Chef Luca Corleone Novels & Stories

Agreeing with me, she waited for me to go inside before she drove off. Heading inside, I quickly changed out of my clothes into pajamas. I got on bed and immediately pulled out my laptop and looked up Lucian DeLuca. I had completely forgotten all about him after I went to college. The online page opened, showing only a few articles about him. It turns out he’s equally a powerful mafia leader as the head of Casa Deluca. But unlike Adrian, he doesn’t attend many functions or galas. There isn’t much about him online, which I would think is strange, but I know how things worked in the mafia. There isn’t a record of what they do.

“This taste so good,” Nora commented when she tasted one of the best, scrap that, the best pasta she has ever had. “I know right, Chef Fabio is one of the best chefs in the whole of Italy and he is the one on cooking duty today,” She informed. Nora wasn’t so shocked to know that there was various chef that cooked for Luca, it was obvious that he was super rich, he owned a big hospital and own this mighty castle so yes, he was rich. Nora finished the food in silence and thanked Maria after.

he said, his voice as smooth as silk and twice as deadly, “I would have. You were sprawled out like a fucking offering.” Heat rushed to my face, and I scrambled to cover myself more thoroughly, trying to move quietly to one side of the room. I wanted to get of there but I didn't want to provoke him. A smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Apologies for my reckless behavior last night. I’m Lorenzo De Luca. Boss of the Deluca family. Lorenzo. The name rang out like a warning bell, a title whispered in fear and reverence.

Something she hadn’t dared to imagine she could have again. Luca, dressed in his crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled up, was leaning casually against the marble counter, watching her. He wasn’t even pretending to check the invoices in his hand. “You’re staring again,” she murmured without looking up from the cutting board. “I’m… observing,” he replied smoothly. “It’s called quality control.” She smirked. “Of the carrots?” “No. Of the chef,” he said, his voice dropping in that way that made her pulse skip.

How was he so sensitive to every detail? "Fine,” I responded, slipping my hands out of his strong grip. He placed his hand on the wall, right beside my head, grabbing my cheek to shove me aside. He then turned on the lights. “Fulfill my desire in return?” He asked. I nodded. "Deal. I promise,”. "I never break a promise, and I never accept a promise being broken. Don't play with me,”. I nodded again. “Again, what's your name?”. "Luca. Luca DeLuca. The Mafia Don of DeLuca Mafia Empire.".

He ran like a coward and is currently living in New York with his permission. Luca was busy in search of Emma for the last one and half years. His best friend and his trusted confidant and his underboss, Gio. He took the bullet intended for him and died. The bullet pierced Gio's heart and all he said in his last moments was for him to find and protect Emma, his stepsister. Finally, after searching every outfit out there, he stumbled upon a small piece of information, which one of the close relatives of Frank Costello revealed in his drunken stupor.

I looked up at him, surprised that he heard me and suddenly my head was blank. “What's your favorite food?” I asked simply. Luca threw his head back in laughter. “My favorite food? What would you even need that information for? Nora does all the cooking here.” I shrugged. “Well, I actually don't have one. But I do love some good chicken and shrimp Alfredo pasta, mum used to make the best ones.” He smiled, looking past me to the wall behind me. His driver or bodyguard, I don't know which exactly, came to whisper in his ear before leaving again and Luca was suddenly standing up.

His chest felt tight, like the air had been stolen from the room. “What the actual fuck just happened?” Luca muttered to himself. It was just hours ago, he let Damian fuck the living hell out of him, driving his hard cock so hard up his ass, and now he was so cold like it never even happened. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to swallow down the ache. Finally he stopped, pulling on his trousers and his top before stepping out. Soon, he was seated at one end od the dining table a fresh plate of fried egg and beacon in front of him, but still untouched.

I shifted slightly in my seat and nodded, then felt foolish since he was focused on the road rather than me. "I adore Italian cuisine. It’s a personal favorite." I noticed something burning within the dark depths of his eyes, despite their steely appearance. The silence fell again as he stared forward. “Sylvio.” He whispered my last name. “Portuguese?” I was surprised he had guessed correctly. Or had he? I had no doubt he had looked me up if he was a professional criminal—or in the mafia. “Yes.” I ran my hands up and down my thighs, smoothing them.