Novel & Cerita Don Quixote

“You do remember her don't you? Doe eyes like yours, short, olive skinned, similar pointed nose, slender fingers like yours—” “Stop!” He yelled and crouched, holding his head repeating that motion earlier on. “Why? I probed further. “Do you remember her or not. He held his forehead tightly shaking his head like he was under a spell or something. I looked at him astonished. “Li li li.” He repeated, his eyes close. “Liliana.” “That's her name.” I said snapping my fingers. “No no!” He yelled as his eyes opened. I tried to come closer.

Marriage with him was like selling myself to the devil. Dante Romano, the don of La corona silenziosa—the silent crown. There were rumors he had killed his entire family just to get the Don position. Personally, it didn’t make sense for a fourteen-year-old kid to kill his entire family for a position. But rumors are rumors, which have slight truths in them at the very least. Two truths, one lie. I looked at him and at the paper. “I am never getting married to you.” “You say it like you have a choice or something?”

Dante: The man’s words played in my head as I opened my eyes the next morning. My vision blurred as the light hit my eyes, and the headache that formed afterwards didn’t help much, but that was the last thing that I could care to think about right now. My heartbeat was calm, and my wound bandaged, and despite just waking up, I couldn’t help but think of the topic. The man’s words played in my head regardless of whether or not I was exhausted.

"Yeah, but who or what is a Quasi... What did you just call it?" "Quasimodo... Q-u-a-s-i-m-o-d-o." I spell it out for him, when he smiles his eyes glitter. "Well what is it?" he asks. "Quasimodo is a fictional character of the novel 'The Hunchback of Notre-Dame'. I've seen its cartoon version, it's really cool," I say. "Wow, I'd love to watch it too. You cracked me up for a minute there. That was really funny, I mean, who dreams about Willy Wonka?" he shrugs.

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

Hope flashed across Nico's face. "Luca," he whispered, reaching out. "My boy." Luca moved back before Nico could touch him. He was five, dressed in a black suit my mother's tailor had made, but he looked steadier than most men in the room. "Do not call me that," he said. "My father died the night he denied me in front of strangers and watched them beat my mother. You are Don Varrone. Nothing more." Nico made a broken sound.

She looked every bit the smart and professional woman that she was. She would only occasionally touch her abdomen, her eyes gleaming with a motherly pride. The tension was razor sharp on the negotiation table. The Don of the Cecilia family was Valentino Cecilia. According to the rumors, he was even more ruthless and bloodthirsty than Lorenzo. He was a master of more than half of Oropa's weapons shipping routes, a true king of the sea lanes. Lorenzo brought with him his best interpreter, who failed at the worst possible moment.