacked my men at the port in Country X,” Lana confessed angrily, her voice filled with frustration. “And by bastard, you mean...?” I pressed for more information. “Who else?! The Crimson Fox!” Lana spat out the name, her anger palpable.\n\nSilence enveloped the jet as I processed the name Lana had just uttered. Deep down, I struggled to hold in my laughter. The Crimson Fox? That was the name of the gang causing havoc? It sounded more cute than menacing.

He wasn't the man who had kissed her that night, he was the head of the Mafia speaking. “Did you always want to grow your hair?” She spoke out of nowhere. Hugo looked at her for a moment before he chuckled. “Why you don't like it?” He asked playfully, putting his hands on her thighs. “No. … It's actually the opposite. You look handsome when you twist and pull your hair in the messy bun”. She said, fidgeting with her fingers. “Like this?” She gaped when she saw him pulling the hair tie, expertly combed his hair with fingers and twisted them in a single movement into a messy bun, all under five seconds.

I replied, feeling relieved to have someone to talk to. "Don't worry, dear. We'll show you the ropes and make sure you settle in smoothly. But you should know, Melissa, that Mr. Moretti is not a man to be trifled with. He can be wicked and mean, and he doesn't tolerate mistakes." I felt a chill run down my spine at the mention of Moretti's name. I had heard stories about him from my mother, about how he was a dangerous and ruthless mafia kingpin who ruled over his empire with an iron fist. I prayed that I wouldn't cross paths with him, that I could just do my job and stay out of his way.

He says, running his hand through his ash blonde hair, his eyes clouded with desire as he looks me up and down when I turn to face him once again. I raise my hands and wrap them around my torso as I begin to feel naked in front of him and shame washes over me like a tsunami crashing into the shorelines, obliterating everything in its path. I turn around and descend the stairs, leaving the room with trembling limbs. Trent is Aces' leader, the Mafia King who controls eight different cities and 24 districts, as well as moving anything and everything through the dark web, including teenage girls. He's a sick motherfucker who gets his kicks by humiliating his prey first, and my steps falter as I

But I guess in the mafia world, anything was. I looked up at him, completely horrified. How evil could a man be? Fury surged in my chest. “You’re insane if you think I’ll ever sign this,” I spat. “I’ll never be your mistress, not for all the money in the world, or your so-called protection.” His face changed, and he crossed the room in seconds. His hand gripped a fistful of my hair, not yanking, but firm enough to make me yelp as our eyes locked.