Yakuza Man 소설 & 이야기

The tattoo snaked around his hands, disappearing into his tank top before journeying up to his neck. His yellowed teeth were on full display as he stared at me. I just stared back, eyes unbothered and void of emotion or complaint. “You ignoring me?” he asked, inching closer. I knew him. It did not matter if I wanted to or not. He had so many notorious comments going around that it would have been almost impossible not to know him. Kimura. The big Thai man rumored to be a mafia boss. “Kimura, get back to your seat,” one of the prison guards boomed. His eyes did not leave mine for what felt like solid seconds.

There was a red x drawn over my face. Olivia wasn't the target of the hit. I was. "Is JR dead? Fucking tell me where her body is," Copycat shrieked into the phone. No, she wasn't dead. I wasn't that stupid. But telling him where she was would lose me any leverage I had. I couldn't afford to make myself an easy target for Marino. Especially after my latest discovery about the Yakuza. "Twenty four hours. Give me time to find out how you pissed off the Yakuza. Clearly they fucking think I'm you. Let me clean up your mess. Then you can have your precious JR and the money," I said, before abruptly ending the call.

Inside a small, hidden club buried in the depths of a narrow backstreet, a man sat in the corner, his body marked with fresh wounds, his face shadowed beneath the brim of his cap. Renjiro Takahashi. Once, he had been the most ruthless enforcer of Japan’s largest Yakuza clan. His name alone had been enough to send shivers through the criminal underworld. But tonight, he was a fugitive. Cast out after a brutal coup that had stripped him of everything. An old man, short and wrinkled, took a seat across from him, sliding a small cup of sake across the table. "I heard you almost died," the old man murmured. Renjiro lifted his gaze, his eyes cold and unreadable. He grabbed the cup, downing it in o

I asked and the Japanese Yakuza nodded with a smile. "Good." I smiled as well and leaned down to his ear to whisper something to him. He leaned back and bowed. "I'll do so right away, Oyabun." He said and walked away to the awaiting boat. That was something no one knew. Except my close one that is. I was the Oyabun (Mafia Leader) of the Japanese Yakuza and the Mafia Don of Italy and a partner to the Leader of the Spanish mob. Power was my second name and they gang trying to fuck me over should be praying to God, if he exists.

Underneath the swords, at the base of my spine are the numbers 8-9-3 with the corresponding Japanese characters below each digit, representing my position as a member of the Golden Chrysanthemums, a yakuza syndicate based in Yokohama. Rotating my shoulders, I stretch my arms over my head before I enter the main workout space. In the center of the room is a large tarp. On that tarp is a man, tied down with coarse ropes, his mouth gagged. As soon as he sees me, he wets himself and I grin down at him like the apex predator that I am. The man-child begins to whimper. “Enjoy, Boss,” Roger salutes, heading out to take care of other business. He’ll be back in a couple of hours, once I’ve taught thi

He said provoking him. And Yvrozz really did being provoked by what Butler Zi said. He has this deathly glare like he was saying 'you want me to dispose you?', while he has this dark and murderous aura that surrounds him making Butler Zi flinched a little. Even though he's a former delinquent and always got into a lot of fights, he hasn't encounter someone as dangerous as this man. "Shut up. I will take back what's mine, if they dares to lay a hands on her, I'm gonna crush their skull. So tell me, who's that yakuza man?"He said with a murderous intent surrounds him.

For the first time in his life her was afraid, afraid of her opinion of him, afraid of if she would even like him, just afraid. Present Day. It had been two weeks since I graduated from university and moved back home with my parents and brothers. My father, Romero Ramos, is the leader of the Spanish/American Mafia until my eldest brother, Mateo Ramos, takes over next year. My mother, Maria Ramos, was born into the Mafia just like the rest of my family and lastly my second brother, Sebastian Ramos will be my Mateo's second in command for Mateo when he become leader. The there's me, Sofia, I have been involved in offical mafia business since I was sixteen years old, my job is mostly traning ne

Others with thinly veiled resentment. I didn’t care either way. I adjusted my cufflinks, the crisp linen of my tailored suit a stark contrast to the filth of this place. I wasn’t here to blend in. I was here to hunt. And my prey sat right in front of me. Takeshi Sato. He was a Yakuza associate. Greedy, sloppy and weak. The bastard was drowning in liquor, his arm draped around a half-dressed woman who laughed at something he said, even though the light in her eyes was long gone. He hadn’t noticed me yet.

He's dark-skinned with gold rings on every finger and a lazy smile that never really reached his eyes. He was the youngest Don at the table, having inherited the cartel after his father's mysterious death. His second in command was a woman who had sharp-featured and watchful, with a pistol tucked into her belt despite the no-weapons rule. Takeshi Yamamoto of the Yakuza sat motionless as a statue. He was the oldest man in the room with a face with roadmaps of wrinkles. His eyes were two dark stones that revealed nothing. His grey kimono was immaculate, and the katana that should have been confiscated at the door still rested across his lap, because Takeshi Yamamoto went nowhere without his sw

I re-dress my wound and head to my investigation room. I make sure to lock the door before entering. I ring Ken. “Did you gather information about the last lead?” I ask him, a glint of hope shimmering in my voice. “I hate to break it to you, but, he’s not the one,” Ken says. I slam the table in front of me. “But I found out some credible details,” Ken continues, “That night when you were chained with shackles, do you remember seeing a blonde man with sunglasses?” I say, “No, I don’t.” “Well, the man was there, his name is Yeon Mang, you should question him about the incident, he will surely know more about this,” Ken tells me, “But there’s a catch. He only attends art shows, so do what you c