Romans & histoires Fran Bow

His countenance was as plain a weekday, Stephanie's afraid, unsettled but Francisco's gleeful. “Ah! Ha…!” Francess' trembles decreased gradually, and tears fell unceasingly from her eyes, yet her shaky hand reached for the iPad. Her eyes once again roamed at the aged couple's faces, and strangely, her aching head throbbed harder. “Do you remember the Fords, Francess?” Shakily, she lifted her eyes to gaze at her family. Killian for the first time in her lifetime seemed… different. His aura was unwholesome, yet serious.

I sat beside Bo, already reaching for Franco. Franco’s greenish-blue eyes lit up, small hands instantly outstretched to grab my hair as I cradled him in my arms. His chestnut waves point in all directions. He is the spitting image of his father, and he undoubtedly inherited the Luciano charm, hence his nickname Little X. “He won’t be up for long,” Bo murmured, stretching his long legs with a grunt. “He hasn’t slept yet, and it’s already past his bedtime curfew.”

He had to see that she wasn't meant to be part of this family. Millie's POV. I laid in agony screaming and crying. My leg was busted as far as I knew. Brian came over to me holding me. "Baby what's wrong?" He said gently picking me up. I cried out in pain as he did so. "I don't know. Something hit me in my leg." I could see blood soak through my black leggigns. Brian looked over at the snowball that had hit me in my leg. "Dammit! My mother's frog, Wilson. He, he couldn't have, he. That traitor!" I heard Brian say in rage.

And at the center of it all, undefeated, untouchable, was Kane Shawn. Standing at 6'5", with a body carved from years of brutal discipline, he was a titan among men. His blonde curls were damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead as he rolled his shoulders, his enormous arms flexing with ease. His skin glistened under the dim lights, his six-pack rippling with every movement. But it was his face that truly set him apart a masterpiece of sharp lines and perfect imperfections. His light blue eyes had the power to pierce through a man's soul, making even the most confident opponents hesitate. His lips, full and sinful, often twisted into a smirk that made women weak and men envious.

I'd taken down almost all the bad guys with a little help, but I guess I didn't finish the job well. There was no sound except for the slow drip of water and the scurry of rats around. Whoever this was, they didn't have a good hideout spot. That meant unprofessional—new in the game. The door creaked open, and heavy boots marched in. A sliver of light spilled in, framing the silhouette of a man with broad shoulders and red tattoos. Franco. One of Bondago's men. He was more muscle than common sense, so I began to wonder how he’d masterminded my abduction.

“There's not a day that goes by without me thinking of you." Connor nodded again, his excitement palpable. “Really? Are we going to play again? Can we?” Franco’s smile faltered slightly as he caught Celine’s wary gaze over Connor's head. The mixture of emotions he saw in her eyes made his heart heavy. He wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap that had grown between them, but he knew the road ahead was complicated. "Maybe one day, buddy," Franco said gently, not wanting to make promises he wasn't sure he could keep. "But right now, I just wanted to see you, to see how you’re doing."

His second in command Franco looked up from his computer and grinned at him. ‘Sembra che tu abbia bisogno di un Boss di rilascio’ [You look like you need a release Boss] Romero grimaced, ‘Cosa abbiamo?’ [What do we have?] Franco’s grin widened, ‘Vieni proprio in questo modo Boss’ [Come right this way Boss]

Maybe most women would readily accept multiple blinding orgasms, fabulously filthy grins and a casual goodbye. “Gen! You missed us?” Franz called out, chugging a bottle of water, wiping the dust from his bare, tanned forearms. “I wanted to see Cillian, but hey,” smiling at his easy affection. Franz was slightly taller but apart from that, there were basically two Grecian gods standing before me.

"I’m done being driven. From now on, I have my hands on the wheel." Before Jessica could respond, the heavy steel doors swung open. Brent marched in, a venture capitalist whose smugness practically preceded him into the room. Behind him came Sloane, a disgraced intelligence officer with eyes like flint, and Xavier, a tech mogul who looked entirely out of his depth. But the air in the room didn't truly shift until the doors hissed open a second time. Franco stepped inside. He didn't just enter a room; he commanded it. He wore dark, tactical trousers and a fitted black shirt that stretched across his broad chest. His dark eyes swept over the pathetic, arrogant group of elites, dismissing them

“Then give it a shot. At the right time, of course. Don’t screw it up.” Austin laughed, his tension easing. “Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence.” “You’re welcome,” Bentley shot back with a smirk. Franco, who had been quietly observing, lifted his own glass with a mischievous grin. “Well, here’s to Austin, the born-again romantic. May he finally figure out what to do with one woman for a change.” "Cheers!”