Chef Luca Corleone Novels & Stories

The air in New York had never felt so clean. Luca’s funeral was grand. For the sake of the family’s reputation, it had to be. To the outside world, he died a heroic sacrifice by protecting family interests in a violent clash with a rival organization. This was so that the Corleone name remained untarnished, and Luca was given the last shred of dignity he would ever receive.

The chandeliers overhead cast a warm glow, making the gold and marble décor shine even more. A man approached us almost immediately. "Lorenzo," Theo greeted, his tone calm but firm. Lorenzo De Luca was a well-known mafia leader, powerful in his own right, but everyone knew Theo was above them all. Lorenzo’s dark eyes flicked between us before he gave a smirk. "Theo," he said, shaking his hand. "Glad you could make it." His gaze shifted to me. "And this must be your wife." Theo didn’t correct him.

"You don't need to do this. What are the maids for?" "I wanted to." I walked toward him and took his jacket. "Just sit, just this once." He hesitated, Lorenzo didn't listen to anyone. Why would he? When he owned an entire drug business that no one could run except him. I served him, pretending not to notice the tension sitting between us. He didn't touch his food at first. He only stared at the wine, then at me. "I'm not hungry," he said. I forced a laugh. "Since when does a De Luca refuse a home cooked meal?"

She didn’t believe in nerves. Not when you were raised to be a queen. She didn’t knock. She wanted to catch him as he was. The door creaked open. There he sat, Alessio De Luca, heir to the most powerful mafia family in the region, perched at the edge of the leather armchair, a tumbler of scotch in one hand, his gaze distant. The fireplace threw flickers of light across his face, catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the tired set of his mouth.

“Salvatore’s travel schedule is set in stone. I’m truly sorry. We’ll have to wait until he returns.” I was about to plead my case, to somehow explain that waiting wasn’t an option, when heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. The office door opened, and Luca Corleone stepped inside, his predatory smile immediately focusing on me. “Good evening, ladies,” he said, his dark eyes traveling over my silk dress and mask with obvious hunger. “What a delicious surprise to find such beauty here tonight.” My throat went dry. The last thing I needed was a confrontation with Luca when I was already reeling from the news about Salvatore's departure.

"LUCA CORLEONESI IS SEEN AT THE AIRPORT BIDDING THE ACTRESS MISS CANALIS GOODBYE. COULD THIS BE THE START OF A BLOOMING ROMANCE?" She quickly clicked on the article to read the rest of the story "Mr. Luca Corleonesi was sighted at the airport today where he went to see the actress Miss Sophia Canalis off. They were seen hugging and Miss Sophia had proceeded to kiss him on the cheek which he didn't decline. Mr. Luca Corleonesi was ranked number one top ten most eligible wealthy bachelors by Forbes earlier this year. Could this be the start of a blooming romance and the end of his bachelor life? Can't wait to find out."

Luca took out his phone and typed speedily on his notepad app before raising it to the face of the agent, 'So much charisma for one who wears a wire to confront me' A frown immediately formed on his face and he raised his eyes to meet Luca's dead stare. "What were you thinking? You son of a b¡tch. We know who you are Luca Antonio, we know you're the underboss of the finest white mafia group and we know you're responsible for what happened last night" Luca smiled and typed again on his device, and raised it to his face, 'You mean you corrupt heads who have flame under your asses right now. Fvck off or you might just be next!'

I said softly, making sure that Lia heard me, "I wish you and Lia all the happiness in the world, Luca." I intentionally placed heavy emphasis on the word "happiness" before I turned around, my gaze sweeping over each hypocritical face in the room before finally stopping at the man sitting at the head of the table. It was none other than Vittore Corleone, Luca's father and the Don of the Corleone Famiglia.

Then, without a word, we stepped out of the car and walked inside. Inside the Moretti Estate Adrian Moretti sat in a leather chair, swirling a glass of whiskey between his fingers. He was younger than Matteo, but just as dangerous. His dark hair was slicked back, his sharp suit pressed to perfection. When we walked in, he didn’t stand. Didn’t even look up. “Luca DeLuca,” he mused. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Luca’s voice was cool. “We need your help.”