Novel & Cerita Italian Mystery Writers

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"We just don't know her that well. She doesn't even understand the language." "But she speaks English. I assume?" Théo asked next, getting more intrigued by this Alodia character who seemed to have mysteriously sprung up days before the Italian police arrested Raffaele Valtieri, on suspicion of a double murder, no less. Too much of a coincidence. In his line of work under the agency, a coincidence that big usually meant there was something much bigger going on behind the scenes.

"I probably wouldn't have met him if he and Miles didn't break up." Who really killed Niccolo? Was his death mafia-related? We still had no definite answers. The Italian police didn't seem to care enough to conduct a proper investigation. Why? I just had no clue. "What original copies?" Enzo asked with scrunched brows. "Of your birth certificate?" "Yeah." Plus the adoption papers, in fact. "How did he..." "I dunno, actually. All I know is that, he was...a hacker for a while." "Yeah. Heard about that. But, why did he send you copies of your birth certificate?"

The older man ignored Marco’s hostility entirely and looked back at Lorenzo. “You’ve been quite difficult to reach,” he said calmly.. “And who are you?” Lorenzo’s voice came out cold enough to slice through stone “Fair question.” The man smiled slightly. “I’m Adrian Moretti.” The name settled heavily into the tunnel and Ricci’s expression hardened, Marco looked furious. And Isabella…saw the exact second Lorenzo recognized it. Because Moretti was not an unknown name inside the De Luca world. He was a ghost. A man who had been whispered about in fragments after disappearing years ago during the violent restructuring of old alliances across Italy’s underground networks.

Vittore Martinelli was the fucking boogyman. "Bloody smart idiot," I grumbled under my breath as I gave up looking for any information on him. From what I saw on Matteo's search, he was the Don of the Martinelli familia. The biggest crime family of the Italian, Russian and Mexican mafias. I didn't want to admit but I was impressed. Vittore covered his tracks well, making it seem like the Martinelli familia fell after Matteo's sudden disappearance. I sighed, having seen enough and closed all tabs, removing everything from the search history too.

“Principessa Eva of the Moretti family. I’ve searched for you for so long.” Vicenzo clutched his bloodied face, his eyes bulging. “The… the Moretti family… principessa?” The oldest and most mysterious mafia family in Italy. The only force capable of standing equal to the Carlini family. Elena’s Hermès bag slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. As for Mario, who had strutted so arrogantly before, his trousers were soaked, the sharp smell spreading in the air. I withdrew my hand without expression and looked down at Stefano.

Carlo Don El Marco arrived at the main floor of the warehouse to see Lucia who was tied to a chair and two armed macho standing behind her. Mayor Perez soon joined them and clapped his hands loudly as he saw her, "Look who we have here. Who would think the manager of the biggest boutique has a connection to the craziest Italian mafia group?" He paused to chuckle and continued, "Well, I'm guilty just like you. I'm a two-faced man" "Call Luca," Carlo told the mayor who nodded and brought his iPhone device from his tuxedo quickly. .. .. .. "Woah!" Luca laughed as he watched Linda bring the savouring chickens from the microwave and place them on the wide-radius ceramic plate he was carrying.

Bang. Bang. A slight knock echoed into the office. Dante sat at his table, focused on his system. His eyes didn’t leave the screen. “Come in,” he uttered. Creak. The door glided open. Victor walked in, one hand still on the door, holding it wide open. “Dante, he is here,” Victor announced. A man walked in. Andrea Lombardi—the best and most well-known intellectual detective in Rome. Dante’s gaze didn’t leave his monitor. He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on his mouse.

I carefully opened it after several short prayers and listening for foot steps, with the coast being clear, I continued my snooping. ‘Present year, 3rd of previous month: 400 killed. USA…’ the first file read. I opened it and narrowly back my scream at the expertly listed details of the victims of Ricci’s evil ways. A mafia family no damn aesthetic… the Rutherfords are bloody killers? I turned to the next file, tears and anger filled me immediately. A bulky file of victims in Italy. This is the heaviest one. “Chelsea?” I heard Ricci’s voice.

Lucia’s POV I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dante’s stare, the unspoken warning in his gaze. Now, as I sat in front of the vanity, watching the news unfold, my stomach churned. The world was talking about it. About my father. About Dante. And I had started it. The article had gone viral overnight. ‘Who Is the Mysterious Writer Exposing the Flaws in the Romano Case?’ ‘A New Perspective: Is Antonio Castellano Really Guilty?’