America X Italy Novels & Stories

Jackson announced loudly, "this Italian espresso is terrible. Way too bitter. My American roast beats this stuff hands down." Total silence fell over the vestibule. Six mafia lieutenants stopped breathing. Don Viti turned his head, his gray eyes narrowing into slits at the bald American insulting his national pride. I grabbed my heavy skirt, ready to run over and save Mr. Jackson from getting thrown off the cliff.

Amanda's POV I climbed into the small rental car I had hired from the automobile company on my first day here. It was cheap and old, but my only option for transport whilst I was in Italy. I started the engine and drove off in the direction of the diner where I would be working my second shift for today. My real reason for being in Italy was because I had been sent by the company I worked for in New York. I had begged my boss, who was also my boyfriend, to let me stay back this time. The business trip coincided with my father's memorial and it was not something I wanted to miss.

Isabella~ "Thank God, we finally returned to the USA." When I heard Xavier's voice, I opened my eyes. The journey had been perilous and exhausting. Undoubtedly, Uncle Jorawar will be pleased to learn that we have taken Jonathan into custody. I took Xavier's hand and ran my thumb over it. "Do you truly believe it's that simple, Bella?" He raised his brow and questioned me, his expression dark. "What's the issue now? Xavier, everything is in order now. We've filed a case against Jonathan and asked the Italian police to transfer him to the US police." I didn't understand why he still looked so worried about Jonathan when everything seemed sorted.

That bastard was on our black list already, he just didn't know it yet. And the fact that he wanted this Americano girl so badly, he'd strike a deal with her pathetic family. What a shame. “We are not finished yet, Zayla.” I mumbled, letting my Italian accent slip. Her brows knitted, then her eyes widened with the realization, that I was Italian. The Italian men were dreaded. People said it was the old money that made us ruthless — powerful crime lords with blood-stained legacies. And the scary part? They weren’t wrong.

As the conversation progressed, Alessio mentioned his homeland, Italy. “You should visit Italy,” Alessio said, leaning forward slightly. “I promise, it’s even more beautiful than here.” Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Blimey! I’m very up for it. You know, Tenerife is stunning.” “It is,” Alessio admitted, his eyes sparkling. “But Italy has something...special. You’ll see when you come.” Her friends chimed in, asking for tips on the best cities to visit. Alessio listed places with enthusiasm, sketching imaginary maps in the air.

"From the look on your face, I can tell, you know why I am here. So why are you?" "My brother is trying to get a deal signed with your dad, so he came for the event to pitch his idea to him." "Oh, that explains it." "Yeah, and I would have never guessed him to be your dad." "Why" "Because everything about that man speaks Italian and you don't." Ethan's dad, the man hosting tonight's event is Mr Federico Mantone, a very handsome Italian man. "Really" "Yes, you don't." "Maybe it is because my mom is American."

"But he hasn't been to America in years." "I came to Italy a few years back," she tells me. "Scar and I were traveling Europe after high school and Italy was our last spot. The night before we left we went to the club. We both had way too much to drink and I ended up with Luca." At this point I've seen a few tears fall down her cheeks, "I didn't remember his name but I do remember what he looked like. And those eyes! Rose just had to inherit them! They are identical."

That was why he was one of the most accurate and prestigious businessmen, both, in Italy and in the United States. “You don’t understand anything, but don’t worry, it won’t be necessary anymore,” his voice sounded sharper than he would have wished, but that was how he was feeling. That was how his heart felt at that moment. As if it were all steel, and not precisely because it was strong, but because it was cold.

I had to speak to the last man. “Prepare a car for me in America and call the jet. Now.” *** The American countryside was nothing like Italy’s. In Italy, the land was lived in—every mile carried the weight of centuries, a balance of beauty and use. Vineyards, stone farmhouses, even the smallest gardens—it all felt deliberate, part of a whole. America, by contrast, looked abandoned by intention. Miles of flat, colorless fields stretched out between farms, empty land where no one had bothered to build, plant, or carve anything worth remembering.

She rolled her eyes, turning around and smiling again. "I have to look my best in my dream country." She mumbled, walking past him to the car. As far as he was concerned Italy to some people was meant only for the Mafia, the gangs, and Glades. "Why is Italy your dream country? You did say it was because of me, right?" He asked as they got into the car. "Yes, it was." She answered nonchalantly. "Why?" "Because every time you made me cry I was so determined to join the Mafia and make you pay. I did imagine skinning you alive and burning your flesh... dipping the catapelta into your knee and spurting out blood from your lungs..and..."