Johnny Dimarco Degrassi Novels & Stories

CASSANDRA POV "You're so pretty," He slurs, grinning like a little child, and his eyes move to my breasts, not even trying to hide it. "You wanna go home and fuck?" "I asked you a question" I state. "So feist" He purrs. "You wanna go home and fuck?" He grins once again dowing the last of his whiskey with one gulp and I can smell alcohol from breath from here. "Okay, we're going home; you've had enough, big boy," I joke, standing up from my seat; Alessandro does the same, stumbling a little. He puts his arm around my shoulder to support himself, and I practically drag him out of the club.

“Not even if you have to go to the bathroom. The bathrooms are co-ed, so take one of us with you.” “We should be ok if we go in pairs,” Kimmy stated. “No, you see that guy over there?” I said, subtly pointing out a dark-haired man sitting in the corner of the VIP section. He was acting like he owned the world. “That’s Antonio DeMarco. Son of one of the most ruthless Mafia families in New York. His family is rumored to be into human trafficking.”

"Actually, no need, if he likes you he will like you the way you are. But if you want to change your appearance it's up to you Chloe, it's your right." Chloe nodded in response, she immediately smiled a little. Maybe changing his appearance a little is fine isn't it to make the guy glance at Chloe? Chloe smiled as she looked at the nerdy girl beside her desk. With a big smile, she patted the girl on the shoulder. "Hi, can I ask you something?" said Chloe "May, ask what?" "Do you know who the man in black is?" Chloe shouted, pointing at the man. "His name is Declan Mashii Jackson, he's from business management. As far as I know he's a Dj and the woman next to him is his girlfriend. Why do you

“Then tomorrow, we rise from nothing. Together.” Her heart ached at the certainty in his voice. She believed him. She had to. Because if she didn’t, the fear would devour her whole. But just as sleep threatened to pull her under, the world outside crashed back in. Her phone buzzed again, an emergency alert. She reached for it with trembling fingers, dread curdling in her stomach. The headline blazed across the screen, in bold red letters: GREG DIMARCO: “THE DIMARCO EMPIRE WAS BUILT ON LIES. AND TOMORROW, I’LL PROVE IT.”

I said, studying the face and trying to imagine interacting with this man. Sloane pulled up the next photo—a younger man, maybe early forties, with olive skin and calculating eyes. "Marcus DeAngelo. Italian-American, runs most of the high-stakes gambling operations on the East Coast. You've invested in several of his ventures. He's smooth, charming, will try to feel you out through conversation. Don't give him anything. Keep your cards close."

She remained seated, scrolling through her phone. Silence stretched. “What name?” she asked, placing her phone on her lap. Dante sat down. “Mario Rossi.” “What do you want to know about the new congressman of the trade office?” she smirked. His gaze narrowed. “So you know him.” “He cut off your shipments heading for France and Albania,” she said, crossing one leg over the other. “He isn’t someone to mess with. He’s a retired army officer, knows little about politics, doesn’t play by the rules, and works perfectly well with Interpol to split gains from seized shipments if needed.”

The sound of clicking could be heard in the background. Behind the brown mahogany desk sat a man typing furiously on the desktop. The man is Alexandro De Marco. An important and very well known businessman in the business world. The owner of De Marco incorporated. He is handsome, smart, cunning, cold, calculating and sexy as hell. He is known to be a Devil in the world, in short he is a force to reckon with. Women throw themselves at his feet and wish to be by his side and men want to be him. But he's cold demeanor would make you run for the hills.

ELENA DUVAL Dimitri held my hand as he shut the bedroom door behind us. “Why do you have a picture, Ivan Gambino,” My gaze briefly went over the other pictures I had picked up from the table before leaving. Confusion etched in my face as I met with Dimitri's. “He's a Slovakian. Part of the Mafia. The Slovakian don himself,” Dimitri straightened. “He took over after I killed his brother, Boris Gambino,”

His voice was stern, cutting through the air with an accusing tone. Confusion clouded my mind. "Who are you talking about?" I asked, hoping to clarify the situation, but he seemed to ignore my question. "You might be in the wrong room, sir," I said calmly, trying to maintain composure despite the tension in the air. "Harvey Knight, Aria is my daughter. I am Rocco Marino," he declared, his words hitting me like a thunderbolt. Rocco Marino—the notorious mafia boss and one of the wealthiest CEOs in the business world. His nickname, "The Rock," resonated with fear and respect in the underworld.

And then we stopped in front of a heavy wooden door carved with the Cataldi crest. The man himself was waiting on the other side. Giovanni Cataldi. Head of one of the oldest, cleanest, and quietest families still standing. The kind of man who didn’t raise his voice but could still silence a room just by walking into it. He stepped forward, a faint smile on his face. “So… this is the Christopher Gravemoor I’ve been hearing about.” I offered a firm handshake. “Depends on what you heard.” He chuckled. “Only good things. You run a tight ship, make clean cuts, and most importantly… you know when to stop talking.” He motioned to the leather seats near the fireplace. “Sit. Let’s make history.”