Bound By The Italian Don Novels & Stories

Imogen uttered I got to know that his name was Biaggio. Though I couldn't understand what the hell they were chatting about, But the way they are glancing at each other, I could sense the hidden threat dripping from their every gesture. I was more than sure that they don't share any peaceful relation. Biaggio bowed his head to show respect I guess, cause through his behavior he didn't show any hint of respect towards Imogen. "Sono fortunato a essere ricordato dal potente Don ( I am fortunate to be remembered by the mighty Don ) " Biaggio said.

Luca stated calmly, swiping past his cold gaze to the men around, " I just wanted to remind you that if you interfere in my business, I will interfere too. Good Bye!" With his words, the man turned to leave and heard the Russian Don's voice on his back, " This isn't the end, Luca. Our brotherhood is nothing without Revenge. So be ready to pay for this." _______________ On the same night... Somewhere in ITALY.. " What are you saying? Russian Don has sent a threat because Luca had killed his son? His son?", Fernando De Luca was shouting at one of his subordinates who happened to bring the news that a recent new war had been set between two Dons.

Old age was evident on him. We entered the church, and all eyes turned to me. The bride. The soon-to-be wife of Don Adri, the son of Dante one of the most dangerous men in the Italian Mafia, so feared not even the police liked to interfere. So popular, he had loyal men in and out of Italy and, after his death, all that was his became Adriano's.

“You think I don’t see it? You warn me she’s making me soft. Days later, she’s hit by a car with no plates, tinted windows, no trace. You show up here uninvited. You expect me not to suspect you?” Giovanni’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’d harm her?” “You’ve harmed for less.” He shook his head slowly. “Not this. Not her. I may not approve, but I’m not a fool. Killing her would break you. And a broken Don is bad for business.” The words hung heavy. Dante stepped forward. “Then who was it?” Giovanni’s gaze flicked to him, then back to me. “You have rivals. Enemies. Shadows that wait for weakness. Don’t mistake me for them.”

But for now, we embraced the tranquility and joy that Italy had bestowed upon us, savoring every precious moment in each other's company. As news spread of the Italian Don's capture and his subsequent confession, the dynamics within the Italian Mafia underwent a significant shift. The power vacuum left by his downfall was swiftly filled by a new Don, someone who held different values and principles. It was a refreshing change for the Italian Mafia, and a newfound sense of integrity and honor began to prevail.

I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. “There,” Iason muttered, nodding towards a shadowed area near a mausoleum. Facing each other, two figures stood, their body language tense. I recognized one of them instantly—Luciano. But the other man— “Is it just me, or does the other person look Russian?” Iason whispered, narrowing his eyes. My stomach twisted at the realization. The Bratva had no love for the Italians—hell, they hated them as much as we did. So why the fuck was a Russian meeting with that slimy bastard.

‘Ever the dramatic,’ Tony thought sarcastically. He reached for the silver spoon and knife— Then deliberately dropping the knife. TING The sound echoed like a gunshot in a quiet cathedral. Then, to Tony’s surprised and everyone else in the room— The Don smiled. Then total silence. Maria clutched her dress. Franco shifted nervously. “And who is the real mafia here?” the Don said in his thick, gravelly Italian accent. Like the kind that you only heard in villainous films. Tony shrugged. “You taught me not to bow to anyone, old man.” he said coolly, he was now slowly reaching for a bottle of wine

"I don’t care." His footsteps approached. I rose and turned sharply. "Don’t touch him again," I said, voice deadly quiet. "I won’t," he replied, watching me with something that almost looked like curiosity. "Unless you make me." "You already have me. What more do you want?" "I want you obedient. Not weeping at my feet over a man who made things worse." "He's my brother." "And I'm the man keeping him alive." Luciano stepped closer. "And don’t forget it."

“Do not be reckless. Call me if anything feels or is off.” No response. Maybe I deserved it. “Donna testarda e sanguinaria” I felt it deep in my gut—an ache that had nothing to do with the stitches in my side or the painkillers I refused to take. “Something is wrong.” I called Duchessa. “Where is she?” “That's no way to talk to me Lupo. Your Amante is fine.” Letting out a breath I held. “Bene. Il bravo scrittore la teneva d'occhio, vero?”

"And you have one second to explain why I shouldn't treat this as an act of total war against the Omerta Council." Adriano's voice, when it filtered through the high-end speakers, was immediately disorienting. It wasn't the expected snarl of a rival; it was calm, almost philosophical, carrying a noticeable, exaggerated sigh. "Ah, fratello," Adriano purred, using the infuriating, familiar term. "Always so quick to violence. Always so lacking in poetry. I called you because I heard you were upset. Did you truly think I, the Don of Italy, would stoop to such a pedestrian act as stealing leverage? Che sciocchezza!"