Lucky Luciano Right Hand Man Mga Nobela at Kwento

No one even dared. Raphael couldn't stop the small smirk that appeared on his lips. ' Sorry Natasha, not this time. Lucious will definitely find you and I promise, he will not even think of sparing your fucking ass this time' He thought to himself. Lucious simply stood there, his brows pinched together. One thing he was sure of, he will most definitely not so are Natasha. He won't spare any of them. But for now, he had other things to sea with. His eyes darted to his side again as they landed on the rogue girl behind him.

And standing behind her, gun pressed to her temple, is a man I know all too well. Luciano, Vincenzo Virelli’s right-hand man. The man who was at her father’s funeral bawling his eyes out. Luciano smiles at me. “Well, well. Dante.” He cocks the gun. “Look who came to save the princess.” The room goes silent except for Lena’s muffled sobs.

"You killed my brother." "I gave the order. Marco handled the execution. Sofia provided the intelligence. It was quite efficient, really." I lunged, but Adrian caught me, holding me back. "Let me go—" "Luca, don't—" Adrian held firm. "Smart man, Castellane," The Broker said. "You always were the reasonable one. Unlike Moretti here, who let his cock do his thinking." They gestured to the armed men. "Take them. All three of them. We'll finish this properly."

"Shut up—they’re coming." The door slams open, and the air is punched from my lungs. Professor Lucien strides in, arms raised… and beside him stands his not-so-wife. His eyes lock on mine, and my heart lurches into a wild rhythm. "Let them go," he demands. Two more men file in behind her—the bald thug from earlier and another stranger. "I will," she sneers, "after you make the transfer." Lucien shakes his head. "You’re asking for what I can’t give. If it was money you wanted, you should’ve kidnapped my brother. He’s the one controlling the company funds.

" We reached the end of the alley and a figure emerged from the shadows. I took out the envelop from my pocket handed it to him. "I hope this settles our side of the deal." I said and the commander looked pleased before he took a glance at CiCi next to me and I thought I saw his eyebrows shoot out. "Ye...yes. Always a pleasure doing business with you Mr De Luca." He fumbled for words and I only nodded. As we concluded our business at hand, I couldn't help but notice the way CiCi's style had thrown off the commander off his game.

The double doors at the far end of the ballroom swung open. A man stepped through. Tall. Shoulders broad under a perfectly cut midnight-blue tuxedo. Black hair swept back, just long enough to curl at the collar. Sharp jaw, lighter eyes that cut across the room like glass. He moved with easy confidence, greeting people with handshakes and half-smiles that made women straighten and men measure him twice. I felt Valerio tense beside me. “Who is that?” I asked quietly. “Luciano De Luca,” he answered, voice low. “Old friend. Older enemy.”

I needed to calm down. At 5 a.m., my hands finally stopped shaking. My tears had run dry. I was ready to leave this place and never look back. Just then, the heavy steel door of the club creaked open. A few men walked out, cigarettes dangling from their lips, laughing and joking. They seemed to be in a good mood. I knew every single one of them—Marco, Luciano's right-hand man, who was always so respectful to me. Tony, the family's accountant. We’d talked about the stock market at a family dinner.

“You earned your seat at my table. Hell, you earned more than that.” I didn’t answer. I just sat there with my daughter tucked against me, her little fingers tightening on my jacket every time someone laughed too loud. Luciano went on, “You’re a smart man. A patient one. That’s a rare thing in this business. You’ve got instincts, loyalty, the kind of hunger I like to keep close,” he turned to one of his men, who immediately poured him another drink, “I’ve got an estate in Oak Brook that’s been empty since the last guy got sloppy. You want it, it’s yours. House, land, cars... everything,” he raised his glass toward me. “You deserve it, kid.”

And he has just killed a man, shot him, for being a traitor. The news reached him that Orif Karimov, a man he did business with, another arms dealer from Uzbekistan, had been feeding information to the Monk. Without wasting a minute, Lucien had driven down to the wh*re house where the man had parked himself, secure in the belief that the Mafia Don would not find out about his treachery. * Lucien had walked to him, as Karimov lay sprawled on the bed, with three wh*res servicing him. His large eyes had almost bulged as the door was thrown open and Lucien Delano had entered with his men.

“Desperation can be a weapon. I’ll make sure you use it well.” His hand brushed against my jaw, tilting my face up toward his. There was something in his eyes—dark, protective, and possessive all at once—that made my knees weaken. For one dangerous second, I let myself lean into the touch. Then the sound of rain starting again broke the moment, drumming softly against the windows. Luciano let his hand drop, turning to Luca. “Get the cars ready. Black route. No tail lights.” Luca nodded, already moving.