Inheritance Paolini Novels & Stories

He said, and I laughed. “Believe it or not, omega or not, I was born with a diamond spoon.” I said, and he shook his head in question. “My father didn’t force me to work. I just opted to. But he had his own thing, and I have my own wealth. Working was just a way for me to gain experience and to learn responsibility. Then when he passed away, it was Stefano who burned everything that he had and he wanted to break whatever pride that I had in me.”

Wren fucking Anderson. The daughter of the same bastard who tore my family apart years ago. Richard Anderson. He called himself an acquisition manager but all he was was a greedy and sleazy bastard. Gutted my father’s business, dragged our name through the mud. His crimes were so great that my father didn’t make it out alive. And here is his daughter. His precious, sheltered little girl, fast asleep in my bed. It’s like the universe placed her right in my grip like a sort of fucked up gift.

The article heading read: Constantine Leone—so that was his name— and Lexi Walsh made it official on social media. The article further went on to say: Even though Constantine Leone was a suspect in the Maguire case that went unresolved for over a year that still didn't deter people from loving him. In fact, research showed that C-tech, one of the many companies he and his family owned raked in over 90 billion dollars in profit over the last year. Lexi Walsh the mayor's daughter seems to think her beloved is innocent or does daddy's little princess just have a thing for bad boys?

“He’s been haunting you? What?” She couldn’t prevent the tears that streamed down her cheeks when she uttered those words, but she was still looking away from us. Her cheeks became florid and her lips were pursed together. She looked like she was trying to hold back a memory from the past that she couldn’t blurt out to us. “What happened, Paola?” Miguel asked again, moving closer to her sister. “Pá killed Dante in Cuba after I gave birth to Xavier that’s why I’m forced to return to Mexico,” Paola blurted out, staring directly at Miguel’s eyes with strain lacing her tone.

A sign. Pa looked up and his eyes lingered on Rose for a long while before he held a powerful gaze on me. “Have you gone completely insane, Benito?” Moving up from his seat, he strode toward me but kept a safe distance. “Fifteen years of alliance with the Outfit and twelve with the Cosa Nostra. All gone in a day.” “It was long coming," I said with the deadly calm that everyone feared, and to some extent, so did Pa. "Nothing I do happens in a day.”

His head snapped sideways. “Don’t you dare talk to me about choices,” I said, voice low and shaking. “I had choices too. I could’ve run. I could’ve stayed broken. Instead I came back here and fought. And you? You sold us out for what? Money? Fear? While my father is taking his last breaths upstairs, you were planning to help the same people who might kill him.” Paolo started crying then. Real ugly sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please… my sister—”

“That is you dying inside, losing something in you, to grow stronger. And while I do understand that Alessandro in your life is taming a lot, I know for fact that even he won’t be able to stop the pain that you are going to go through when you are going to be forced against your family.” “You know that I am not going to have another way, Alaric. My family is going to kill me the second that they lay their hands on me, and you know that very well.” I said, reminding him of something that even he wanted to take part of. “It is not something that we are going to change now that we have reached the cliff’s end.” “I am well aware, but power has to go somewhere, and believe me, if it starts consum

Still on Grace's lap, the little girl, Paola, remained quiet and seemed too entertained with her teddy bear for my relief. — Obviously, Carina. — Without the slightest embarrassment, she cracked a wide smile. — This girl is as much the heir to Francesco's empire as Veronica and Lorenzo, but… — Grace's gaze turned to Carina's wife. — You took all the money from that filthy old man before I could enjoy my right as the mother of a legitimate Vacchiano. However, Paola must be worth a lot to you, but nothing that will make a difference in your bank accounts, right? I want 20 million dollars, or you'll never see that pest again in your life. — His expression turned serious. — Or I will gladly sell

Franco, Rocky and Mario looked up as Paolo entered the room, he strode across to them and each of them hugged him, ‘My condolences my friend’ Franco whispered straightening his black tie, it was four hours since the death of Don Giovanni and the ‘mess’ had been cleared up. The woman had been thrown into a lime pit, her body quickly covered and set into a concrete block. She would never be found and no one could point the finger back to them. Giovanni was lying in a coffin in another part of the big house with people already filing past and paying their respects. Paolo was his half-brother and had moved quickly to take the position of power, Giovanni’s Son, Dante had been removed ‘to a place

"I don't like it." "Neither do I. But we need this." She stood. "Stay close. If anything feels wrong—" "I'm already moving." He rose with her, positioning himself near the bar's opposite end, casual but ready. Livia crossed the room. The mole sat hunched over a beer, blue jacket wrinkled, hands shaking. Early forties, thinning hair, eyes darting like a trapped animal. She slid onto the stool beside him. "Talk." "Jesus, you don't waste time." He downed half his beer. "Name's Paolo. I've been with Russo six years. Started as a driver, worked my way up to logistics."