How Tall Is Nico Di Angelo Novels & Stories

In the Alternate Universe of the novel. Sweet. Angelo, thinking about the old man again, brought a heavy sigh and exhaled it heavily, a little bit depress. His beautiful black phoenix eyes was inexplinaxly dull for a moment when he stared at Peerce face that a confused expression was visibly written into its refined and sharp face, his mood dampened more after seeing this. Inhaling and exhaling once again, he gathered up his courage and straightened up his back. His short frame with nearly 184 cm height or 1.84 m, despite the thin and slender body had a moment of determined arrogance with a little bit of dominance as a quick thought flash through his mind.

They dragged me into the back office of the restaurant, locked the door, and threw me onto the leather couch. Nico walked in slowly, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt. He was tall, broad, with dark hair, cold gray eyes, and a scar across his left cheek. Power rolled off him like smoke. He was the underboss — second only to the Don — and everyone feared him. He held up my phone, the photo still on the screen. “Stupid little girl,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You thought you could spy on me and get away with it?”

"Nico, Keira and Arizer are here." Scarlet motioned for us to enter the room, as we did Nico rose up from his chair and my head had to follow him as he must have been 6ft 5 at least and he was so broad. He had black hair that reached his lower jaw and his eyes were golden with flecks of darker brown in them. "Welcome Keira and Arizer, I know we have things to discuss and we need to do them as quickly as possible, so why don't you go and wash us and rest for an hour or so and then we will meet up and have a meal together and talk."

He watched her with unnerving intensity, one finger tapping slowly on the arm of his chair. Beside him lounged his younger brother, Dante Rossi, forty-five. Slightly leaner but no less imposing, with a more savage handsomeness—darker stubble, piercing hazel eyes, and a mouth that looked made for sin. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at her like she was already his. “Eight million,” someone called from the back. Nico didn’t even blink. He raised one finger. “Ten million.” The room went dead silent.

I didn’t know how long I had been crying when the door opened and Angelo strolled in. I scooted away from him, but it was futile. He had an overbearing presence that made it seem like he towered over everyone. It didn’t help that he was tall and huge and, well, I was small, even smaller now that I was sitting on the floor, my eyes red and glassy from crying. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye, so I focused on his shoes. They were Italian, very fine leather. I imagined they must have cost so much… And then he crouched in front of me, forcing us to be eye level. I averted my eye. He leaned closer, brushing past me so his mouth was near my ear.

I don't have enough time to think about it, when they walk in. All three of them. Dressed in black. Moving like shadows. Vincenzo takes the seat across from me. Nico drops into the one right beside me. Riccardo sits at the other end, near the wall, barely looking up. I can feel Nico's eyes on my bare shoulders. “I hope you like red” he murmurs, pouring into my glass before I can even answer. “I'm twenty two” I reply. “That's legal” he grins. Vincenzo doesn't speak. Just cuts into his steak with quiet precision, never looking up.

“Do you remember Linda, an English businesswoman in her forties? You seem to really hit it off with English businesswomen. She had your services last time she was in town around a year ago. She wants to have you again,” my agent Susan told me over the phone. Are you free on Friday night?” I am Nico, in my late twenties, 72 inches tall, 168 pounds, a toned, fit body and genetically lucky to possess a large, thick cock, ten-inches when erect. I live in Sydney, Australia and used to moonlight as a gigolo or male escort.

I nod my head and look down "if he is not there for your guys then who?" Anthony clears his throat and I look up into his sky-blue eyes and notice the slight bump on his nose, his dirty blond hair, muscular shoulders, and arms. He is about six feet tall and I can't help but think even though he is similar to Tristan in build he just isn't that hot to me anymore.

I say with a smile, and he nods. “I am, but Dante and Nico are in a disagreement. Nico wants nothing to do with Sylvana after we found out what really happened, but Dante is forcing him into this. Nico knows he has no say because his Capo spoke and it is killing him.” Dario says and slowly stands to get up. “I should go get Nico,” he says, then a few minutes later his Bugatti started up and sped after his angry brother.

He and Mykaela didn't share any other physical traits besides their height, slim build, and dark hair. This 40-something wealthy entrepreneur—the firstborn son of a wealthier drug lord—also looked like he could knock anyone down with a single punch. The way he talked as if we'd already met only doubled the air of confidence around him. At least a few inches taller than me and Ricchar, too. "You trust him with your life kind of friend?" Ricchar chuckled beside me. "Excuse me. Phone call." Niccolo got up from his seat and flung me a 'Fuck! It's Stefano!' look as he walked off with his phone.