Italian Wife Beater Novels & Stories

"Emilia, you just said I was the only man you've ever loved." Beside us, Luca rolled his eyes in disgust and muttered under his breath, "Papa's smiling like a fool." The guests were stunned, and whispers quickly spread through the room. "My God, did I see that right? 'The Butcher' actually smiled?" "He was ready to slaughter the entire room for her, and one little compliment is all it takes to make him smile?" "The rumors said Don Vettori was obsessed with his wife. I thought it was fake news, but I never expected... she has him completely wrapped around her finger!"

Damon admitted and Leon was happy he was thinking good of his wife. He went ahead to spin the bottle and it landed on the nanny and Damon. "Sir, no offense but I dare you to tell us three things you love about your wife" She said and Nicole's heart skipped again... * *

Luciano said before coming in to give me a very long and quite passionate kiss. "Ew you guys kiss too much." I heard Adri say. Luciano pulled away before speaking. "Your mother has amazing lips." "Sweetie ignore him anyways, ceremony over! Let's start this wedding." "Cheers to becoming Mrs Martini and also becoming my wife." "I love you Mr Martini or now husband." I kissed him once again. "Are you guys coming?" Julien said trying to pull us out to the dance floor. "What do you think wife?" "I think we should go husband."

Vittoria stopped by the door and turned to look at him. Their eyes met and he dropped his phone, stood up and strolled towards her. “How many times would I warn you that I have a reputation to protect. For a married Italian woman like you, at least wear a dress that covers a large chunk of skin.” He said in a commanding tone while Vittoria battled him with her eyes. “You have a reputation to protect?” Vittoria mocked. “Or you don't know that? You suddenly forgot that you're Mr. Alessandro's wife first before you are Buccolini's daughter.”

One broke my heart I had to put the book down, and haven’t picked it up since her statement read; I know it hurts, but do your marital duties for all women must, take solace in raising your children for when they are grown, they become the same monster as the seed that planted them. The name read Gianna Raquel Salvatore wife of Cato William Salvatore, Capo dei capi of the Italian fagmilia. I didn’t need to be there to know that Cato was a bastard. It seemed these women fell into two categories, submissive and resolute, strong willed and determined.

“You and I? Our lives are almost finished. We are going to die in a few short years – and I intend to live them, every single one of them, surrounded by the ones that I love. If you make me lose my son, and my two grandsons – one of which I have barely met - I will never forgive you, and I will make your short life a living nightmare.” Bianci blinks at his wife’s vehemence, and…did I see that right? Did he go a little pale, under his tanned skin? She laughs now, her own dark chuckle. “Italian women always outlive their husbands, my love,” she says, her voice low with threat. “And I will be a good widow to you – I will wear the black, and I will hold your memory close to my heart. But you sho

“Th-thank you, Deather… I promise—" “But,” Deather interjected sharply, his smirk widening into a predatory grin, “my partner, Lucille, absolutely despises betrayal.” Without warning, Deather swung the bat with brutal force, the sickening crunch of metal meeting bone echoing through the warehouse. Wong crumpled to the floor, blood pooling rapidly beneath his shattered form.

This dress had been custom-made for me by Vincenzo himself, with every pearl carefully selected and the lace patterns on the train exquisitely crafted. Vincenzo wore a black tailcoat, his deep blue eyes focused intently on me as if I were the only person in the world. His hand was warm and strong, giving me a sense of security I had never felt before. Sofia sat in the front row wearing a pink dress, holding a flower basket with a radiant smile on her face. She had completely accepted Vincenzo and had even started calling him 'Daddy.' "Aurelia Astor, do you take Vincenzo Moretti to be your husband, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

I pushed my hair back from my face with one hand and turned to face the mirror at the far end of the room. There I was. Disheveled. Flushed. My shoulder bore the faint imprint of his grip, my neck bruised by his tight grip, and my lips parted just enough to catch the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Pitiful. Messy. Silent. And this is me, Catalina Moretti–Lucchese. Wife of the most powerful mafia boss in Italy. A man whose name carries blood and reverence. A legacy built on iron, fire, and fear.

“You know where that will get you, right?” “You and your psychotic cousins are going to keep me here forever? Marry me and then fuck me until I can’t walk?” I spit out venomously. Only if I hadn’t let him manipulate me into believing he was my…my what? A strange pain rippled through me as my subconscious scoffed at me. Right. He was never my anything. Nothing. His smile was the darkest. “No, topolìno. Well, yes to the last one. As tempting the thought is–we’ll need to return to Catalonia–and you will join us when we do, as our wife.”