Don't You Dare Ce Ricci Novels & Stories

It was about Damian. I couldn't answer before the door behind her swung open and another man entered. Antonio Ricci. I recognized him immediately. I had seen his face in Damian's office once—a ruthless, imposing man. A man who did not make bargains unless there was something significant in it for him. And now, he was looking at me like I was nothing but a bargaining chip. "She's smaller than I expected," Ricci said, his voice thick with an Italian accent. "Not much of a threat."

“You’re not going to hurt me, you will anger the Don.” He dipped his hands into his pocket and pulled out his gloves, “Try me…” Ricci stilled, there was something about how he said those words. The dead look in his eyes, his voice was soft yet the words left a pit in his stomach. Celio tugged at his hand, his brown eyes wide with fear. Orlando was the living visible threat hanging over his head, he had not only heard the tales he had borne witness to them. He picked his poison. “It was the Don…” Ricci’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“That’s my girl.” Inside, the noise pressed soft and poisonous. Men in suits turned as one; wives and widows measured with their eyes; sons wore pride like borrowed jackets. Music floated thin from a quartet hidden behind palms. Waiters moved like chess pieces. The scent was money, perfume, and fear that someone tried to drown in cologne. “Elena Rossi,” someone announced—too loud, too sweet. “The southern queen.” A man with ice-blue eyes and a fox’s smile stepped forward, palms open as if he’d never held a knife. Don Ricci, old blood and older grudges. “Signorina. We didn’t expect you.”

Cassandra POV: Ricky didn't go to work today. I didn't know why. But he had been inside the bedroom sitting at his office desk since morning. He only came out of the bedroom to eat and went back inside as soon as he was done. This evening, I overheard him having a phone call with someone. He looked really irritated and it took me a few minutes before I realized that he was actually on the phone with Leonardo De Luca. They didn't seem like they were about to make peace with each other. I just eavesdropped on the conversation more and got information that Ricky gave Leo a week to return Cristian Rossi, or else Ricky would kill him.

“What a way to kick off a war.” Connor joined them moments later, cautiously navigating the rubble as he scanned the scene with narrowed eyes. His voice was low and contemplative. “This goes beyond just territory. Ricci isn’t merely trying to take control. He’s severing your strength before you can retaliate.” Taking a slow breath, Adrian was already plotting his next moves. He had anticipated some form of retaliation—Dante’s death had left a void that many sought to exploit—but Ricci’s approach was brazen, even reckless. Unlike Dante, who had played the long game, Ricci’s actions were loud. His actions screamed audacity and overconfidence.

“Now’s not the time.” “Now is exactly the time,” he snapped. “I’ve got cops calling me…cops, Vicenzo. On my payroll. Saying you’ve started a war with the Riccis? What the fuck are you doing?” I stepped in front of him, my voice low but edged. “Dante Ricci came after me. He sent men to take me out, and they damn near succeeded.” “That doesn’t mean you go to war without my say-so,” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “You don’t get to make those decisions alone!”

Oh god, where did those ideas come from? Her eyes widen in shock like she can’t believe that I can talk dirty. Well, dirty is my middle name and not Leigh. “He can throw me like trash once he’s done with me, but I bet my McLaren that he will never come back to you, so don’t dream too high, dear because once he’s done, he never fucks the same woman again.” “What’s your name again?” she asks as she manages to get back her composure. “Camila King,” I answer proudly.

Standing meant you were the one giving them — or ready to take what was yours by force if necessary. Ricci sat directly across from me, a thin, ugly smile stretching across his face. He looked at me like I was a punchline he’d been saving for a special occasion. Beside him, Cavallo stayed silent, eyes flat and unreadable. And then there was Vincenzo — the man who had spent the last three years staring at my chair with open hunger, like he could already taste the power if I slipped even once. “Well, well, well,” Ricci said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. “The great Dante Moretti. We always thought you were ten steps ahead of everyone. The golden boy. The man who saw every play before

Across the city, in a black marble fortress known only as the Ricci Keep, Don Vittorio Ricci adjusted the cuffs of his silk shirt. He stood at the head of his private boardroom. Ten men lined the walls. Silent. Waiting. "My daughter was insulted." No one replied. "My empire was slighted." Still silence. "And the De Lucas think we’ll sit idle while their bastard heir ruins what we built." A man stepped forward. "Elene still wants the Laurent boy dead." "She’ll have her wish," Ricci said, voice like a blade. "But I want more." "Sir?" "We eliminate Vincenzo, too."