Italian Short Stories Novels & Stories

I stared at the unsteady fire and replied calmly, “If he doesn’t come back, then I’ll keep waiting. He promised he would spend my birthday with me every year. I’m going to wait for him.” I refused to believe he would forget my birthday. Mark Carillo was the youngest Mafia Don in Sicily. When he gave his word, he kept it. He had never broken a promise. He had taken a family that was on the brink of collapse and turned it into a force that now controlled half the Mediterranean underground scene, all because he always honored his word. By three in the morning, the manor was still silent. He wasn’t coming back, and everyone understood that. The living room was filled with bodyguards in tailored

His hands firmly held on to either side of my thighs, his tongue moving up and down my core, making me drip even more. I hummed softly, arching my hips forward as he circled around my clit. He sucked my clit really hard, the feeling making my brain experiencing short–circuits. And then he moved back to gliding up and down my slits. The feel of that slick tongue pleasuring made me bite hard on my lips, trying to fight back my moan. If my husband found out I was getting pleasured by our chef instead of supervising him, I’d lose my life. That was one of the disadvantages of getting married to one of the wealthiest Mafia lords in the city.

Aside from that, everything was a blur. My eyes fluttered open and my gaze landed on the man behind the desk. The sight of his grim expression acted like an electroshock, igniting a flurry of memories that made my heart race with fear. I knew who this man was. I had never met him, but I knew exactly who he was. His name was Frank Mazolla and he was the biggest crime boss this city had ever known. People spoke of him in hushed tones and fear gripped the citizens each time a particularly heinous crime was committed. The man had been arrested hundreds of times, yet not once had he set foot in a prison cell. He had connections, the type of connections that made him the most powerful and feared m

"That sounds great. Do you have anywhere particular in mind?" I desperately hope he doesn't say McDonald's. "Well, there's a really nice Italian restaurant just down the street," he says, "I've only been there twice, but it was great both times" "Perfect, I love Italian" We leave the bar and walk out to the near deserted street. It seems all the shops have closed for the night, and even the last stragglers of the downtown commuters have managed to escape the usual bustle.

"Thank you." Rome, Italy One month later The article appeared in all the newspapers. "Salvatore Moretti's Black Roses: The Truth About Seven Women." Elena had written it with Alessia's help, using Vieri's files, and incorporating the families' testimonies. She had cried seven times, once for each story. She had held the hands of seven mothers, seven fathers, seven siblings. Now the article was there, public, indelible. Dante read it silently, sitting next to her on the sofa.

My pussy clenched around him in rhythmic waves, milking him, and he followed moments later. His release filled the condom as he drove into me one final time, his body shuddering against mine, his breath stopping, then returning in ragged gasps. We stayed there, tangled, breathing. His forehead pressed against my neck. My fingers traced the scar along his ribs. "How'd you get this?" I asked. "Fell off a wall when I was seventeen." "Were you running from someone?" "Running toward someone." He lifted his head. "Bad habit. Getting worse."

He just looked at me with those dark eyes and his grip on my hair tightened so suddenly and so sharply that a cry tore from my throat before I could stop it, the burn shooting from my scalp all the way down my spine. He used the grip to bring my face closer until our lips were grazing and I could feel every controlled breath he took against my mouth. He bit my bottom lip so hard I tasted metal and winced. "The next time you raise your hand at me. I'm going to fuck you so hard until you beg me to stop. And you know who's going to be our guest to watch?" His lips grazed her ear. "Quel bastardo stupido che chiami marito." ( That stupid bastard you call your husband )

I say as my hands tighten around the wheel. "He has no clue what he's marrying," she says while shaking her head. "Yea he probably thinks I'm just some ragazza stupida che vuole i suoi soldi," I say in Italian (dumb girl wanting his money) We park in the club parking lot and hop out of the car and make our way into the club. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter 1 complete I think it was pretty good I'm excited to see how the story yes I know I'm the writer but I write as I go

Luca’s fingers traced lazy circles over the soft curve of my belly, following the silver stretch marks Marco had mocked so viciously just nights ago. “These are beautiful,” Luca murmured against my shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to one of them. “Every mark on you tells a story so Marco’s blind if he can’t see that.” I turned in his arms, facing him fully. Our noses brushed. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

It's been five days since I arrived in Italy, and during this time, I've begun taking control of all my grandfather's businesses. Initially, the partners he worked with didn't seem convinced about me taking charge. However, I showed them that I'm just as capable as my grandfather to lead everything. Truth be told, I didn't care if they disagreed; I would simply take what rightfully belongs to me, as Bellini put it. I've also visited my grandfather, who remains critically ill since my arrival. On another note, Giulio has remained silent all this time, leaving me no choice but to get rid of him.