Bound By The Italian Don Novels & Stories

“And yet it escaped your mind. The La Camorra never breeds men of shallow and forgetful minds. Or perhaps—“ he let the pause stretch, a blade of silence “—you think you’re above us?” Gasps and laughter ripped through the tables. I saw Victor glance toward me, his smirk widening. He was enjoying this. Don Vittorio turned then, walking to Don Francesco’s table. “And you say nothing, Don Francesco? Perhaps you stay silent because you’re so desperate to make Alessandro your daughter’s husband that you’ll excuse his incompetence?” Don Francesco’s expression darkened. “Enough—“ he began. But Vittorio’s look cut him down instantly. The kind of glare that reminded everyone who held the order code of

The sound cracked like a gunshot. "E chi è questo cane americano?" Don Viti barked in rapid, harsh Sicilian. "Un teppista arricchito che puzza di sangue a buon mercato. Non sei degno di stare vicino a mia nipote." And who is this American dog? A jumped-up thug smelling of cheap blood. You are not worthy to stand near my granddaughter. Noah understood every word. He held his ground. His jaw locked. He stepped forward, putting himself between me and the old Don.

“Don’t mistake sparks for surrender. I didn’t choose this.” “Neither did I.” He leaned in with a low voice. “But here we are, bound by blood and money. Might as well enjoy the fireworks.” “I would rather set your expensive car ablaze.” He chuckled. “Then I’ll make sure the wine is vintage and the flames are beautiful.” This asshole won't back down. Let's see, Mr. Mafia Lord, Don, or whatever. Alessandro Montrego, the infamous Mafia Don from Italy, with cheekbones sharp enough to slice through my last nerve. Not sure how many people he killed in a day, but I’m sure he’s not a nice guy. Well, all criminals don't deserve the word ‘nice.’

He hung up without another word, dismissing the weight of an international offer like it was nothing. His arms circled my waist before I could move further, pulling me back against the iron wall of his chest. His lips brushed the curve of my neck, voice low and dangerous. “Seems like Italy is about to become the axis the world spins on.” I tilted my head, smiling faintly at our reflection in the mirror. “That’s why you need to tighten your grip, amore. Every Don, every boss, every stray soldier, they move only when you allow it. Italy must bend to you, not the other way around.”

Marriage with him was like selling myself to the devil. Dante Romano, the don of La corona silenziosa—the silent crown. There were rumors he had killed his entire family just to get the Don position. Personally, it didn’t make sense for a fourteen-year-old kid to kill his entire family for a position. But rumors are rumors, which have slight truths in them at the very least. Two truths, one lie. I looked at him and at the paper. “I am never getting married to you.” “You say it like you have a choice or something?”

Dante said quietly, "and I'll remove your tongue." Marco's smile didn't waver. "Possessive. I admire that. But she's my brother's daughter. My blood. You can't change that with threats, Don Moretti." Valentina stepped between us, her voice sharp as broken glass. "Enough. Both of you. Essa didn't come here to be fought over like territory."

He saw a monster who had completely lost his mind—a Don who would burn all of Italy to ashes just to feed his dark obsession. With shaking, bloody fingers, Bernardo picked up the pen and signed his name at the bottom of the page. I snatched the paper back, sliding it into my jacket pocket, before turning to my captain. “Lock Bernardo in the basement vault,” I ordered coldly. “Send an immediate broadcast to every syndicate family from Milan to Sicily. The Ricaforte and Moretti alliance is finished. As of tonight, there is only one Don of the North and the South.”

“He was a Romano. That is all you need to know. Age doesn’t matter. Innocence doesn’t matter. Our world doesn’t allow for hesitation. Do you understand?” “I understand,” Dante said through his teeth. “No. You don’t.” Vittorio’s voice cut like glass. “When you are Don, men will look to you for strength. If you pause, they will question you. If you question yourself, you are already dead. A Don does not hesitate.” Dante’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “There is a difference between a soldier and a child.”

“Donato who? Wait... is it a man or a woman?” Jesse looked away, staring at the carpet grass. “Donato Del Sindacato.” A loud burst of laughter erupted from Diego. He grabbed Jesse’s shoulder for support, shaking his head. “Donato Del Sindacato? The mafia Don? Oh gosh you are a clown. Good one.” Jesse gave a single, stiff nod. His face held a seriousness Diego hasn't seen in a while. Diego’s laughter died instantly. He stared at Jesse, trying to comprehend how his best friend had somehow ended up legally bound to no one else but Donato.

He brutally yanked his silk tie loose, throwing himself onto the leather sofa, his eyes cutting like glass as he stared at me. "And where exactly do you think you’re going? To your little doctor friend Susan’s apartment? Or back to that desolate, unheated village in the mountains of southern Italy?" "Aria, you are twenty-seven years old." His voice lowered into a dangerous, condescending drawl. “Stop playing the naive little girl who runs away the moment things don't go her way.” “Do you honestly believe that if you hide in some rat-hole for a few days, the Don of the Cacchini family will crawl on his knees to beg you back?"