The Irish Syndicate Novels & Stories

It's not like they noticed any missing valuable gems or metals, they had too much to care, and well, a girl's gotta eat. Today my assignment was no different; I was contracted by a crime syndicate to steal an important art piece from their rivals: The Weston Syndicate. At least, that is what Aller told me this morning when I asked who the client was. He was very dodgy with his answers. I had some concerns, but I pushed them aside when he assured me I would get a handsome pay. Yes, I am quite a selfish bitch, sue me. I hardly cared if I stole from the Terils or a Syndicate; a mark was a mark to me. Syndicates have evolved in the last 200 years. When they first were born, they were called mobs

"No Cas. I think we've been run over." I barked out a laugh, placing a hand on the wall beside me to stop me from doubling over. La Rosa Nera. The biggest syndicate in the entire New Haven, known across for its wild affairs in drug deals. " Who else would they deem a better fit than La Rosa Nera to do business with?" "The Irish, perhaps. They're a small group just at the outskirts of New Haven. But they're growing big and fast." I could feel the bulged vein at the side of my neck as I gritted my teeth. "The Irish? What's that?"

“Yes. A tall, white Irishman with white hair in his seventies, whom I never thought was lying to me all this time. I have a feeling he was working with Francesco.” “I can do better than that,” he said. “Do you want to check the Irishman’s identity who traveled to Sicily?” My hope rose. I’d been terrified for the last few hours for my father, my wife, and my sister. “You’re a Godsend, Linden. Do it.” “An Irish old man who entered Sicily within this week,” he uttered as he typed. “Got ten possible matches, but one that stood out according to your description. Aidan Finn rings a bell?”

Reese grumbled. “What gets weirder is that Guinevere O’Malley is the daughter of Irish Mob Boss, Patrick O’Malley leader of the Boston syndicate until his untimely death at the hands of his sergeant at arms as a requisite to peace treaty for trying to incite a mob war with the Italian mafia at the time because…get this…his wife was having an affair and trying to get a divorce…with none other than…” Liam looked at Reese expectantly to see if he had figured it out.

As we round the corner into the main corridor, I almost slam straight into Finn Murphy, one of the assholes who thinks he’s tough. He’s flanked by his two Irish friends, as they seem to stick together, Sean Kelly and Rowan O’Sullivan. “Look who it is, lads,” he says, smirking. I cross my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes. “What the fuck do you want, Finn?” He tilts his head. “Still so cocky about your position here, aren’t you Alexander?” He chuckles. “King of The Syndicate Academy, but for how long?”

"But you have to promise me one thing; I was never a part of this." Irish nodded excitedly, "I can't wait! And oh, I have a plan." She folded her arms across her chest and pouted cutely, "Let's just say Adrian won't know what hit him." "What plan do you have?" Cynthia asked, her eyes following Irish. "Oh, nothing." Irish smiled innocently. She didn't know that she had been thinking aloud. "Oh, I can't wait!" Irish muttered again, got under the sheets, and covered herself to sleep.

"Shareholders? The Syndicate owned the Core. And the Syndicate is a pile of rubble in the Gutter." Cyrus let out a small, dry chuckle. "The Syndicate was a subsidiary, Leo. A local management firm hired to keep the 'cattle' in line while we harvested the planet’s remaining essence. Chairman Thorne was a useful foreman, but he became... sentimental. He started believing his own propaganda about 'legacy' and 'bloodlines.'" Cyrus tapped his cane on the black glass. "The Directorate doesn't care about bloodlines. We care about ROI, Return on Investment. And right now, Neo-Tokyo is a non-performing asset."

on the horizon. The "Russian Syndicate" was still "Indexing" their location, and the "Final Audit" of the "Hawke" name was only just beginning its "Phase Three."

Not Dante’s. Lydia sucked in a breath. “That’s…” “A shell company,” Iris finished. “Registered six months ago. Offshore funding. No public flags.” She tilted her head. “Except the director used to run logistics for the Bellanti Syndicate.” The room erupted in murmurs. “That’s circumstantial,” Hugh said. “So is every crime until you line things up,” Iris replied. “Which I did.” She clicked again. Bank transfers. Shipping records. A clear pattern. “The Bellantis lost territory to Moretti last quarter,” Iris continued. “This explosion disrupted his routes, dragged police attention to his name, and gave this firm a neat story to run with.”

He placed it on the table between us. "This is everything I know about the Syndicate," he said. "The Syndicate?" I asked, confused. "It's the name of the organization behind the network," Alexander said. "Charles Ashford wasn't the leader. He was just a regional director. The Syndicate is much bigger. It spans the globe. It controls governments, media, banks. It's been operating for centuries." I stared at him, my blood running cold. "Centuries?" "The Syndicate was founded in the 1600s," Alexander said. "It started as a secret society of wealthy merchants who trafficked goods and people across the world. Over the centuries, it evolved. It became more sophisticated. More powerful. More danger