Giovanni Russo Mga Nobela at Kwento

In the study of the villa, partially hidden behind a bookshelf, was a framed photograph. Giovanni. Younger, maybe twenty years ago. Standing with a woman and a teenage boy. "Giovanni has a son," Dimitri said quietly. "Luca. Twenty-two years old. Lives in Milan. Works as an architect....completely legitimate, completely clean. Giovanni's kept him out of the business his entire life." "And?"

"What?" "Luca Giovanni has a son." He continues. "His name is Leo Giovanni. He's a famous Italian model and Vanessa has even worked with him on a couple of shoots. Thanks to daddy, he has worked with the most famous designers in the world and is a famous face on the runway." I think I know where Nate is heading with this story...

His knuckles brush my shoulder, a rough, grounding touch meant to pull me back from the edge. "It's suicide, Graziella," Ciro warns, his voice vibrating in my chest. "He’ll sell our location to Sofia for a crate of vodka." "No," I say, standing up. I turn to face them. I am small compared to them. I am heavy with a child. But I do not feel small. "Don Russo lost his son three years ago," I say. "Matteo Russo. Nineteen years old. Drove his Porsche off a cliff."

"Do you want to know something Romeo?" "W-what?" "Gustav Russo doesn't feel a thing. He can't. Because he is a monster who traded his own first born child to a rival in order to save the Cross Sword Mafia. All these luxury you see around you Romeo? It is made up of my baby brother's blood." --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Not long after Angelo’s return despite his fondness for a Valerio blood, Giovanni had still brought him under his wing. Enrico Russo had sat across from her, his heavy hands folded on the polished table. He was a man of sixty, his face carved by age and power, his eyes dark and sharp as obsidian. Once, those eyes had burned with loyalty to Giovanni Mancini. Now, they burned with contempt. Tatiana leaned back in her chair, her posture relaxed but her mind sharpened like a knife. Around them, the fire in the hearth snapped and spat. The men who guarded the villa remained outside; this was not a meeting meant for many ears.

"When he was alive, none of you remembered his worth. He's barely cold, and you're already fighting over what he left behind…" "Rina! Don't you dare!" Giovanni roared and lunged forward. A white-haired elder, Alessandro Lo Russo, raised one hand and stopped him cold. He stood as one of the family's old pillars. His glance at Giovanni felt icy and final. Giovanni froze. The color drained from his face as he watched the last proof tying him to the name Giovanni burn down to ash. I watched the fire die and leave nothing but black dust. Relief washed through me.

Her glare was ice cold, like shards of glass were slicing into me yet her voice was calming. “I agree.” Mr Russo chimed in with a brief wink in my direction. Was this man hitting on me? I shook hands with each board member, Mr Russo held on a little longer than the rest, stroking his thumb almost intimately across the back of my hand. I gently retracted my arm and left the board meeting feeling somewhat relieved and hungry. I headed back to my office to find Giovanni sitting at a small round glass table overlooking the city below. He thrust a sandwich in my face, allowing a coy smile to greet me briefly.

He was tall around 6’2 and his brunette hair and hairstyle reminded me someone who unwontedly barged in my life. Maybe it’s him….. My curiosity got best out of me and I found myself walking to the man. I with hushed steps walked closer to him. The man was looking at the grave and was unaware of my approaching hushed footsteps. As I was 3 steps away from him he suddenly turned with speed of tornado and a cold metal touched my forehead. My eyes widened. It was him….James Russo….but my eyes didn’t widened on him seeing here but on what was in his hand that he was pointing on my forehead.

“You’re just as brash as I remember.” “What is she talking about?” Renata asked, finally calmer than earlier. “A toast.” Giovanni held his glass up. “To Giuliano. I hope you live out the rest of your years in the paradise you’ve so yearned for. Thank you for being a trusted and loving brother all these years. To Giuliano.” “To Giuliano,” Domenico and I spoke before taking a drink. “Who is becoming the underboss?” Antonio asked, finally listening to the words being spoken.