Italy X Germany Novels & Stories

One of my friends that are in on the bet had called me to ask about how it’s all going, thankfully Gabriella doesn’t speak Italian. The call - L - Cosa vuoi che faccia Deigo? Sono allo stupido appuntamento non posso chiamarti ora (What do you want Diego? I’m on the stupid date I can’t call you now) D - Sempre educato come sempre. Comunque solo chiamando per vedere come sta andando con la cagna americana? (Still as polite as ever i see. Anyway just calling to see how it’s going with the american bitch?)

There are so many that they don't know which to believe. "B-But I don't know how. The Kings and the Queens are my good friends." And now the British Queen is being sandwiched between them. She is one of the people who hope for the peace between the Italians and Greeks. The crime rate between the two countries is higher than the rest because of their people clashing. It was said to have over half a thousand deaths in Greece, and almost a thousand in Italy. Sabotages and ambushes each other.

His head bends to mine once more and he whispers in my ear, “That’s because you’ve never been to Italy with me.” I angle my chin just so, my lips grazing his jaw in such a faint way, only an astute observer would notice. And yet… I can feel how it jolts him in an erotic way. I fight the smug smile and instead simply say, “I’ve never been to Italy with anyone. You know this.” “Nor will you want to, when we’re done.” It is a bold, territorial and amazingly provocative declaration. One I feel deep in my soul. Now, I do writhe a bit in my seat. And murmur, “But tonight… We’re still in France.”

Olivia said, slipping her phone into her pocket, “We need to buy a bottle of expensive wine.” Ivy blinked and I raised a brow. We’d come this far, and something about Olivia’s excitement made it impossible not to trust her. As we walked, Olivia turned to us with a sparkle in her eyes. “Okay, girls, here are the rules we need to follow.” “Rules?” Ivy asked cautiously. “Yeah. First question—best country?” “America—my home,” Ivy answered proudly. “Nope. Wrong.” Olivia grinned. “It’s Italy. Always say Italy.”

I said softly, “is oxygen.” He nodded slowly. “And we,” I added with a faint smile, “control the air.” The plane landed in Italy as the sun began to set, casting golden light across the runway like a stage spotlight that refused to dim. When I stepped off the jet, the warmth of Italian air felt different from Switzerland’s cold silence. Italy smells alive. Italy smells like noise and ambition and danger wrapped in silk suits. Black cars waited again. More phones vibrated. More notifications arrived. As we drove toward the city, I watched familiar buildings rise in the distance like old allies waiting for instruction.

Tristan Italy has always smelled like old money, wine, and sea salt. Gunpowder hidden beneath expensive perfume. Today, it smells like death and power. Italy doesn't bury power; it displays it. The convoy stretches for nearly a mile—black Rolls-Royces, armored SUVs, police escorts that are officially not police escorts. Every intersection has already been closed before we arrive. Helicopters circle overhead lazily—not because the government is protecting Matteo De Luca, but because half the government works for him.

Vladimir releases the seatbelt and the handcuff as he drags me up. I follow behind him and his hold on my upper arm isn't gentle at all. My other arm still hurts a bit from the shot. We step on the steps as the country's breeze sent my hair flying. I look around and it's a bit warm here. Two black Mercedes Benz awaits us and the windows are tinted. Two men stand beside it with black suits and guns. I whimper and try to free from Vladimir's grip. He is stronger and it's futile. " Where are we?" I whimper. Vladimir smiles as we step on the ground. " Welcome to Italy." …….

The old man answered. "He's here in Italy." Bryan replied him. "Monitor his movements till he leaves for Germany." "Okay, sir." TBC.......

I whispered. Valerio turned to me slowly. His face was hard, but something flickered behind his eyes. Calculation. Anger. And something else I did not want to name. “Yes,” he said. “And they want you to panic.” The corridor ended at a wide circular chamber. In the center stood a glass table lit from beneath, holographic maps hovering above it. Italy. Milan highlighted in red. Several smaller markers blinked around it like warning signs. Valerio released my hand and stepped toward the table. He swiped the air and the map shifted, zooming in.

“For the future.” Elena’s pulse kicked harder, a drum in her chest. She’d braced for a lot—raids, wars, blood—but not this. Not Jeremy storming the system, not him painting a target this big. He wasn’t just running—he was declaring war on every power in Italy, inviting a fight that could bury them all. Too late now—the words were out, live to millions, no rewind. ***** *** **** ****** *** **** **** ***** ******