Don Vittorio 소설 & 이야기

His eyes flick past Matteo—straight to me on the bed. He smiles. Small. Sharp. “Name’s Dario. I work for Rossi’s old crew. The ones who didn’t like how the truce ended.” He shrugs, casual. “Vittorio’s gone. Someone’s gotta clean up the mess he left. Starting with his daughter.” My stomach twists, but not from fear. From heat. From the way his gaze drags over my body—over the collar, the bite marks on my tits, the cum painted across my stomach like war paint.

The kiss deepened, years of familiarity blending with a quiet hunger that had never truly faded. Soraya’s fingers curled into his shirt as Vittorio lifted her effortlessly, her soft gasp swallowed by his mouth. Despite his age, his strength was undeniable—his energy unmatched by men far younger than him. Vittorio Vitelli was power incarnate. The former Italian don still carried authority in every movement, every touch, every breath he took.

“You will keep me informed.” “Yes, Don Moretti,” the nurse murmured. Vittorio downed the rest of his wine and set the glass down with a sharp clink. He turned his gaze on Dante. “Pray it is a son and not a girl.” Dante inclined his head slightly, the only acknowledgment he gave, though his chest still burned with that fleeting, dangerous flicker of emotion he had locked away. Vittorio raised his glass once more, his grin sharp. “To the future of the Moretti name.”

“Killian Montevero is a piece of shit and Julio Rossi’s a brainless cock. Killian will definitely stab Julio in the back the second it suits him. Before they do that, they’ll come for us. For me. They’ll need to destroy me first, then you.” “Let them fucking try,” I said. Vittorio paused, his cigarette dangling, then raised his glass to me. “If my father were here right now, what I’m about to say would probably send him to an early grave,” he said, a crooked smile splitting his face. “But I admire you, Vasilios. You’re smart and I’d like to align myself with whoever I think is winning this coming war.” He said.

I didn’t even know the man personally, and yet, here I was, dreading even meeting him. “But there is something that you are going to need to know if you are to be an ally, Donatello.” Alessandro said, looking out the window as the plane touched the ground. My heart raced, and I watched as my mate stood on his feet, hanging up before the door opened. The fact that the pilot didn’t even taxi, and I knew that it was because of the men who were waiting for him. A man entered, the scar on his face was one that made my stomach churn. His tattoos could be seen on his hand, and I raised an eyebrow when Alessandro extended his hand to shake.

But as he reached to yank a glass from the counter, Vito's voice had him halting, "Have Patience; this isn't the punch line. Tell him about Adler Domenico." Victor frowned, turning to the sight of Vito, whose countenance showed repressed rage. The calm tone was a dress-up; Vito was about to plant a bullet in his skull. "Adler Domenico, alias the Reaper, can be likened to Vito Vaviotti, embodying his influence and authority, but as a drug lord." Victor's patience wore thin, "Cut to the chase; I've got places to be, not time to listen to your boasting."

Her fire intrigued him. “Arabelle,” Vittorio groaned. “Will you behave yourself for once? This is Don Dante Valerio. Has a nut gone loose in your head?” “Fortunately, I know exactly who he is, padre.” She turned to Dante again. “If I were you, I wouldn’t accept this marriage. You’ll get nothing from me. And in case you’re unaware—I’m not into men.” Dante smirked. “You’re intriguing. I like that.” He lifted his glass. “Proper introduction—I am Dante Valerio, Don of the Valerio family.”

“Fucking dramatic bastard.” I didn’t even hide my grin. My eyes were already stinging. Then I saw him. Descending the jet stairs in a black suit, crisp and cruel. No tie. His shirt open just enough to tease the ink on his chest. Vittorio De Luca. He walked with that slow, savage confidence—like he already owned the ground he hadn’t stepped on yet. I didn’t wait. I ran straight at him and launched myself into his chest. He caught me like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

“Have you… have you told her father yet? Zoya’s dad? He needs to know. He should be here.” Vito’s jaw tightened. He stared at the floor for a moment, the invincible mafia don suddenly looking every bit as mortal as the rest of them. “No,” he admitted quietly. “I haven’t. I don’t have the courage.” Vittoria blinked, her tears momentarily forgotten as shock rippled across her features. “You… what?” She stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time in that moment, not as the most feared man in America and Italy, the ruthless head of the Castellano empire, the shadow that made grown men tremble.

He had changed into sweats, his hair was messy and he looked more human now than the greek god aura he always carried around. "Sit." He gestured to the leather chair across from him without looking up. I sat and pulled my legs up under me. The t shirt I wore rode up on my thighs but I didn't bother adjusting it because Dante wasn't paying attention anyway. He was scrolling through something on his screen and his face was set in concentration. After a minute he spun the laptop around so I could see. "I've been tracking Vittorio for eight months." His finger tapped the screen where a complex web of names and connections spread like a spider web. "He's dirty Isabella. Very dirty."