Doone 1869 Novel Crossword Novels & Stories

“The day before he disappeared, Don Russo — head of the Italian Mafia — was found with a bullet between his eyes.” I froze. “But there was an old lady beside us that had a dog.” “The landlord said strangers bought out the floors below your apartment. After that, every neighbor vanished. No old lady. No dog. No one.” Kimberly stepped closer. “June, you were the bait.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. “I’ll do it,” I said. “But I get my revenge.” “Deal. First—recover your eyesight. Strengthen your legs. We'll keep in touch.”

Three Years Ago The villa smelled like cigars and old money. My uncle sat at the head of the long marble table, swirling a glass of Barolo like it held answers. I sat across from him, jacket off, sleeves rolled, trying not to look like I was bracing for impact. He didn’t speak for a while. Just watched me. “You’re twenty-eight,” he said finally. “I’m aware.” “You’re the Don.” “Also aware.” He leaned forward. “And you have no heir.”

To repay Victor for saving my life, I gave up a brilliant career as one of America's finest neurosurgeons and willingly became his trophy wife. For seven years, Victor lavished money on me and treated me with bone-deep tenderness. Yet his obsessive rules suffocated me. Every other week, I had to subject my scalp to agonizing bleach treatments to keep my hair icy platinum. I had to bathe in a discontinued Venetian white iris perfume. And I had to wear a fake beauty mark at the corner of my right eye. I once mistook it all for the obsessive devotion of a Mafia Don. Then, on the eve of our wedding of the century, I found a wall covered with portraits of another woman. The measurements of my gow

Tears rolled down my eyes as the Don finally reached me, his cologne dissolving in my nostrils layered with the scent of leather and smoke. He leaned down, eyes locking with mine and the world thinned. Danger. That was all his eyes whispered. He raised his hand and my chest trembled as his fingers rested on my curls. “Is this natural,” he asked, voice low, eyes already knowing the answer. Words hung in my throat as I fought back a sob. I didn’t want to marry. Especially not a Don. Especially not a man old enough to decide my life with a sentence. I wanted to further my education. I had plans.

I inch closer to the side of the door, making sure I am also out of sight. They seem to be inside a room. Is that Carlos I hear? “Luciana, it isn't like that. You are wrong.” Yes, that voice is definitely Carlos. But why is he in a room with Luciana? If there is one trait I am known for, it is being a curious cat. As they say, curiosity kills the cat, yet I am not dead. Hahh. “You are getting too close to Donna. I don't like it. You know godfa--”

“He’s not our problem anymore.” After Tony left, I went back to work. At 7 p.m., I got ready to leave. As I passed the front desk, the young receptionist handed me a package. “Ms. Rossi, this arrived this afternoon.” I glanced at the return address. Chicago. I tore it open. Inside was a photo and a letter. The photo was of the Falcone estate auction. The once-magnificent mansion was now deserted, with only a few real estate speculators haggling over the price.

He called out, frowning. Carlo turned to us, also surprised. "That is one of the Dons you killed a couple of years ago. He can't be the owner if he's dead." Carlo said. "Unless..." I paused, checking the possibility of what I wanted to say. "Unless he's not dead?" "Or he has a next of kin we don't know about," Ardo added. He pulled my keyboard to his side of the table and started typing. "What's the name of the other new clubs?"

"Lily, I have something urgent to handle. There's a nutritious meal I made for you in the kitchen. Be good and eat it all. I'll check when I get back." I sat in the greenhouse for hours, letting the sunlight burn my skin, before finally forcing myself to leave. After wiping away my tears, I dumped all of the nutritious food Dante had prepared for me into the trash. Once that was done, I opened my phone to order takeout, but accidentally came across Nina Lace's Instagram page. What caught my eye was a photo of a stamped marriage certificate with their names, hers and Dante's, printed in the most prominent position. The caption below read, "After going in circles, you're still the one by my si

For three years, I used my family's mob ties and my own money to pave the way for Declan's crew. He was the boy I survived the streets with as a kid. But at this month's sit-down, his newly hired secretary, Roxy, tossed my casino ledgers and club records onto the table in front of all the guys. She accused me of skimming profits and slacking off. "These underground banks, these smuggling docks," she read the numbers out loud, her voice full of fake outrage. "Every time she bribes someone, she skims thousands of dollars! She's lining her own pockets." "I say the Boss strips her of her club manager title right now to save our cash flow." I glanced at Declan, the boss of the crew. He knew