Don Quijote Novels & Stories

Riki poked me back. "Actually, the relevant quote is: 'I am Juan Sánchez Villalobos Ramírez, Chief metallurgist to King Charles V of Spain. And I'm at your service'," Vincent regaled us with his movie trivia. "He later reveals that he was born Tak-ne in Egypt in the 9th century BCE. Also, his Spanish name makes no sense - he has one too many surnames." "Agent Loire, I am beginning to find intelligent men to be attractive," Charlotte said.

Suddenly, the crowd parted, making way for someone who walked in as casually as if he were strolling through a fivestar hotel lobby rather than a trashed, rundown apartment. The man wore a dark gray threepiece suit that looked immensely expensive, even in the dim light of the flashlights. His leather shoes gleamed as he stepped over the door debris without hesitation. His face was sharp, with a strong jaw and eyes as black as soot that radiated absolute dominance. Matteo De Luca. Noah swallowed, his throat as dry as a desert. He recognized that face from the thousands of articles and files he had just hacked. The Don himself had come to catch him.

Didn't look at him with fear or disgust. Instead, she squeezed his hand tighter. "I know you've killed people. I know what you're capable of. But I also just watched you hold a baby with the kind of tenderness most people don't have in them. Those two things can exist in the same person, Dante." "They shouldn't." "But they do. In you." Isabella's brown eyes searched his face. "You're not one-dimensional. You're not just the ruthless Don or just the man who pays his employee's medical bills. You're both. You're complicated."

The man on the chair immediately starts to shake and I bit back my disgust when I notice he wets himself. Enzo sighs, shaking his head. “That’s the fourth time in thirty minutes.” The man in question sobs, although it is muffled because of the gag in his mouth. “What have you gotten so far?” “A new Monterro is in charge of our dealings. It’s the name I am looking for.” I take in the man, noting Enzo had already removed five of his fingers and from the way his legs were bent, Enzo had broken his knees too. “He is afraid of you. When I mentioned your name, he wet himself. And he did so again when you walked in.”

His suit was torn to shreds. But I'd recognize that face anywhere. Santino Falcone. "He's demanding to see you," a guard reported. "Get out of the car." My guards rushed forward and pinned Santino to the ground. He didn't fight back, just struggled weakly, trying to get up. I stepped out of the car and looked down at the man who was once a king. His left leg had clearly been broken and never set properly; he walked with a severe limp. His eyes were vacant, his pupils dilated. He was high.

“I needed the consigliere’s signature on some documents and caught her coming out that door with messy hair and her dress unzipped.” Juliana’s complexion shifted from white to red, then to ashen. Her lips parted, but words failed her. Several capos exchanged whispers in the corner. Carlo Tutti was the consigliere, a man held in high esteem. His private suite was accessible only to the Don. Juliana clenched her wine glass, her knuckles white. “You’re mistaken.” “Maybe.” I speared a piece of steak and chewed slowly. “My memory is hazy, but you’re always throwing yourself at men. I’m sure you won’t mind a little gossip.”

"A $4 million debt stole her freedom One reckless slap changed her life forever." Valentina Russo refused to bow before the most feared man in the underworld—Don Damiano Moretti. Instead of killing her, he made her an offer she couldn’t escape: become his wife… or watch her family burn. Trapped in a gilded prison, Valentina vows to hate the ruthless mafia king who stole her freedom. But Damiano isn’t after obedience he wants her heart, her fire, and her surrender. As deadly enemies close in and buried secrets threaten to destroy them, passion ignites into obsession. In a world ruled by blood, power, and betrayal, can the Don’s captive become the only queen capable of conquering the b

“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.

“Don Marino, it was Dante’s request to be left alone…” “A request you should have ignored!” he barked. The room grew quiet. “You left my son alone to be killed by a nobody—a worthless death—killed by an old man on the streets of Sicily!” he yelled. “A nobody killed my son. He was going to be Don…” He chuckled dryly, hands shaking, trying to control his anger but failing at it. Everyone watched the Don. He was always a symbol of control and composure—now not so much. They watched as he unraveled before them. He still hadn’t shed a tear.

That scar… god that intriguing scar that stretched from the top of his left lip down to his jaw only added to his charm in a strange unsettling way. The man sitting opposite him was leaner with a black fade haircut, ink creeping up his neck and knuckles. Kenji Sato — the Japanese yakuza leader that based in the heart of the country —Tokyo city. Alina recognized the sly man instantly. “Who's that with the Don?” Mira whispered to Alina. “Quiet.” She murmured back. Antonio's smooth voice spoke out. “What makes you think this Alliance you're proposing will benefit me?”