Godfather Sonny Novels & Stories

His eyes were full of contempt, as if he were looking at trash. “You want to see Don Corleone?” He spat out a mouthful of smoke. His shiny crocodile-skin shoe nearly stepped on Sonny’s face as he kneeled on the floor. “In Newford, the line of people who want to be Don Corleone’s dogs stretches all the way to the Statue of Liberty. Who the hell do you think you are?” Sonny trembled violently. “N-Nine Fingers, sir! I-I’ve got guts! I dare to kill! My sister… My sister is yours to play with!” As he spoke, he shoved me forward hard.

Everything managed. I pick up my fork. "How long have you known Derek?" He cuts into his chicken. "Ten years. Since he was fifteen." "His godfather." "In name only. I have no children of my own, and his father thought the association would be useful." "Was it?" "For him. Not for me."

I asked as we approached the living room. “My son.” A scent hit me. It was addictive. Achingly familiar. Stirred something deep in my core. We stepped into the living room and Androa let go. He gestured toward a figure on the couch. “Meet my son, Dominic Morvanti.” I searched his face. It was him. The stranger from last night.

That’s what he was trained his whole life for. My father was one of New York’s biggest mafia bosses. Our family had run Manhattan, Staten Island, and the Bronx for decades, even before the Great Depression. We survived lots of things, mostly bad, but our family always thrived. It was in our blood to simply move on and get up from the ground whenever someone knocked us down.

"Viviana! I'm talking to you! Where did you meet this shady person? Get back to the estate. Don't forget who you are." I finally turned to look at him. My gaze was flat like still water. Then, in a voice just loud enough for all of his Soldatos to hear, I slowly asked, "Mr. Falcone, do we know each other?" His pupils shrank. The hand on my wrist loosened. "Why…" I easily slipped free from his grip and smoothed the wrinkles from my sleeve. It was the same motion he had used to clean his gun five years ago. "Oh, I remember now," I scoffed. "You're the legendary Don who sent his adopted daughter and fiancee to federal prison just to marry her best friend."

I mourn the loss of his smile, but whatever. I square my shoulders, and cover the remaining distance between myself and the dining table and take a seat opposite Stephano. His father – whom I’ve known to go by the name Vince Mendoza, the only don of the Miami Syndicate – puts down his cutleries and moves his chair backwards. “I’ll leave you two to it”, fixing button of his suit, Vince turns and leaves.

Leroy blurted out. “Shut up or else I’ll blow your head up!” Ace watched as his son’s driver moved to Leroy and pointed a gun to his head to silence the little boy, “Please..Jack don’t shoot him.” Ace pleaded. He looked exhausted but he has to last long enough for the sake of his son. He wondered how he has destroyed this twenty years old boy’s life since he is the abductor. No, it didn’t sound like him over the phone. Perhaps are there more people in the building? Ace mused.

It's evening and the calm color of the sunset made the exquisite DiCaprio Mansion more beautiful Leonardo drove into the Mansion and walked in He met his father in the living room with Alberto Romano, Jason's father and his father's right hand man, he is the Mafia family's consigliere "Good evening" Leonardo bowed his head on seeing them "We were just speaking about you Leonardo" Alberto said "News got to us that you killed Armando today" Antonio DiCaprio, Leonardo's father and the Mafia boss stated "Yes Sir" Leonardo said "Why?" his father asked "He burnt down the new Casino" Leonardo replied and his father stood up and moved closer to him, then he slapped him "You let Armando burn my Casin

“He hasn’t done anything. In fact, I haven’t even seen him these past few days. He’s rarely around. Unlike his son.” “Son?” came my father’s confused reply. I let out a small, nervous laugh. “Apparently, the mafia king has a little boy. He calls me ‘Mama.’ It’s… strange.” The line went silent for a moment as I brushed my hair and sat at the vanity. My reflection looked composed—a stark lie my frantic pulse betrayed. “I-I’m sorry, Rachel,” Dad said suddenly, his voice cracking. “This is all my fault.”

"Damn! The old man just killed his son, how unbelievable!" "That is what you think Boss, but rumor has it that Jordan is not the biological son and there is someone affiliated to Mister Goh by blood residing in Italy. There are rumors circulating that his real son is hiding and secretly running the business there." I raised one brow. "Italy? Of all places!? And that explains why it was easy for him to strike Jordan and end his life. How many secrets are there in his closet? I assume that Julliana does not know about it yet."