Donatello 2012 Novels & Stories

“I do hope that you haven’t missed me too much. You know, your beauty seems to be great company, but she is too loyal to you for my liking.” “Let her go, Ianos.” Donatello said, glaring at him. “Your fights are with me. She has nothing to do with them.” “Oh, but then again, that is where you are wrong, Donatello.” He said, licking my mate’s neck, right where he cut her. She frowned, wanting to pull away from him only for him to dig his nails on her waist. “She is the chosen one, and I believe that the two of us know what that means, no?”

Lorenzo, Mariano, Gianna, each one silent, watching as the screen bloomed to life. A chamber bathed in candlelight appeared and there he was, Donatello. His face, once polished cruelty, was now distorted. Berlin had marked him. Scars webbed across his left cheek and jaw. The flesh had been stitched poorly, cruelly. But his eyes… those hadn’t changed. Still glacial. Still dead. He smiled. “Hello, Talana.” Gianna recoiled. Lorenzo’s knuckles whitened on the desk. “I was going to send roses. But fire seemed more fitting.”

Whatever he had in hand decided my future. ⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆ “Power isn’t taken—it’s claimed, and I claim you.” ~ IL Don Dante.

Returning to the manor, I wasn't greeted with a hug, but with a stack of photos thrown in my face. Pictures from tonight: me, reveling at the club, and Rocco, his face bruised and bloody. "Outrageous!" My father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, slamming his cane on the floor. The prized arowana in the tank darted in panic. "That's the Don of the South! The Gravano and Thorne families may be allies, but humiliating Rocco in public like that completely disregards the balance of power!"

Instead, her hands trembled against her cream dress, a look of profound horror and respect washing over her features. "Fifteen," Enzo barked, his voice losing a bit of its smug satisfaction. He was realizing that he couldn’t break Frank Costello. He could tear his flesh, but he couldn't bend his spine. . When the final, twentieth strike echoed through the room, the guard stepped back, his chest heaving from the exertion. The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of fresh blood. For a long, terrifying moment, Frank didn't move. He remained hunched over the desk, his head bowed, blood dripping steadily from his lower back onto the polished hardwood floor.

My phone rang while I was heading back to the guest's quarter. It was the Don. “Arnold, there are guests at the main door. Escort them in.” “Yes, Boss.” I went out and opened the front door. Two women stood there, dressed like high end prostitutes. Tight, revealing dresses that left almost nothing to the imagination, heavy makeup, and heels that could kill a man. They smiled seductively at me. I kept my face blank and led them upstairs without a word. When we reached Don Vincenzo’s door, he opened it himself. The moment he saw the two women, a satisfied smile spread across his face.

I pushed him away gently. “It’s too late.” Seeing the resolve in my eyes, Alessandro’s face changed. He stood up. The Don returned. “You’d better think about the consequences.” His voice went cold. “Our families are too intertwined. Can you afford the price of leaving?” I didn’t answer. I’d expected this. When tears didn’t work, Alessandro always resorted to threats. “Those businesses you run? Two billion a year. Clean.” He started pacing. “The waterfront project? My money built that. The Conti Gallery? Seventy percent of those paintings belong to me.”

“You think I don’t see it? You warn me she’s making me soft. Days later, she’s hit by a car with no plates, tinted windows, no trace. You show up here uninvited. You expect me not to suspect you?” Giovanni’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’d harm her?” “You’ve harmed for less.” He shook his head slowly. “Not this. Not her. I may not approve, but I’m not a fool. Killing her would break you. And a broken Don is bad for business.” The words hung heavy. Dante stepped forward. “Then who was it?” Giovanni’s gaze flicked to him, then back to me. “You have rivals. Enemies. Shadows that wait for weakness. Don’t mistake me for them.”

I asked. "I doubt that's what you're here for," he replied. His gun was trained on me, and in my periphery, I could see the other two of his members pointing their guns at two of my men. Antonio wasn't here; he was up to something. "You're working with Don," I said. "That's old news, old friend," Enzo said. "Thought you should be bothered about something bigger. Something like...how I got my hands on these things." "I know you stole the keys, jackass. You never minded stooping low."

He repeated the word, his voice dripping with venom. Giovanni took a step back, his hands trembling. "H-he said he wouldn't sell, no matter the price." Baron’s expression turned glacial. He raised his hand, and Giovanni flinched, expecting a blow. Instead, the baron snapped his fingers, summoning his enforcer, Marco. "Take care of it," he ordered, his voice devoid of emotion. Marco nodded, his massive frame looming over Giovanni like a specter of death. "Consider it done, boss."