Italian Novel Novels & Stories

(2 weeks Later) Lena’s Point Of View “Chi è questo?” (Who is this man?) Dante asked in Italian and I was fast to understand him and give him an answer to his question, it was a question answer section with him and as much as I hated this, I loved that I was getting better in everything.

Chapter 19: Like a Slave Mari’s POV As Ben held open the heavy, dark wood door and we stepped into DeLuca’s, the rich, intoxicating scent of baking bread, roasting garlic, and slow-simmered ragù instantly enveloped my senses. My mouth literally watered. It had been a very, very long time since I’d been in a proper, sit-down Italian restaurant. The kind that didn't hand out wax crayons and a children’s menu the second you walked through the door.

Pappardelle with wild boar ragu, roasted chicken with rosemary, white beans cooked with sage, and fresh bread still warm from the oven. I pushed food around my plate while Cade and Russo talked. And talked. And talked. In Italian, mostly, which meant I caught one word in five. They were comfortable together in a way that spoke of deep history. Russo would say something, and Cade would laugh, that genuine laugh I so rarely heard, the one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. Occasionally, they'd remember I was there and switch to English, but never for long. "Remember that job in Napoli?" Russo was saying, pouring more wine for himself and Cade. I'd been given water, pregnancy-appropriat

His sharp eyes followed the other man, all the way back to his seat with Caitlyn’s two female coworkers, then his attention refocused on her. “I did like the basilica and the palace, and looking out from the Bridge of Sighs. I also liked the Rialto Bridge and the marketplace. The Gallerie Dell’Accademia and crossing the Grand Canal over the Ponte Dell’Accademia. Hell, I even liked Murano, even though there was nothing there but glass.” “Oh, please. The only thing besides gelato that you liked about Murano was La Perla ai Bisatei.” Her eyes narrowed as she continued to gaze at the unknown man across the restaurant. “Don’t think I don’t know.”

How could it not be. I got a new job with higher pay in Italy and I've been taking weekly Italian lessons with Adrianna. I’ve started to improve and I can even hold a conversation in Italian now. The job I got is still as a graphic designer because I really love the job but now I just work in Italy, I wanted to work at Luciano's company but we agreed that dating the boss wasn't exactly the most Ideal situation for us. It’s gonna become far too complicated and I know I know when aren’t we complicated?

The next day, the entire media in Italy carried about the news of the engagement of Lucrezia and Primo. *** Luciano Romano got in a temper where he was. The newspaper which had Lucrezia's engagement news on it was thrown onto the workbench. Luciano ran away with both hands scrambling his own hair in frustration. He thought that this time would never come true. Five years ago, Lucrezia did say that she would be engaged to Primo Zappa. However, the engagement never took place. Until last night.

Stefano drove calmly in front, glancing at me now and then through the rearview mirror with a slight smile that irritated me. Luca sat beside me, too close. I could smell his fresh soap and a faint woody aroma. It was the second time I'd left the mansion since I arrived in Italy. The city turned out to be beautiful. Old cream and orange buildings lined the cobblestone streets. Green wooden windows with red geranium flowers hung on the sills. People strolled calmly with ice cream in hand. The sound of church bells echoed in the distance. It looked like a fairy tale, but I couldn't enjoy it because Luca wouldn't stop getting closer.

And it was too late for her to run away because she was caught before the chase could even begin. A bitter chuckle escaped her lips as she weakly held onto the table, her knees weakening as the realization finally sank in. Shan Moretti... is a Mafia.

​I poured a glass of whiskey and stared at the framed copy of my debut novel sitting on the shelf. Cara Mia. ​Writing it had been my only lifeline during this hellish year. It was supposed to be a catharsis, a way to process the madness of being a mafia lord’s wife. Every page was stained with the truth of us. I wrote about the way he smelled of expensive tobacco and gunpowder, the way his Italian filtered through his lips like a prayer, and the way he looked at me as if I were the only thing in this world worth saving.

I wanted to taste him! “Miss?” His voice snapped me out of my daze, and I smiled awkwardly. “Hello! Welcome to Paradiso Galleria. My name is Luca Fabbri,” he said, extending his hand. Ohh… He’s Italian! No wonder his sex appeal was off the charts! I’d never been with an Italian before. I had slept with a Frenchman once during a trip to Paris. He had a huge package, but sexually, he was disappointing. But I’d heard Italian men had mad skills in bed, though they were also notorious womanizers.