Don In Italian Novels & Stories

"Yes. Velina is so good. This household doesn’t deserve her." Nero’s gaze burns a hole into the side of my face so I know my plan is right on track. Quickly picking up the serving silver spoon, I pile a generous portion of the braised meat and creamy risotto onto Adriano’s plate, making sure he gets the tenderest cut. Adriano hesitantly lifts his fork, to take a small bite. "I’m really new to Italian delicacies..." He chews, and his eyebrows lift. "Oh. Wow, this is wonderful." He goes in for a second mouthful with enthusiasm this time.

She didn’t know what was worse, crying over it thanks to the pregnancy hormones that were driving her insane, or having the Italian look at her like a crying little girl. “So what? What are we waiting to go? Look I’ve already cancelled my meeting for you. The least you can do is let me give you a ride.” “Don’t mess with my head sir,” Melody couldn’t remember what the hell the driver/assistant had called him when he arrived. A name like díaneto or ganetto. The little bell on the door rang and Doyle walked in through it. “Melody, what the hell is...?” Doyle let the question hang in the air as his gaze fell on the Italian, Melody watched as his expression changed from confusion and concern to p

Pov. Alessandro When I saw her enter the office, she looked so delicate, just like a flower. I immediately realized that she recognized me, she turned pale from fright upon learning my identity. I turned to my friend. "Lorenzo, can you leave us alone?" "Sure." She straightened up and regained her composure. "Tell me, Mr. Lombardi, what can I support you with?" "Claudia, you can call me Alessandro, it's not necessary so much formality."

I said in my best gravelly Italian accent, "you are a dishonor to this family." "Sofia, what the hell…” he started to say, but I cut him off. "I am Don Mustachio," I said, pacing in a circle. "You think you can storm into Italia, insult the family business, and yell at your poor innocent fiancée? For shame, Don DeLuca. For shame." Adrian rubbed a hand down his face, already fighting a smile as he said, "Don Mustachio? Let me guess, Elena put you up to this?"

he angrily shouted. Michele bit his lip as he felt the sharp pain on his face. "Now be a good boy and listen to me carefully. I'm going to start making your father and mother's lives so miserable, that will wish they die instantly. And next, we're going to play with your "donnina," Clarissa..." the old man starts threatening them, and "donnina" means "pretty little woman" in Italian. "Try me you old little clown!" Michele curses under his breath.

] I am rudely awakened by my personal bodyguard, Luigi, shaking my shoulder so hard I almost fall out of bed. 'Vaffanculo, Luigi, ho appena chiuso gli occhi.' [Fuck off, Luigi, I've only just closed my eyes.] ''Mi dispiace, capo, ma si tratta del Grand Don.' Non vorrai mica metterti nei guai prima della grande festa di questo fine settimana.' [Sorry, Boss, but it's the Grand Don. You don't want to get in trouble before the big celebration this weekend.]

Speaking perfect Italian Conner stood and walked cockily down to stand on the other side of the dance floor followed by Callum, ‘Dove si trova’ [Where is she?] Callum asked equally as fluently as his twin, ‘Non vogliamo problemi, basta restituircela e lasceremo il paese. Lei è di nostra proprietà’ [We don’t want trouble, just give her back to us and we’ll leave the country. She is our property]

“I may not speak Italian, but I know good and damn well what ‘bella donna’ means. Get your smooth-talking lips off my woman.” Laughing, the restaurateur clasped her hand once more in both of his, then he patted Duke on the shoulder again. “All is lost, mio amico, for in love, you cannot compete against an Italian.” “We’ll just see what your wife has to say about that, shall we?” Duke laughed.

‘Ever the dramatic,’ Tony thought sarcastically. He reached for the silver spoon and knife— Then deliberately dropping the knife. TING The sound echoed like a gunshot in a quiet cathedral. Then, to Tony’s surprised and everyone else in the room— The Don smiled. Then total silence. Maria clutched her dress. Franco shifted nervously. “And who is the real mafia here?” the Don said in his thick, gravelly Italian accent. Like the kind that you only heard in villainous films. Tony shrugged. “You taught me not to bow to anyone, old man.” he said coolly, he was now slowly reaching for a bottle of wine

“That’s helpful. Did you overhear them say anything specific? Anything that stood out?” Sylvania hesitated. “Yes,” she said quietly. “One of them said something like… ‘The Don will be pleased.’ It sounded important, like whoever this ‘Don’ is, they were working for him.” Kamala went silent on the other end of the line, her mind racing. She knew the name “The Don.” It wasn’t just a name; it was a title; a shadowy figure tied to organized crime, someone who operated in secret and held power over a dangerous network. This wasn’t just a random robbery; this was the Mafia.