Donnie X April Novels & Stories

Hearing the door open, Elena screamed, scrambled off him in a panic, and grabbed a shirt to cover her body, her face flushing red as she explained: "Ivy! Don't... don't misunderstand! The Don is injured. I... I was just helping him dress the wound on his chest!" Alexander frowned. He hadn't even bothered to push Elena away. He looked up at me, his eyes showing the annoyance of being interrupted. "Aren't you in the middle of a divorce tantrum? Why did you chase me all the way to the boat?" I let out a cold laugh and threw the file onto the table. "What? If I didn't come, how would I know that treating the Don’s wound requires a bikini?"

“Poor you, I have been there done that. When they ask, take the drugs.” Everyone laughed. April cleared her throat, fingers twisting together. “Okay. So... you guys know me as May Jones.” She hesitated, then forced herself to say it. “But that’s not my real name.” Silence. Trent was the first to react, blinking. “I’m sorry, what?” April exhaled. “My real name is April Harrington.” Poppy let out a strangled sound. “Are you kidding me?” Sophie’s brows pulled together. “As in Harrington Enterprises?”

the Don only says after which the guard bows and runs back again while talking through his earpiece. Some minutes later the door is thrown open and Alessandro Fabiano appears in all his glory with a face that had murderous anger written all over! While another guard leads Daniella´s driver and Jimmy out of the door Alessandro walked over to his ANgel and took her into his arms and inhaled her scent to calm him down. ¨Well since we are all together now let the fun begin! …..Don Alessandro I have a proposal for you!¨ Don Saphira started.

She will pay for making me feel this way. I start the engine. This isn't over, little angel. Not even close. --- My phone rings as I pull out of the estate. Marco. "Don, we found something." "What?" "Anne's been working late night shifts at a club. The Velvet Room. Dancing, maybe waitressing. She's there most nights until two or three in the morning." I grip the wheel tighter. A club. She's been dancing in some filthy club for money. "Why?" "She's struggling, Don. Living alone, working double shifts. No visible support."

He rushed forward, about to announce Lia's disappearance. The doors suddenly swung open. The hall fell silent. "Lia…" my father's face went pale. "What nonsense is this?" Riccardo froze, staring at her. "Lia…" Lia scanned the room, ignoring the sudden intensity in Riccardo's eyes. She spoke loudly, clearly, and deliberately. "Sorry to interrupt your little comedy. I announce that today's Donna ceremony is void." The crowd froze. Lina screamed first. "Bah! Our father is the Don! Who gave you the right to oppose him?"

"Consigliere, I want a divorce from Cassius. I’m handing back all the businesses under my name. Draft up the papers." The old Consigliere frowned. "Camilla, this marriage keeps the peace between our two families. Can you think this over?" I was the frontwoman for Cassius Marino’s dirty empire for three years. In the shadows, I was this cold-blooded Don's legal wife. A month ago, a Mexican cartel kidnapped me. That night, the cartels blew up my husband's secure line, demanding a thirty-million-dollar ransom. He let it ring. They ended up throwing me into an abandoned meat locker in freezing temperatures. I almost froze to death. Luckily, a butcher stumbled in and dragged me out just in time.

People change—especially when their hearts get crushed. "If you apologize to Sofia and admit you were wrong, the wedding goes on as planned." He said it slowly, like he knew he was pushing it. I froze, then smiled sweetly. "Alright. I'll apologize. I won't upset either of you again." Adriano nodded, satisfied—but something flickered behind his eyes. He could tell something was off. He just didn't know what. Right then, one of his capos—Paolo—pushed in. "Don, your madre's here."

All that mattered was the man at my side, walking into the heart of his grief with every ounce of strength he could gather. He wasn't just here to pay respects. He was here to say goodbye. And no matter how long the walk felt, I'd be right here, every step of the way. The moment we stepped into the crowd, the whispers began. Muted glances, subtle nods. A hush rippling through the sea of umbrellas and dark coats as Dante Moretti, the Don made his presence known among grieving souls. It wasn't just surprise. It was tension, quiet and tight like a held breath.

Before anyone could elaborate, the powder room door flew open with far too much enthusiasm, breaking the tension like a grenade. "Jordy!" April squealed, practically sprinting toward him. "I saw the article and knew I had to be with you!" She threw her arms around him like this was some kind of romantic reunion, clinging to him as if she belonged there, as if the room hadn't just shifted around her.

I walked into the bridal studio with my wedding gown draped over my arms. Four years as Bianca Marchello—fiancée of Enzo Marchello, heir to the most powerful mafia family in the city—and here I was, asking a seamstress to alter my wedding dress to another woman’s measurements. “Are you sure about the size change?” the seamstress asked gently as she pinned the new bust line—smaller, narrower, perfect for Lucia Ricci. “Yes.” My voice didn’t tremble.