Denis Conan Doyle Novels & Stories

✿ CHAPTER 12 ✿ LEONARD'S POV "Bro…I've been on my knees for hours," My close friend Daniel begged me to accompany him to the shopping mall to buy a present for his wife. "You call barely 20 minutes, hours?" I rubbed my temples "Bro, it's just a present for my wife, I just need someone to go with me, I won't take too much of your time, okay?" I sighed. "Fine, I might even take the opportunity to inspect the mall"

However, he had never seen this person nor heard his father mention anything. “Greetings, I’m Dawn Daniels. I heard that you were an acquaintance of my father?” The elderly gentleman was silent for the longest time. Genetics did not lie. Dawn was a splitting image of his father in his youth except for his hair colour. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the mysterious gentleman smiled and motioned for Dawn to take a seat. “It was a relief to hear that you were still around. I couldn’t attend old Richard’s funeral because I was abroad, and the news reached me too late.”

His pulse was still thrumming from the brief exchange, but something was clear now; this wasn’t some weakling or messenger sent to grovel. This was someone dangerous. Someone who knew how to fight. Derek took a step closer, nodding toward the bodies of the fallen rogues littering the ground. “Well,” Derek drawled, smirking. “You made quite a mess.” Conan didn’t move. “Who are you?” Derek tilted his head, amused. “Depends who’s asking.” “Someone who doesn’t like games.” Conan shot back Derek chuckled, taking another step forward. “Then you won’t like this conversation.” He nodded toward the fallen rogue wolves.

To repay Victor for saving my life, I gave up a brilliant career as one of America's finest neurosurgeons and willingly became his trophy wife. For seven years, Victor lavished money on me and treated me with bone-deep tenderness. Yet his obsessive rules suffocated me. Every other week, I had to subject my scalp to agonizing bleach treatments to keep my hair icy platinum. I had to bathe in a discontinued Venetian white iris perfume. And I had to wear a fake beauty mark at the corner of my right eye. I once mistook it all for the obsessive devotion of a Mafia Don. Then, on the eve of our wedding of the century, I found a wall covered with portraits of another woman. The measurements of my gow

Questioning him with intriguing feeling, curious about what has happened to him and am I just worrying over nothing? “I’m sorry, Lily. I just do have a lot of works and stuffs to do,” Doom apologized. I crossed my arms. “You won’t explain what happened to you? I was worried! Or I was just worried for nothing?” “You've already know that I am no human and I do a lot of inhumane work.” He looked away. I tried to compose myself. Why am I losing my cool over such a thing? Come on, Lily! Keep it up!

Stories have been written in tabloids that Conan was one of the designers of the car which Alister Gallagher gifted his best friend, Reynold Yates, and that his sole purpose was to eliminate the Gallaghers. Since Vee chose to be quiet about the rumors, Lenka and Guy figured that her thoughts have been on the bad rumors. She admitted that the idea crossed her mind, especially when Conan suddenly disappeared after revealing that Jordan would take care of the family business, and not him. "Why would the old Gallagher choose his youngest son to take over?" She asked.

Low. Bastardly melodious. Unmistakably Irish. I step into the dim light, and there he is. Cormac Donnelly. The Irish Consigliere. He’s taller than I expected. Maybe six two. With broad shoulders filling out a dark gray coat that looks more suited for a winter funeral than a meeting in the stinky sewers.

"Who is it?" Lila's voice cracked. "I only saw him once, years ago. Alessio had a photo in his study, someone he said Dante needed to forget. I asked who he was, and Alessio laughed. He said, 'The man who knew too much.'" Dante stepped past me and looked down into the grave. His entire body went rigid. For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then he exhaled, and the sound was jagged, painful. "His name was Vincent Hale. He was the medical examiner who performed my wife's autopsy. The one who signed her death certificate."

Darius waved for her to move closer to him seated behind the dark brown and white mahogany desk. “You called for me sir.” Alina said, her tone clipped and formal. She always talked formally to Darius, despite his instructions that she was a special exception. Alina was his goddaughter and he wanted her to treat him more like a father than a boss, which she just couldn’t bring herself to. Darius Andersen was Florida's Mafia Don. The biggest and most feared in America. “I see you've taken care of the senator.” Darius nods towards her dirty self. Not like he particularly cared about appearance. The only thing he cares enough about is that the job gets done. Something Karl couldn't do, apparentl

This time Alexander curiosity was finally piqued as he raised his eyebrows and both of them gave Ash questioning looks. "So what's the full note all about, Ash?" "First off, a Donna is a title. The Donna bears a high rank in the Balck Wolf Clan world. Or maybe, just as what you said. This Donna might be the mole in the Clan. And, the note doesn't end there." Ash grabbed a piece of paper from his pocket and put it on the table. It was a piece of note where the handwriting was too similar. As if it was a part of the mysterious note.