Doa Doa No Mi の小説・ストーリー

“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.

As the Donna of an Iyvalian mafia, I'd barely touched down in Strallard when a livestream flashed across my screen. A pack of barely-dressed girls were filming, phones in hand, voices shrill with fake outrage. "We found the bitch—she lives right here!" "That troia had the nerve to come after my best friend's man! We're dragging her out and giving her a public lesson!" They panned the camera across the neighborhood. I paused. Wasn't that my building?

“Your pregnant Mrs Smith.” The doctor said to me, my mind went blank. How was this possible? We had always been careful. When Mr Smith had sex with me, I made sure to take the pill. There had to be a mistake. “Mrs Smith, are you ok? You're pregnant.” The doctor repeated to me again. “Are you going to tell Mr Smith?”

I stop to gaze behind Damian, hoping to catch a glimpse of another man that Mr Riccaforte might be referring to, but fate seems to be playing a dangerous game with me. "D.A.M.I.A.N.?" I whimper, dropping back to my seat. No! No! No! Is this a joke?

He looked at me like the answer was obvious. “Because I have become your heart.” It knocked behind me. Three times. To the door. Cael's face suddenly panicked. He jumped. The chalk fell out of his hand. ‘Do not open’. I turned. There was a name on the door. Not Cael. Not Elio. Not Jonas. Not Silas. Slowly, the scripture appeared as if someone inspected it from the outside: NOA And from the other side his voice came. Easy. Broken. Old.

It was not until the others quieted down that he finally spoke, voice faint. "Isn't the outcome obvious? Ten million. She'll definitely come. And she'll come wearing a wedding dress."

Xavier pushes the bell again, these time they could here shuffles of footsteps coming towards the door from inside “Who is it?” A tiny voice said, it was Sofia’s ten year old daughter, she was five at the time of her mother’s passing. “Uhm, Hello” Celine says “We’re here to see Mr. Dave” The door creaks open and the young girl scans them from up to down before letting them in. “You should brace yourself” she says “He’s in the living room, recovering from a hangover” Celine wonders why a ten year old knows what a hangover is.

She leveled the vibrating tip directly at Mwajuma’s chest. "Halt, Savage," the leader commanded. The language was not Swahili. It was not German. It was the sharp, melodic tongue of Agano, yet somehow, through the strange translation magic inherent to the Door’s passage, Mwajuma understood the intent perfectly. Mwajuma did not raise her hands. She couldn't have even if she tried. Her arms hung limply at her sides, dripping with the dark, foul-smelling ichor of the monsters she had slaughtered. Her colonial skirt was a shredded, bloody mess, and the clay she had packed into her wounds was cracking and peeling away.

A reminder etched into me, linking us together. I swallowed hard. “So tell me. Who are you, really?” He hesitated, as if the question itself was dangerous. Then, slowly, he turned toward me, the fire in his eyes dimming into something more vulnerable. “My name is Damian Blackthorn. I was born before your world had names for gods. I have walked through empires that crumbled into dust, through wars written out of your history books. My existence is bound by law—observe, never interfere. And until you, I obeyed.”