Clyde Donovan Novels & Stories

“ Come in , son ! “ said mr Donovan , hearing the knock on the door . “ …..It’s good to see you are healthy father . “ said mr Karlo . “ I wish I could be happy to see you as well . “ said Mr Donovan with an annoyed expression . From the look in mr Donovan , he understood that his father had already known what he was doing . “ Father , I think that there is no need for you to beat around the bush . You can be honest with your words . “ said mr Karlo with an honest tone . “ ………I disapprove of what you are doing . Quit it immediately before I step in . “ said mr Donovan .

I've always been doing my best, but he never stops with it. “I should leave now; I have an important place to be. Is there anything you'd like me to know?” I shook my head in the negative, then I realised he couldn't hear a nod. "No," I told him. "Good," his voice trailed off as his eyes traveled into the distance “Oh my days, if it isn't Richard Donovan. Two great hockey players back in their Alma high.” Richard Donovan wasn't in the least pleased to see my dad. “Adrian, would you like to hear a little story of our past?"

All his life he'd worked hard for it and now he had a stable stand as the don of one of the world's most famous Russian Mafia. Gianna Moira Donovan is unlucky when it comes to love. She vows to never throw herself into the said pond of heartbreak after severe fallout with her childhood sweetheart. But a clash between a Mafia don and a Donovan in unfavorable conditions spirals despise and loss of hope to something else. Something agreeable? Something horrible?

In his report, Jerry didn’t say much about that. Donovan slipped into his car and made his way back home. All he could think about in that moment was hugging Catherine. He couldn’t wait to get home. Donovan pulled over to side of the road. As much as he hate to admit it, another person he would have loved to share this victory with was He was really bothered. The phone line trilled for a moment before Kenny finally answered. His voice was shaky. It has been a long time since Donovan had heard him sound so broken.

Lu asked. "Yea," I breathe out. "Damn sis you did good," Cello says looking at the body on the ground. "Good to see you too Cello, I also missed you and Yes your niece or nephew is okay thanks for asking," I say sarcastically. He laughs and comes over and helps me off the ground then kisses my forehead. "So how's everything up," I say. "Good we managed to take em down and captured The Irish wife," Toni says. "Good that bitch deserves to die," I say.

"You should have done what they told you. You should have left the country. You should have just died." "Some used-up whore is going to be the Donna? It's a joke." The old Don frowned and signaled for someone to close the door on her. I trimmed a cigar for him and handed it over. "I hear you like Cohibas." He took it. Lit it. The red tip lit up his face in flickers. After a while: "I underestimated you. That was my mistake. Did you come back to take your revenge?" He looked up. Smiled. "Don't let money blind you. This estate is built on bones. Hundreds of them."

"He probably saw how Dr. Rivers is famous now and wants money." "Could that body donor really be Julian Rivers?" "Even if he's dead, he deserved it. What did he expect for refusing to save his own mother? Karma, that's what." But I wasn't unwilling to donate bone marrow to Mom. I simply wasn't qualified to. If I could have, I would have traded my own life for her health. But I couldn't even save myself. Listening to the murmurs below, Dad's expression shifted. He reached out as if to touch my body, but Tara suddenly interrupted his movement.

I watched his ruin not with glee, but with the cold focus of a pathologist observing a terminal disease run its course. The storm of rage had passed. It left behind a stagnant, toxic silence. That silence seemed to seep through the surveillance feeds. It filled the safe house. It chilled my bones. The cameras we had strategically placed in his villa—a final, invasive layer of my revenge—showed a ghost now. A ghost haunting the ruins of his own life. He was no longer the impeccably dressed Don. He was a hollowed-out man in a rumpled suit. The same one he'd worn for three days. He paced the vast, empty rooms. The echoes of his own footsteps were his only company.