Don Vittorio Novels & Stories

“Boss… what the fuck is this?” Marco buttoned his shirt lazily, cock still hanging heavy between his legs. “Vittorio’s son came to borrow two million. He’s paying the interest with his tight hole. You boys have been working hard. Come collect your bonus.” The second capo, Tony—stocky, olive-skinned, with heavy muscles and a permanent five-o’clock shadow—laughed low. “Pretty boy. Looks like the Don already broke him in.” The third, Rico—lean and wiry with tattoos snaking up his arms and a cruel smile—stepped closer, eyes locked on my leaking ass. “He’s still dripping. Fresh creampie?”

She kills people by stabbing them with her custom-made heels. Vittore Venturi – The leader of Fina Cosca based in Finauldo Island. He is a rugged-faced man who believes the world is grey. Nothing is wrong or right. Everything depends on perspective. The only goal in his life is either to become the supreme boss or to make one of his sons the supreme boss. His job comprises bid rigging and vote buying. Vicktor Volkov – The extremely tall, bulkier man who at first was Afanasiia’s bodyguard. He later gets promoted to Vittore’s consigliere. Everyone is scared of him because of his reputation of being brutal and loyal to a fault.

I growl, nudging Maxwell to hold his mouth open. I stand abruptly, kicking my seat back. I lean down, my face inching very close to his. "My name is Don Matteo. I am The Godfather of Italy and I am the head of the Denaro famiglia. No one, absolutely no one is allowed to touch the things I've marked as mine and that includes my wife and my children!"

—bitch! That fucking creep is lying to Christine. She doesn't even know it. "WHAT?!" I demand in shock. Calvin explains everything in full detail. I have too many questions that he can't answer running in my head right now. "Look, I don't know what else to tell you. That man's real name is Vittorio Stanzolio, and he's the CEO of the Dolce company. His advanced technologies will be beneficial to the Danials' Corporation. His net worth is-" I interrupt Calvin before he continues.

Dark hair, sharp eyes, an easy confidence that rubbed me wrong immediately. He extended a hand. “Matteo Costello,” he said. “Your wife’s best friend.” The words barely registered before Vittoria spoke. “Grow up.” Matteo chuckled "Do you prefer BFF? or maybe bestie? She didn’t look annoyed. She looked… comfortable. "Oh shut up" Vittoria rolled her eyes That bothered me more than it should have. “Don Nikolai De Luca,” I replied coolly, shaking his hand once. “you can call me Don Niko”

Italy’s sovereign and the world’s best grave digger. The weight of that reputation pressed down like a suffocating fog. Pulling his trigger never required much, let alone a second. He killed faster, in the blink of a fucking eye, body would lay on the fall, lifeless. Death was a shadow that followed him, swift and merciless. But he, Don Viterro. Was going to prove to Drystan today, that not everyone feared him. Not everyone hesitated before stepping up to him. He was ready to fight fire with fire, to prove dominance no matter the cost.

When I found out my secret husband, Don Vittorio, was sleeping with my best friend, Carina, I decided to leave him. I pushed open the door to his study, divorce papers clutched in my hand. Vittorio was there, gently polishing a Padparadscha sapphire. The tenderness in his eyes was a look he’d never once given me. It was hard to breathe. Vittorio was never the romantic type. Two years ago, at an auction, he’d mocked some tech billionaire for bidding on a diamond necklace for his wife.

“Alessandro.” I would recognize that voice anywhere. I slowly turned on the stool. Dom Vittorio stood a few steps away. His face was perfectly calm. Controlled. But his eyes… His eyes were cold. Attentive. Calculating. He didn’t look at Bruno. His gaze remained only on me. As if no one else existed there. “Come.” Simple. Direct. No room for refusal. “We need to talk.” He was already turning away when he added: “In my office.”

Don Vittorio called, his tone amplified, commanding, laced with mockery. Every head turned. And so did I. There he was — standing before the guests like a judge before his trembling accused. Victor leaned against a column nearby, lips curved into a lazy, cruel smirk. Ginevra sat beside him, her eyes gleaming with restrained satisfaction. “Yes, Don Vittrio?” I forced my voice steady. He smiled — slow venomous. “Why is there no drink for the La Camorra men? Tell me, Don Alessandro, has your blood run so thin that you forgot the most sacred of courtesies?”

“He’s… from New York. For the ‘Strategic Alliance’ position.” I turned, a small smile on my lips. Another of the old Commission’s clumsy matchmaking attempts. “Send him in.” The man who walked in was tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit. The most striking thing about him were his eyes—a rare, unforgettable shade of violet. Dante. Don of the New York Vitale family. A man rumored to be as ruthless as he was powerful. His gaze swept the room, then landed on me. He took a slow breath, as if tasting the air.