His Italian Wife Novels & Stories

She was about to slap me but a hand blocked it. "I know she's stupid, but you can't touch her. Even your fingertips." Zach said coldly. while intently looking at his Mom. "Stop your craziness Mom! You just hate everything. I'm not happy with what you're up to. You have no right to treat Kimora like this. She's my wife and no one can hurt my wife without my permission!" Zach pulled me away so I could do nothing. I wanted to pull Athena’s hair but I knew I wasn’t in a position to do that. I was just a humble poor and married to a rich and handsome man. And also lived in a Mafia Family.

—ROME ARCHILLUS’ POV— My wife is acting so strange. I remembered when we were in Italy for her fashion show, she woke me up in the middle of the night to call Cheska to make her her favorite pizza. [“What the f*ck, Archi? It’s 3AM. Make sure it’s important or I will—”] “My wife’s craving for your pizza. She wanted it now—” [“Mama mia! Can’t it wait later—”]

"This is happening, Gia. I've accepted it." "Accepting is not the same as surrendering," Gia replied, squeezing her hand. "Remember who you are." Who am I? Isabella wondered as she took the bouquet of white roses and blood-red lilies. The daughter of Giovanni Marino, raised in luxury but never love. A bargaining chip. And after today, the wife of Leonard Ricci—Italy's most feared man. As if summoned by her thoughts, a sharp knock sounded at the door. Her father entered, resplendent in an expensive suit that couldn't hide the strain of recent years. His once-powerful frame seemed diminished somehow, though his eyes retained their calculating coldness.

The reason for the divorce was that I was disloyal and made a terrible mistake that ruined the reputation of our family. My wife, Jean Shaw, the person that I had loved and doted on for 10 years, abandoned me when I needed her the most. I couldn't believe what I was seeing and decided to call her. My hand was trembling so much that I could barely hold my phone. On the other end of the line, Jean's voice sounded a little proud and relieved. "Sign the agreement, Felix. Your career is over. Stop struggling. Save yourself the embarrassment." "You're the one who wrote... the whistleblower report?"

“You’ve changed your mind? That’s wonderful! The military will send someone to pick you up in ten days. But Aurora, I have to remind you again. Once you join this mission, your personal information will be erased. Your husband… with his extreme need for control… will he agree?” Hearing her concern, I froze for a moment. Marco really did have an overwhelming possessiveness toward me. We grew up together. The Vitale family was always busy with mafia affairs, and the previous Don raised Marco by his side. However, no matter how chaotic things got, Marco always made time to see me. As I was a light sleeper by nature, he searched the entire world for bedding, personally testing everything just to

t understand. “Dear, I know that I have always given you free will to make your own decisions, but this time I ask you to trust me and promise me that you will do exactly as I say.” “Dad, I have always been obedient to you, it would be no different now.” “Mr. Mario made me a marriage proposal for you and I accepted. You will marry Luca Bianchi, Mr. Mario Bianchi”s son.” My shock was immediate upon hearing the words marriage coupled with Luca”s name, the man who gave me my first kiss and who fulfilled a good part of my adolescent desires.

Domenico released her hand and rested both hands on his knees, his posture formal and decisive. “As the new Don of the Italian house, and as your brother, I formally acknowledge Vladimir Volkov as your husband and equal partner. The Russian-Italian alliance is not a temporary treaty signed in blood. It is a true union, forged in fire, and secured by the birth of our new generation.”

“ His father should have kept his asshole of a son in his place. He touched something he shouldn't have and—” “ Your wife.” He drawled, licking his lower lip in a painfully slow motion. There was something about the way he said it. It carried some kind of edge, one that I couldn't ignore. “ I heard that she isn't from the Italian Bratva and that your people have refused to accept her as their queen, but yet you still married her ? Especially when you knew she would suffer till the very freaking day she dies?” he clicked his tongue. “ You're not a very good husband.” I know what this fucker was doing.

My Wife? It is done and dusted. I am now Sunshine Rose Ricci, the wife of Renzo Ricci. I hate my life.

Her Italian is smooth, accented in that high‑society way that makes everything sound like a compliment and an insult at once. “Valentine,” I say. “Sometimes.” Her gaze flicks to the ring on my finger, then back to my face. “And sometimes…Moretti?” she asks lightly. “Depends who’s asking,” I murmur. Dante’s hand is still on my knee under the table, heavy and unmoving. Every small shift of his fingers feels magnified. “Elena,” he says, voice cool, “this is my wife.” Something in her smile tightens.