The Mafia Who Lost His Cool Novels & Stories

So Dr Hughes and some of his colleagues stopped offering to eat out instead we would have Lunch at the centre. It is the first day of the fourth week and on my way to the centre I decided to listen to the car radio, so I asked the driver to put the volume up. A huge commotion has been made in the headlines recently regarding one of the worlds most notorious mafia leaders who was found dead in his highly guarded mansion. This news first made the headlines last night, I understand he was a much wanted criminal but cannot understand why there is so much hype behind it. I voice my thoughts to the driver.

"And would you please, show a bit of interest here?" Ghost took down his feet with a sigh. "I can't. I just can't seem to develop any shitty interest in this conversation. I'm flatly sitting it out," "Why not?" Don Carianno puckered his brow. A ring of smoke covered his face from the cigarette between his fingers. "Because it's fucking stupid and pissing me off. So what if the Chinese Mafia lost a man in the underground fights? So what if the Triads are mad and reeling with anger? We didn't kill him. It was just a fucking accident,"

I was NOT a very emotional person and to be quite honest I didn’t know how to handle other people’s emotions. I sat on the couch in my living room and turned on the tv. I laid back on the couch as I switched channels on the tv. The sound of my phone ringing drew my attention away from the tv and to my cell phone. “Hello?” I spoke out as I answered the call. “Tesoro, you left so soon.” My father slightly cried out on the phone. “Arcano, it amazes me how you are considered a famous Mafia Don when you call me whining,” I comment as I roll my eyes and focus on the tv once again.

But I let Storm continue. “Anyway,” he sighed. “I started to lose. Like, bad. I lost REALLY bad. I was too ashamed to tell Adrian. So I borrowed. From the mafia.” “Oh Storm, you didn’t,” I said. This was bad. REALLY bad. The mafia around here was completely human integrated, but they lent money to the rogues. They were rough though. And ruthless. If you didn’t pay…well…let’s just say…they always found a way to recoup their losses.

Immediately I look back, but I can barely distinguish by the edge of the ajar door that Black, George and the contractor continue to fix the picture. "Yes, of course." I mutter. "Do you have basic math skills?" "Of course." "Tell me how much is twenty-four for two." Are you kidding me? "Forty-eight." I say, completely safe. "That's the message. Adjö (See you again)." Hang. This man has made me more tense than I was. I don't know what kind of mafia Black is into, but this is starting to disgust me a lot. More so, remembering that twenty-four were the millions they were leaking, according to the contract.

I roll my eyes but smile because he was right. "You could have told us he was a criminal," Marcus says and I sigh. "Look at him, does he look like a dangerous criminal?" I ask and Marcus looks to see Cole and Vincent laughing and talking like they've been friends for years. Vin winces when he laughs too hard which makes him look even less threatening. "I'll admit, he seems nice. But what if he gets you hurt?" Marcus asks and Nathan snorts. "You think a mafia man would let his man get hurt?" Nathan asks and Marcus sighs loudly.

I yelled! "Well, that's because you weren't cooperating with me." I blinked at him, unsure if he was joking or not. "You can't possibly be serious." I stated with furrowed brows. "I am as serious as a heart attack my darling. if you had just stripped for me the first day or let me fuck you, this wouldn't be happening." "Oh my God, you are an idiot." How was this man even working with the mafia if he was this stupid and tone deaf?

Within some minutes, I was done eating and drank some water. "I would be going out," I said taking my key. What is wrong with me? Why have I become this cool to her? I am Morgan, Morgan Bliss, the Ruthless Mafia. No other Mafia could stand before me. I can kill anyone just with a snap of my finger, but I chose the cool way. Ever since Mr. Loyd killed some people I love, I decided to keep it cool, only showing my ruthlessness in a called situation. I sat in the driver's seat and smiled as I remembered a mafia who wanted to contend with me but met his death. I swore to myself never to allow my DNA in any of the people's bodies.

I feel myself grow cold, both from the cool touch of Don Federico's embrace but also the fury behind his words. The mafia men all fall quit. The man who demanded I strip for everyone's entertainment sinks low in his seat—he's no doubt wishing he could turn invisible or just completely disappear.

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.