Bound By The Italian Don Novels & Stories

“Don’t do anything. These old bastards are all bark tonight.” “And tomorrow?” He whispered back. I watched him from the corner of my eyes as Giovanni tightened his grip on his gun. Jaw clenched tightly. “Tomorrow... We bite first.” One of the elders stepped forward, clearing his throat with that ceremonial smugness only power-hungry relics could muster. “As the Don, you are now bound to the blood oath of the Marino legacy. You swear to protect the city, the family, and the rules written in flesh, just like the past Don did.”

“Say her name again with that tone, and I’ll break your jaw.” Luca leaned back, unfazed. “Ah. There it is. The great Don, rattled by the mention of a woman.” He tilted his head, studying Dante like a vulture circling a wound. “Tell me, brother—do you even know if she’s loyal? Or are you too blinded by the fire between her lips?”

I asked. “Exclusive.” His smile turned sharp. “But here’s the catch—they’re talking to a group in L.A. If you want this, you have to move fast. Cut off everyone else. Bleed them out.” “What’s in it for you?” “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He lounged back in the chair, too casual. A lie—I knew it. Caden was the most calculated man I knew. But I didn’t push. “What, can’t I help my one and only friend?” he said, putting his hand to his chest. “Well, I have to go. I’ll text you the details… or maybe I’ll just send them through your secretary.” He winked as he stood up and left.

It was strong—far stronger than she had ever imagined. Through her blurred vision, she saw Glen speaking on the phone. Then two men appeared. “You can have her,” Glen said flatly. One of them hesitated. “Sir… is she underage?” “She’s not. Just shut up,” Glen snapped. They surrounded Akiko. Her body felt unbearably heavy, unresponsive. Glen’s tie—carelessly stripped from his own neck—was used to bind her trembling wrists, the silk biting into her skin. Her eyes were empty as unfamiliar hands roamed over her.

I had always known he would serve the family after my father since he had been serving since my grandfather's rule and his father befor him. “Roman,” Sergei said quietly, pushing a file toward me. “These are the immediate matters. The Turkish shipment needs confirmation. The Italians request a meeting for territory discussion. And…” His voice faltered as he picked up another folder, “…your father’s pending accounts must be—” “Stop.”

The force around him pressed down heavily. “Luca, she is not someone you have the right to 'teach.' Say sorry. Now.” Since childhood, Luca had been trained as the next heir. He was arrogant and spoiled; he’d never been humiliated like this. He looked at his uncle with confusion, unable to understand why the Don was standing on my side. Vincenzo was the ruling Don of the Moretti Family. The entire underworld bowed to him. Luca had no choice but to swallow his pride. He clenched his teeth and gave me a short, forced apology, his eyes showing hatred as he watched us leave.

Their attitude mirrored their Don's. I curled inward as blood loss and agony stripped my consciousness away, layer by layer. Everyone who rushed in clustered around Monica. Someone handed her medication, another treated her wounds, yet no one spared me a second glance. Through the haze, startled voices drifted to my ears. "Why is there so much blood under Madam Vitale? Is something wrong?" "What could be wrong? She's probably trying to get the Don's attention again." "Whatever. Go tell the Don so she can stop putting on this show."

He raised his glass and cheered towards me before finishing it off. "How dare she challenge the don like that." I heard a hiss a couple of seats over. "She must have a death wish." Another one said, "The don has killed people for less." I paled at their words, not believing what I heard. "The don?" I whispered a little too loud because I drew eyes from all over the table. Mr. Morelli cleared his throat, "Isabella, I'm not sure if you were introduced to Dante yet." He tried to salvage the situation, "Dante Romano is the Don of the Italian mafia."

He looked at me tenderly. "Now you have grown up. You are my most perfect creation. I will not allow anyone to defile you, not even myself." My heart was already riddled with holes from his words, but I stubbornly pressed on. "Fiorenzo, you are the Don of a mafia family. Your hands are stained with blood. You are not that sacred. "But even if you were God, tonight I would drag you down into sin with me." "This is the last time I will indulge you." He sighed.

Luca followed the Italian Don’s gaze, his heart sinking as he saw the doctor and Rosa walking together, their hands firmly clasped. Sensing the mounting stress radiating from Luciano’s body, Luca—who was following his every step—quickly closed the gap. He moved in close to the Don’s shoulder, a silent shadow ready to intervene before the Mafia King did something out of character in the eyes of the public.