The Four Mafia Men And Their Prize Novels & Stories

"Let's hope Cole can track this place down before anyone notices that-" A loud piercing scream in the distance cut me off and stunned, I took off in the direction of the scream. There could be only one explanation. The mafia had picked a victim. Hiding behind the boats, I walked around gingerly, looking for the source of the scream. The sight that lay before my very eyes was terrifying. Two men held a man down by the arms. An older man, he had to be in his fifties. They had gagged him with a piece of cloth and behind him stood a shirtless man, wielding a burning iron with the M insignia on it.

I asked "Do you really have to ask questions all the time?" he asked me. "Yes I do" I answered. "Fine, he doesn't like talking about this so don't ask him, okay?" "Okay" I answered. He ruffled my hair and I batted his hands away. He chuckled and walked away. The next day…… DANTE I looked around the room, everywhere was tense. Ten trailers worth of drugs belonging to the mafia alliance had been hijacked. All our men had been killed. Only one had survived and came home.

His poker face curls up into a dark smirk. “I left you a piece.” He motions his head to towards the captives and I follow his gaze as they stare down at the other guy in chains. He seemed to be in a better shape than his friend. “I guess you did.” My feet carry me further into the room. “Juust the two of them?” I ask. “The other one blew his brains out before we could get him.” The code of silence. It wasn't a foreign policy in the mafia world. To live and to die by the oat to protect your family, no matter the cost. I shift my gaze back to the other two chained to the wall in front of me. But some people break easily than others.

And not getting kidnapped by a crazy guy, I wanted to add, but Uno’s still his boss so I keep mum. “Slow down, there’s enough for everyone,” I say while pouring him a glass of water. “Also, save some for dinner.” Cuatro munches on a shrimp, his attention focused on the plate of food in front of him. “Can’t return for dinner,” he says. “Very busy with cool mafia stuff.” There goes my opening. I try to contain myself and choose my words carefully, baiting him to say what I want to hear. “Ah, I did see many new men come and go outside while gardening, I think they’re going to the garage. Should I share this dish with them too? I think there’s spare—”

“Let's begin...” The four men who were the leaders of their respective organizations sat on a sofa, each one meter apart. They were on the upper floor of an empty building, while several men who had been selected to fight were on the lower floor. “I hope there is no cheating among us. I hope you know there will be social sanctions from other mafias if you cheat,” said Penial with a smile, as if he was very confident he would win. One person from each of their organizations who managed to climb to the top of the building and open the door would be the winner. Only one person, whether from the Meazus or Levi organization, or vice versa.

Two men remaining in the cargo area nervously stepped down to the floor. The men brought in the cargo were three Black men of varying ages. The middle-aged man, who was sweating profusely with a particularly terrified expression, was dressed in a neat suit. The man who had attempted the attack and was beaten, along with the remaining one, appeared to be young Black men who likely sold drugs in back alleys. Surrounded by the mafia, the men naturally knelt on the floor. Tony Rico stood looking down at the three men with fierce eyes, his legs spread and arms crossed.

Then a smaller headline caught her eye: “Body Found Near Brooklyn Docks—No Arrests, Suspected Mafia Ties.” Her fingers froze on the trackpad. She leaned back, heart screaming in her chest, as everything tilted around her. She knew the truth now. She just didn’t know how long she had before he found out that she knew it too. The hallway was quiet now. Too quiet. Marco stepped over the blood-slick floor, breathing slowly, his gloves streaked with red. Elias was unconscious. The other man, slumped in the corner, wasn’t going to be getting up anytime soon.

The one who had stopped him from ending his life. Adrian DeCarlo. The Mafia King. Adrian smirked at Julian's shock, then turned to Martin. The older man lay broken, his face swollen, blood dripping from his mouth. Adrian crouched beside him, his voice calm but deadly. "I hope you haven't forgotten the deal. I'm here to claim what's mine." Martin trembled, forcing himself to his knees. His hands pressed together, his voice shaking. "P-please... spare me. Spare my daughter. Take my son. He's yours. Just don't kill me."

I clenched my palm hard, again and again, trying to confirm whether this was a dream, but pain shot through my hand. Suppressing the cold sweat rising along my spine, I slowly lifted my head. I was seated at one end of a long dining table. Across from me sat two men—the heirs of the most powerful mafia family in Chicago. On the left was Caspian Falcone, the mafia family’s underboss. Twenty-eight years old, he was dressed in a black suit, with a prominent scar cutting across his temple. His gaze was as cold as a glacier, and rumors said the number of people he had personally executed was beyond counting.

Their shoulders touched. “Any regrets?” Regina asked. Letteria shook her head. “No. You?” “No.” Behind them the three men stepped out into the sun. Pio’s hand settled on the back of Regina’s neck. Saverio’s arm slid around Letteria’s waist. Ettore stood between the women and rested a palm on each of their lower backs. The future stretched out like the water. Dangerous. Rich. Shared. They had been spoilt by the mafia’s claim. They had no plan to leave it.