Dante Russo Novels & Stories

“You called?” “You fucking bastard,” Dante, the D’Angelo Alpha, the man who not only married a thief, but learned to accept the fact that she was nothing but a traitor who worked for his father. I didn’t even understand how he managed to look at her after she had worked as a whore for his father, but then again, I doubted that he cared considering the experience that she had. “Nice hearing from you, Dante…” “What is the meaning of this, Alessio?” He asked, stopping me.

The man barely looked up from his drink. “You look like someone who knows things,” I said. The man smirked, lifting his glass. “I know many things, amigo.” I smiled. “Good. Then you know what happens when you lie to me.” His smirk faltered slightly, eyes flicking to Matteo, then back to me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I leaned in. “Dante Russo. His men. Where the fuck are they?” He hesitated. “Never heard of them.”

Dante’s POV Dante slumped at a grimy bar counter, whiskey’s sting barely dulling his nerves. His burner buzzed: Russo wants $2M by tomorrow, or your estate’s gone. He gripped the glass, holding tight. His inheritance—a $200M estate, locked in court—was slipping, with creditors and Russo circling. Debts, $10M and climbing, choked him. Matteo’s betrayal, splitting after Luca’s fall, left him with a few loyal men and no power. He cursed, picturing Alessandro Moretti, who’d taken Livia and his edge.

Another huff with a roll of his eyes and he squatted down in front of me, setting the other bottle down and twisting the top from the Powerade. “Drink this, or I’ll make you drink it.” I stared at the bottle, unable to respond. For some reason I couldn’t shake it off. I’d been stupid to think that my fate was so far from Elio’s. Ella Delgado was a nobody who wouldn’t be missed if she were killed or sold as a sex slave. Fire burned my skin, and I drew in a hissing breath of surprise. Domenico’s hand rested on my neck, thumb moving across my jaw, tilting my head back.

“YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO, YOU TRUNK OF A MAN!” A low, sinister chuckle leaves his lips at my lame insult, his wide shoulders shaking slowly at the motion. “My name is Santino Ricca.”

Dante muttered, his brow furrowing as he scanned it. “Vince Ruger,” he read aloud. “The Republic of Russia. Age thirty-three.” “Vince Ruger?” I asked. “His real name is actually Vince? That’s crazy.” Dante looked up, stunned. “Oh, fuckk.” “What?” Rocco and I asked in unison. “I know who this is.” “Who?” He swallowed, his eyes meeting ours. “He’s Prince Vince Ruger.” I blinked. “Please, Dante. We already know his name,” I started, then my brain suddenly clicked.

I joined them not too long after and grabbed a little martini of my own. "Are you Miss Mancini?" A man asked as he approached me. His attire was business casual; dark-wash jeans, and a simple white button-up. His brown hair was slicked back, and his beard kept and styled. "I am. I recognize your voice… Are you Dante DeMarco?" "I am!" He smiled. "I'm glad you remembered. I've been looking forward to meeting you. Sir Antonio Russo Sr. has told me a lot about you, you know."

He doesn't trust his mother either. “I see you brought my son with you,” Mrs. Russo says, waltzing into the room. Today she's wearing a shade of green that makes me think of avocados. The dress is pretty enough, but seems like a style for an old woman. “Mother.” Dante says the greeting without any warmth in his voice. He doesn't move to kiss her. She frowns a little but then shrugs his lack of affection off. “I hope you don't mind, but I invited a guest as well.”

His jaw tightened until the muscles ached, rage and fear colliding within him. “Find her. Now.” His tone was a growl, every syllable carrying the weight of imminent violence. It was then that his phone buzzed. Unknown number. He answered. “Dante Russo,” the voice drawled, smooth and venomous. “I see your precious little artist has a habit of wandering where she shouldn’t. Tsk, tsk. She’s far too fragile to be left alone.” Dante froze, the knuckles of his free hand whitening as they clenched into a fist.

“The brothers who spied for you? Who put their lives on the line for you? Who helped you?” “Joemar has done no such thing. Dante has added fuel to the fire against me, and I do not also doubt that he was fanning the flames to begin with.” “You don’t know that,” I say softly. “I do not need to. It’s clear to me that their loyalty as Russo Family is more important to them. And why wouldn’t it be? I am Alessandro de Rossi. I do not owe allegiance to the Russo Family.” The words feel like they’re shots in my heart.