Luigi Books Novels & Stories

Pulling out a chair by the table, I press on, “Hey, Tilly. I need to talk to you about Ginger.” Luca tugs a book from the shelf closest to him. On the cover is an illustration of an old man with a bushy beard holding what looks like a spear. The book is titled Death to Those Who Sleep. “Brutal,” Luca murmurs, stuffing it back. “Tilly?” I try again. Luca falls down on a seat across from me, snorting. “What sort of stupid name is Tilly? Kind of reminds me of a—” A sturdy, thick, leather-bound book flies from a shelf and hits Luca on the back of the head. He bolts up from the chair he’s been sitting on, spitting out a slew of a colorful choice of words worthy to land him detention. “What the he

Lilibeth A few weeks have passed since the incident with Grimaldi, and from what we've been able to gather, it seems the Salvatores have doubled the security on their properties, which is futile; they will never suspect that they are harboring the enemy in their own home. Mr. Lombardi's men have managed to carry out the money transfers we planned, and it seems Maritza's father is so stupid that he didn't change the access to his accounts, giving us a great opportunity to make him start distrusting all his close associates.

They looked at her and immediately greeted her cheerfully. "So many books!" She squealed with joy. "You like it?" Asked Luca who was also happy to see his excited mate. Lilly nodded quickly. She had never seen hundreds and thousands of books in one giant room like this! Lilly looked here and there. She always liked books. according to her, the letters on those papers were always interesting to read. “I've never seen so many books! I've only read two books in my life." Lilly muttered and Luca looked at her with a frown.

He once said, "Chiara Faraci, your world is missing a window, but I'll be your light." After we got married, he labeled every bottle in the house with colors. Red for condiments. Blue for cleaning supplies. Green for medicine. Even without reading, I'd never pick the wrong one. Later, Luigi was born. Every night, Giovanni would hold him beside me, open a picture book, and read it out loud. On the surface, he was reading to Luigi. But I knew he was reading to me too. He once told Luigi, "Luigi, your mamma may not be able to read words, but her heart understands. She's smarter than anyone. No one is allowed to bully her. Not even you."