Clyde Donovan Novels & Stories

Jack hadn't given her much information yet, so she decided to do a little research. Evans Chris Donovanera is a former Formula 1 driver in his early twenties. He had abandoned the tracks to dedicate himself to his father, George Banks, in the technological field. In both areas he was the best, always standing out for his intelligence and visionary eye. In less than five years running DonovanEnterprise, his family's private company, he was among the pillars responsible for the New York economy. His photos at the many events he had attended showed a man closed to the world. Her escorts, always famous models or actresses, were a perfect contrast of beauty and exposure. Lora hadn't seen many pic

I knew he didn't have to explain himself, but the very least he could do was respond. His attractive stature certainly did not match his rather rude personality. I made up my decision and reverted to watching TV, but the door then opened, displaying what appeared to be another guard, although he was much younger and appeared somewhat strange at first glance. He had a boyish grin and short brown curly hair; he was around five feet six inches tall, which I still consider to be very tall; and he had a very slim build. He appeared to be someone who should be at school, and his character didn't seem to fit in with these dinosaurs here.

“You—you are Don Dante Romano?!” “In the flesh.” I knew him. I definitely knew him. Hell, any Italian person who has the barest connection with the underground world would know him. Youngest Don in history. This man became a don at age fourteen. At age fourteen I was having sleepovers, painting my nails, beheading my Barbie dolls, and doing weird makeups with my mother, while he was going around, shooting, killing, and selling hard drugs and bizarre things. Marriage with him was like selling myself to the devil.

Hope flashed across Nico's face. "Luca," he whispered, reaching out. "My boy." Luca moved back before Nico could touch him. He was five, dressed in a black suit my mother's tailor had made, but he looked steadier than most men in the room. "Do not call me that," he said. "My father died the night he denied me in front of strangers and watched them beat my mother. You are Don Varrone. Nothing more." Nico made a broken sound.

WILBET — POV Every man has his price mine thirty Million dollars And how do I intend on doing that Well it's very easy honestly See, I’m not some monster—I’m a product of my upbringing. I was raised to believe I deserved the finer things in life. Private schools. Tailored suits. Cuban cigars before I was legally allowed to smoke. I used to think wealth was a birthright, not something you worked for. But when you live like that without a plan? Without a fallback?

the host continued, “we invite our chief executive officer, Mr Ethan Donovan, to give a short address.” The applause came fast and loud. Ethan stood, soaking it in, smiling like a man who believed he had earned every clap. He glanced across the hall briefly, but not with suspicion. Not with searching eyes. The moment was too big. The attention too intoxicating. He never noticed me. Ethan cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he began. “Tonight is not just a ceremony. It is a statement. Donovancorp is stronger than ever, and with the support of this board, our partners, and our investors, we will redefine excellence.”

, a six years old girl said as she looked at her Uncle driving the car, her mum in the passenger seat. "Almost dear", Claire said to her daughter Katie who had been jumping with excitement. While the man who was driving nodded, he glanced at his niece with his black eyes and continued driving. He was the one who had bumped into Rose at the airport, Charles Donovan. Charles Donovan was the 2nd child of Bryce and Stephanie Donovan and also heir of the Donovan family. He had an elder sister Claire who had a 5yrs old daughter Katie, and who owned a fashion salon and a junior brother Carl who was about to finish college.

~~Cecilia~~ “Don Petrov.” “Don Petrov” The audience kept cheering and clapping, oblivious of the war going on in me_ not that they had any reason to give a damn of course, but… I clutched my stomach, feeling suddenly dizzy as bile rose in my stomach. Oh My God, I'm gonna puke. This is…this is so unbelievable. This is so really unbelievable, how could I? I'm supposed to be this man's property? This same man who murdered my parents?

We had worked together before, but alliances in this world were made of glass they only shined until they shattered. Then he entered. Don Alberto Moretti. Eighty years old, hair the color of smoke, a white rose on his lapel. He moved with the help of a cane, yet somehow still commanded the room more than any gun ever could. Every man stood the moment he appeared. You didn’t remain seated when the godfather entered. You didn’t breathe too loud either. He took his place at the head of the table. His voice was roughened by age, but it carried the kind of authority that could still silence a battlefield.

“I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for putting your life in danger. I never meant for any of this to touch you.” My stomach twisted. “Oh my god, you do know her.” He nodded once, it was slow and miserable. “Who is she?” “Her name is Donna Sofia.” He spoke the name like it tasted bitter. “She’s married to one of the old bosses, Don Moretti. Back when Don Antonio adopted me, Don Moretti and Antonio were partners, they were thick as thieves.” He paused, rubbed his thumb across his knuckles like the motion could erase what came next.