Italian Alphabet Lore Comic Studio Novels & Stories

"Ti chiamerò più tardi," He ends the call and walks back to me with a new smile. Lorenzo introduces himself properly. He is the alpha of the River Moon pack, a pack nearby and an ally to this one. They have the second-largest, strongest, and wealthiest pack after Lake Moon. "You look young, how old are you, bellissima?" he asks. bellissima? It means gorgeous. Heat creeps to my cheeks. "I turned eighteen," I answer. "So you're still in school,"

Alpha Asher says, with a blank face. It is hard to get a clear reading of him, and his pink hair is becoming quite a distraction. Of all colors to dye your hair, what Alpha in his right mind would choose pink? “As I said before, I’m Alpha Vincenzo of the Forza Nelle Tenebre Pack-” I begin, only to be cut off by Alpha Asher. “Well, that’s a super fancy name. Problem is, I don’t know any Italian. Mind translating that for me, Vinny?” He smirks cockily as he crosses his arms and kicks his bare feet, which are covered in a layer of dirt, up on the table.

“We didn’t get a proper introduction last time, thanks to Mr. I've got a stick up my asshole.” I burst out laughing. “Yeah, he wasn’t exactly thrilled.” “I’m Nicola Santino, Lorenzo’s best friend,” he introduces himself. Wow, his name is sexy too. “And I'm Elara Wal—” “Oh, don’t worry. I know all about you,” he says jokingly. My brow quirks in surprise. “Really?” “Well… Lorenzo may have mentioned you,” he quickly adds, as if trying to cover up a slip. I'm sure Lorenzo must have been planning my murder with him.

Blood calling to blood. Renzo tilted his head. “Mummy, who is this man?” I opened my mouth, but Lorenzo wheeled himself closer before I could speak. He stopped right beside the chair, his good hand resting on the armrest. A soft, genuine smile curved his lips despite the pain etched around his eyes. “Hi,” he said quietly. “My name is Lorenzo DeLuca.” Renzo’s eyes widened. “Lorenzo. My name is Renzo. We have almost the same name.”

But after reading that letter and knowing that Paul would probably… Fuck! I couldn’t even bring myself to think about it, what the hell was wrong with me. Maybe it was how they went about it, the fact that they addressed me as Orson and not the alpha in their letter. Where was the respect toward me as their alpha, the lack thereof was making my hands twitch, wanting to punish them in a way that would force both of them to scream for… Ah, fuck! I thought to myself as I immediately pushed that thought right out of my head,

Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled.

He looks at Alex. "Dr Hargreaves." He sits laughing. "She drew a bear and labelled it Dario?" He laughs, and Alex joins in. "Lorenzo is the fish!" He points and laughs before going back to singing and drawing on it more. "Alex." Dario looks at him. "Alex!" He peers up at Dario. "What happened, pal?" Dario points to his arm. "I fell down the stairs." My eyes roll at his words, but he's right back to drawing and singing.

"This... I have to see." Ten minutes later, the feared Mafia King was sitting awkwardly on a tiny wooden children's chair, painstakingly painting a blue butterfly onto a pot. It looked terrible. The children burst into delighted laughter. Lorrie covered her mouth, trying to suppress her own giggles. "It's beautiful, Lorenzo." Lorenzo looked critically at his work. "It has three wings." "It has personality," she countered, her eyes sparkling. He looked up at her. "You planned this." She smiled innocently. "Maybe."

The ring. It was massive⁠.‍ Absurdly​ massiv⁠e. It weighed do‍wn my​ hand like a g​littering paperweight. It​ was beautiful, yes, but it was also a giant, screaming sign that said: I‍ B‌elong To A Crazy Italia⁠n‌. "I do no​t care a‌bout the sh‍ip​ping lanes,​" Lorenzo barked i​nto‍ the p‌hone. "Cut t⁠he‌ sup​pl​y. Starve t‍hem out."​

"Sorry. Drama, drama, drama," She gave me a strange look. "Isn't that what Italians are known for?" "From what I've heard, Italians are known for much more than just drama." I wiggled my eyebrows at her. I chuckled. Winced when the stitches pulled on my lower belly. She shot forward. "Who the hell put you up so high? Are they stupid?" I laughed again. "Domenico." She cursed him under her breath. "Why are the hot, moody ones so stupid?"