Daughter In Italian Novels & Stories

"What are we going to call her?" I stare at my daughter, listing all the names I wrote down if she was a girl. "This one. Henry says. " She let out a little moan when you said that one. “Isadora?" " Yes, Isadora." I smile. "Then you will be Isadora Zattani, the most loved and desired girl on this planet."

She was the ally I had been searching for. So, under the guise of an anonymous fan, I penned her a letter, baiting her with the story of 'the mother who wouldn't spare her daughter $80 for living expenses.'

"That's my daddy's shirt." She says pointing at it with a confused look. "Stasia?" Nicholas' voice says knocking me out of my trance. Stasia hugs onto him, the daughter. Damn. "Puoi salire, per favore? Sarò da te tra un minuto." (Can you go up please? I'll be with you in a minute.) She lets go of him and looks back at me smiling before walking away. "You have a daughter." I say stating the obvious. "I wasn't planning on you two meeting."

“But again, he asked me to protect his daughter. Said her name was Donatella. That it was rare. That he wanted her to live a life untouched by our world. I thought he died after that. “But the child… that baby girl… was you. I brought you home. Anastasia loved you the moment she saw you. I made you a De Luca. Swore to protect you. To make sure you didn’t end up like your parents.” The phone trembled in her hand. “So… I’m not even your daughter.” “You’re my daughter in every way that matters,” Ivan said firmly. “But by blood… yes, you are Donatella Lombardi. And now that he’s back, it means danger is closer than ever. Please, Dona, tell Mikhail what I’ve told you. I love you.” Before she coul

"Dante, are you there?" "Yes father, why are you calling so..." "Dante, don't you think that the first thing you are supposed to do is greet not behave insolently, it's called courtesy." "Come on Father, I am very busy, just tell me what you want." "Good, I am sending you a girl." "Father!" "Yes, she is a business associate daughter, I want her to join the company..." "It's Sunday not..." "Shut up, her name is Scarlett, and she is a friend's daughter, you should be nice to her not abandon her like you did Alicia, and for the record, you shouldn't say anything stupid."

At my bonding ceremony with Liam Jones, the pack witch appeared and dropped a bombshell—my long-lost sister, Victoria, was still alive. She could bring Victoria back, but there was a catch. She turned to my parents and asked: “Are you willing to trade Margret Davis for Victoria Davis? The two will swap bodies.” My parents' faces lit up with excitement. They didn't hesitate for a second. Yes. They said the only reason they had me was because Victoria had vanished, and their mind-link with her had gone silent. I'd spent twenty years living a life that was never mine, while my sister suffered for over a decade. This was what I owed her. Then the witch turned to Liam. Victoria had gone missing b

He announced. “I have the situation under control, I'll bring her back safely. Now, get the fuck out of my house.” Vladimir's eyes finally landed on me, his eyes lingering a little too long on my son before turning to Vincenzo. “I guess she's the stupid puttana you've been neglecting your duties for. She's made you weak, mio figlio.” (puttana: whore.) (mio figlio: my son.) He said, with his thick Italian accent. I flinched at his harsh tone and wished she could run away from his heated stare.

He hasn't let it go for what feels like hours and I'm sure it's already black and blue. He doesn't answer me. Hell, he doesn't even look at me. "Do you know who I am?" I ask him in Spanish, thinking maybe he doesn't speak or understands English. He glances down at me, eyes cold and hard, then shifts his gaze to the door again. "I'm Portia Esmeralda. The daughter of the most dreaded crime Lord in all of Italy. I'm also Callahan Scarfoni's wife. His fucking wife. And when he finds out what you're doing to me, he'll kill you!"

She moved further into the room, her voice cool and measured, the kind of cold that burned more than fire. “So it’s true,” she murmured. “Our daughter’s name is now spoken in the same breath as Giovanni’s son.” Her lips curled into a bitter line. “How proud you must be, Salvatore. Your little dove, soft and sheltered, fluttering straight into the wolf’s den.” Salvatore turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Alessandra….”

The lady said. Davina scoffed, "I won't die easily." Oops, they're not on good terms. She hissed and looked around, "Where's Zavi?." "He's speaking with Don Matteo, oh, meet Zavi's date, Vanora Campbell." There was silence. Her haunting blue ears dug into mine. She was looking at me with contempt, it was as if I had taken something precious from her. "La puttana non è Italiana( The bitch is not Italian.)" She said in Italy.