Leo X Donnie Novels & Stories

"Your father is asking about you." That is Luca's way of saying come home before I send someone to drag you back. So here he is. --- The guards at the gate recognize him. They always do. "Mr. Nico." "Enzo." He claps the man on the shoulder. "You look tired. Is my cousin working you too hard?" Enzo almost smiles. Almost. "The Don is in the main house." "I assumed he wasn't in the stables." He walks through the gates, his shoes crunching on the gravel. The driveway is long. He has walked it a thousand times as a boy, running from his tutors, hiding from his father, chasing Luca through the gardens.

Xion glares, and Cole stops. Ami told me about Xion’s crush on Bree—everyone knows except her. “Sorry, man,” Cole says. “Whatever.” Xion shrugs, turning away. “You’ve gotta forgive me,” Cole pleads, but Xion ignores him. “Jaden, tell him—” “Don’t drag me into your mess,” Jaden says. “Well, if that’s it, I’ll head out,” I say. “Yeah, go ahead. We won’t keep you,” Jaden replies.

I turned around to see if Pietro’s really there and indeed there he was, walking towards our car with the other Dons at his side, talking to him. I scoffed lightly when I saw him. He looks like he was a boss of some company with his subordinates following beside him. Who would have thought that they are all Dons with equal positions in the Commission. I smiled as I stare at my sister, the only female Don among the three other guys. I watched as Pietro and Letizia spoke privately with each other. I thought my sister would come to meet me, but my smile was wiped away when Letizia walked the other side after their conversation had ended.

“Major enough to get you buried.” Tomas didn’t even try to lie. He blamed Rico. Blamed the system. Blamed the weather. I blamed him. “You’re done,” I said. “Both of you.” Enzo looked pale. “Should I call Santino?” I shook my head. “No one’s bleeding yet.” Santino is my cousin. A doctor. Brilliant. Calm. Drinks more tea than water. He knows the business, but he stays out of it — unless someone’s medically compromised. Then he shows up with his leather bag and his quiet judgment.

Everyone’s attention snapped to me, and I could feel Marco’s intense gaze on me, silently pushing me to go on. “It’s Ronan. Ronan Lombardi,” I said, my voice shaking with a mix of fear and determination. “He said he’s the heir to the Lombardi family, and the only one left after what you did to them.” The room went completely silent, the shock clear on everyone’s faces. Even Dad, who never showed emotion, looked stunned. “That can’t be,” he murmured, clearly in disbelief. “We wiped them out.” “Someone survived,” I whispered, the weight of my words making the silence feel even heavier.

Leo was labeled cruel, stone- heart, deadly - yeah, he can be this sometimes but with an enemy. As much as Leo didn't give a fuck how his people saw him, it still didn't erase the fact that he sometimes wished that they could see him as his true self. But then, you just can’t prove anything to people who already have hatred for you. Nothing about you would ever make sense to them. I arrived at the compound of the club, wheeling in like a fuckinh dick head. The club was already running. Whatever I was gonna do, shouldn't fucking affect the customers. Picking up my silver whip from the backseat of the car, I jumped out of the car.

“But it doesn't change the fact that you are of my flesh and blood..” He eyed Tony. “You carry your ancestors’ blood.. Their eyes…” His breath grew ragged, but he pushed on. The paramedics looked ready to intervene, but didn’t. “You’re the only one that inherited the Santa De Leones’ mark.” Tony scoffed. “Oh, come on—” But Don Leon didn't let him finish. “I hereby declare you, as of today, the official Don of the family.” The words dropped like stones. ‘Fuck.’ Tony didn't respond.

“You—you are Don Dante Romano?!” “In the flesh.” I knew him. I definitely knew him. Hell, any Italian person who has the barest connection with the underground world would know him. Youngest Don in history. This man became a don at age fourteen. At age fourteen I was having sleepovers, painting my nails, beheading my Barbie dolls, and doing weird makeups with my mother, while he was going around, shooting, killing, and selling hard drugs and bizarre things. Marriage with him was like selling myself to the devil.

St Just and O’Grady were charging after Louis to get into the vehicle with Claude, responding to Piers Delano’s shout. The Don had killed El Toro, almost effortlessly, the Irishman reflected in awe. All during the epic fight, O’Grady cupped his hands over his mouth, his eyes screaming wonder, while St Just stood, his hands behind his head, emitting a low whistle. “The Don…Saint, I swear by all that’s holy, Sweet Jaysus, but that man… he’s simply incredible,” said O’Grady, in a voice like a reverential prayer.