Yakuza Oc Novels & Stories

He yelled in agony as he left my breast, his head rising up. "Fuck," he screamed at the top of his lungs as I dug the knife deeper, this time a little below where I had attacked earlier. This jab was not as cruel as the first because his body was stiff and alert this time. "Fuck you, Amaira," he yelled, reaching for my hands. But before he could ruin my plan and snatch that knife, which appears to be my only savior this time, I folded my knees and kicked right in his balls, causing him to roll away from me and lie on his back on the bed.

My eyes slightly widened as I turned my head to see Octavious standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a navy blue suit, with a black shirt underneath, greatly contrasted with a red tie and as always a trench coat thrown atop his shoulders. It was the same red as his tie and I won't lie and say he didn't look both terrifying and handsome at the same time. He looked like those mob bosses you see in Italian or old British films, all the way down to the hat he always told me was called "the capone". It resembled a fedora and panama.

“Are you her brother or her fiancée, you keep talking like you own her or something” I stretched my hand forward towards Lucien…then signaled him to stop but I know he wouldn’t give up that easily, so I just had to try to create a distraction to evade the argument about to start between the two guys… I threw my wine glass on the floor…as it shattered to pieces everyone turned to look at me thankfully including Lucien but also the one person, I wouldn’t want to even notice…sadly he did… and the commotion and drama shifted from Lucien and the stranger to the brothers…Things got worse…

“Congratulations, Boss!” Without waiting for the celebration, Drake turned on his heel and walked out of the church. Amy followed closely behind, flanked by a sea of suits and heavy artillery. The moment the heavy church doors slammed shut behind them, the priest’s knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the altar floor, completely unconscious. Meanwhile, across the city, the atmosphere was entirely different. Inside the fortified syndicate of the Blood Pact Mafia. The second largest crime syndicate in Italy. Athan, a hardened man in his early fifties, sat high on a leather chair that served as his throne. The air in his private chambers was thick with the pungent, sweet scent of a heavy blunt

"We’re out of our league, Lina. Ichiro operates completely outside the system. He has unlimited capital and ten thousand soldiers at his back." "He’s protecting his brother," Sophia muttered, her hands shaking. "He's protecting the syndicate's pride, you idiot," Dominic growled. "Kenji getting thrown in a cage was a slap in the face to Tokyo. Ichiro is coming to wipe the insult out with blood." Dominic countered coldly. "The Yamaguchi-gumi doesn't argue with lawyers. They erase the evidence, and then they butcher the authors. You think your little articles are going to stop a bullet?"

I squinted at the figure before a gasp escaped my lips. It was Cyrus. His bloodstained shirt was dragged by one wolf who held a dagger to this throat, pressing just enough to draw out blood. “The great Alpha Cyrus.” The wolf growled, “After sending your men to ambush us at the Landor Forest, did you really think you would go scot free and we'll let you get away with it?” “Kill him!” Another wolf yelled, “An eye for an eye!” Cyrus gazed toward my cell, a calculating malice glinting in his eyes. “You want revenge, right? Take her instead.”

Alfredo Fabri POV You see in this business you're either in or you're out. But the “out” in this case implies that you're no longer alive and far from the earthly realm. Getting into the world of organized crime is no child's play, and by virtue of swearing an OMERTÀ, an oath on the Saints, you're in for life. You never get out, never. But there was only ever one exception our little world had witnessed and that's in the case of Lorenzo Rizzo also known as “The Whisper”.

she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. Alessandro cleared his throat, composing himself. "So...yes, they are mafia." "Mafia?" she repeated. "You mean the ones with hats and black suits, guns strapped all over their bodies?" "I’m not sure they’re always on suits.” He said, sipping his coffee. “but I mean the ones who rule with brutality, who traffic drugs and guns, who extortion and violence, are their only languages. The ones who will stop at nothing to maintain their power and control. Yes, that’s the one."

I have to roll my eyes because he was busy groping some brunette's ass. That's Honjo Tanaka for you, my best buddy. I met Honjo a few years back, the time when I dropped out of college. I got into a fight in a bar, and was outnumbered. Honjo was at the corner drinking his beer, looking like the epitome of boredom. I guess he thought the fight was unfair, so the Japanese descent Yakuza stepped in the fight, and said, “Since the fight is pretty unfair, I might as well kill my boredom by joining in the fun. Now come pretty boys, show me what you got,” and then he winked at me.