Donatello 2012 Novels & Stories

Dell got me invited here, he works with the FBI, so he has connections and given I am a photographer, with a desperate need of help from the FBI, I was the perfect candidate for this mission. “That’s him,” he whispers, nodding towards a tall figure across the room. “Alessandro Romano. He is the Don of the Romano Mafia family, now is your time. You need to get him alone Renée. Away from his bodyguards,” I swallow hard, my heart pounding even faster. I am kind of a little surprised that he looks young, when I was told I would be approaching the don of the Romano mafia group I thought he would be someone older, but he isn’t, I guess that’s why they had me do this.

“Sayonara Sato.” “Karera wa Anata o neratte iru, Don Antonio (They're coming for you, Don Antonio).” Kenji sneered in his foreign dialect before letting out a gruesome painful scream as the torture began. ° ° ° “Run a background check on that girl and bring her to me.” Antonio ordered his right hand man, Bruno. “The badass who shot Sato?” Antonio didn't respond to his theatrical question. “As you wish.” Bruno playfully saluted the boss and strutted out to carry out his instructions.

No matter how popular and influential you were, even as the president of the country, as long as you entered any of the Lunar Venus's buildings, you must bow in respect to his statue. So I stepped forward and did, only to notice Don Luciano scoff and walk past the statue like it was nothing. I expected the guards present, who all made sure this protocol was followed, to step forward and have him thrown out. But rather, the able-bodied guards who looked stern a moment earlier all began trembling as Don Luciano walked past. My Jaw dropped. Does this protocol not appeal to him, or was there something else? "Let us be on our way dear, or you might settle in late." Don Luciano told me and I hurri

“The bastard even refused me entry to my own daughter’s funeral and kept you as far away from me as he could.” I stared down at the plates, wondering how my life might have been different. “I wish you could have gotten to me. Those years were hell.” His gaze locked onto me, his brow furrowed. “I tried. I lost over a dozen men trying, half of them to the man lying in this house.” My eyes widened. “Domenico?” He nodded. “He was younger then, still working his way up. The anger in him…there is good reason they call him la Bestia, mia bella.”

I opened it without a word. A diamond necklace. Flawless, expensive, with a huge, dripping cut—must be hundreds of carats. Must also cost a fortune. I touched the stone lightly, feeling the sharp edges press into my fingertips. The diamonds sparkled. Unlike me. "Say thank you," Wilbet said, watching me closely. I lifted my gaze, my voice empty and hollow. "Thank you." "Good. Now put it on and make sure you wear it tonight. I want to show off my wife to the world."

“These people are way too into Ninja Turtles, bro.” Before the Alabama brothers could embarrass Valerian any more, the door swung open, revealing the slickest-looking guy I’d ever laid eyes on—bright, almost platinum blond hair swept back, small round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His face looked like some Renaissance artist had chiseled it from marble. He wore a tailored blazer over a dark gray turtleneck, slim slacks, and bright white high-top sneakers. I did a double-take when I spotted the Prada logo on the side of the shoes. Everything about him screamed money and total self-assurance. Who the hell was this guy? The man—Donatello, obviously—smiled. “Valerian. My friend.” He

Rossi was the type of guy that won’t leave alone even if it’s years, he always gets his livk back but that won’t happen if I kill him before then. Donatello brings out a finger-cutting board from our store of numerous torture weapon. The colour in Silvester’s face washes out as soon as he sights the cutter. I watch as he screams and scrambles in fear while rattling his chain to try and get away from Donatello as fast as possible. “Tell me, and you won’t a finger and you have a lot of those….” I smirk. He screams. “You fucker!” Donatello forces his hand open and places his pinky finger on the board, without wasting time he slams the cutter down.

Sofia wasn't alone. Donato Vallocchi stood by the balcony doors, his silhouette framed by the rain-lashed glass of the city skyline. He looked like a statue of refined greed, his suit immaculate even in the gloom. He held a glass of dark liquid, swirling it with the casual arrogance of a man who already owned the room. "Dante," Donato said, his voice smooth as oil. "You’ve spent so much time building walls that you forgot the most dangerous enemy is the one who knows how to open the gate."

"What's the deal now? Heard you're returning to Italy. That's peak entertainment." The other danger sitting beside me cocked his head. "Careful what you hear next, Donatello. It might not be as entertaining as you think." No humour, plain and straight warning. Donatello looked offended as his chest raised up and down with an irritated expression on his face as he pressed his lips together. "Still," he mocked. "You realise if you leave Russia what it'll cost, right?"

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here with me. Your mother is going to come out of hiding and I am going to make her mine.” “You’re going to make her yours?” I said. “You’re married. He smiled. “Not any longer.” My stomach churned. “Not any longer? What does that mean?” “That means that I’ve taken care of my wife,” Donatello said, “you don’t need to worry about that. All I need is for you to be a good girl and then I can have the family that I always dreamed of.” I glared at him. “You have a son. Nero. Or have you forgotten?”