Massimo Mancini Novels & Stories

I looked up to see a lean man with blonde hair and bright eyes raising his hands in surrender. Ricco, Nicco, and Maximo shielded me with their bodies. “Viola, it’s me, Carlo Mancuso!” He yelled loud enough to see him. I finally recognized him when he said his name. “Ricco, let him through. He’s my friend.” My three bodyguards obliged and Carlo walked to me. He was the nephew to Stefano Mancuso, the leader of one of the four mafia families in Italy. He and I were not friends. I’d only uttered those words to ensure Ricco would let him through. I’d gone to boarding school with him when I was in high school—before I transferred to an all-girls boarding school.

Cierra After a pretty awkward start the evening progressed rather smoothly, he'd pretty much demolished my feeling of calm with his first smile and it had taken me a while to get back on even footing and I was finally able to put on my professional cap and remember why I was here. Maybe having ears and eyes on me helped keep me focused whatever it was I was grateful, I had a hard enough time keeping things light. There were times when it seemed Mancini was playing games, he kept making a point of being suggestive, not that he was overly lewd or anything like that no he's too much the gentleman for that, but it seemed he was trying to get under my skin with every word.

I glanced toward the sound and saw the youngest man in the room, the one with sharp green eyes and a modern suit, leaning back in his chair with a grin. He was so young. I thought Val was the youngest Don in Italy, but seeing him, I knew I was wrong. Dante leaned down again and murmured, “That’s Mancini. Gabriele Mancini, Don of Verona, the youngest Don in Italy. He has no strong alliances.” “Oh, I see.” I glanced at Mancini, his grin widening as our eyes met. Dante added quietly, “I think he likes you. Play it right, and he might back you.”

That was all Lorenzo said. He did not need to offer rewards or give more praise. The driver’s chest swelled with satisfaction as he started the car. He knew Lorenzo would give him a very generous reward for this favor. “Send it to Nino so he can analyze it. I want to know who was behind the extra help that idiot Luca was getting.” Angelo nodded at his boss’s orders. Even though he never said it, every day he was more amazed by how cunning Lorenzo’s mind was. That was how he had lasted so long in such a dangerous position, always on the edge, but the man was like a chameleon.

He gave her one last heated look before he opened his mouth, "I'm Massimo Cassano, a friend of Ethan" • • • • • •

"He already chose, Vince. He told me to leave you. He won’t change his mind." Vincenzo cupped his face. "Then we’ll make our own kingdom. But not until I make them pay." Francesca narrowed her eyes. "We have a lead on the man watching Ramon from the shadows. Burned face. Exiled captain. Sound familiar?" Vincenzo’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "Massimo is back?. The bastard…." Manuel nodded. "And he’s not alone." Outside, in a dark alley, Massimo stared up at the glowing De Luca private Beach side house on top of the hill in the middle of nowhere from the shadows, a wicked smile on his scarred face.

I left only the weapons factory, supplying governments and organizations across the world. Dante opened the door to the room, and we stepped inside. Seated in an armchair by the window was one of my father’s old rivals—Don Antonio Mancini, a man in his late sixties, puffing on a tobacco pipe. Around the dining table sat three men: to the right, Mancini’s eldest son and heir, Alessio; beside him, his cousin Lorenzo Milano; and further down, Matteo Bellandi. The three inclined their heads in respect.

Mancini stifle a laugh with a cough. I leave their table alone while they eat and notice the owner go over to say hello to them. I knew he would at some point. Mr. Mancini is good for business, but he also speaks Italian, and Alfonso never misses an opportunity to talk to someone from the old country. Hearing the string of Italian coming out of Mr. Mancini’s mouth isn’t helping me to keep my body in check. Judging by the look on Jennifer’s face, it’s also quite the aphrodisiac for her as well. Wonderful.

Michalis Mancini spoke in a tone so sweet it would have almost fooled her. “Yes, Mr. Mancini. Thank you for your generosity. I am thankful for this opportunity.” She faked an appreciative smile. “μη με κάνεις να το μετανιώσω” he spoke in Greek, making her raise her brows in surprise. How many languages did this man speak? She knew that Michalis Mancini was no ordinary man, after all, he ran the Mancini family, and his reputation scared the dead. Not only was he ruthless, but he was clever.. extremely clever. How else would he manage to run this family for so long and win so many mafia wars?

~~SERAPHINA~~ I scroll on my phone in the kitchen a few days later, waiting for my toast to pop out of the toaster, feeling deeply bored yet satisfied at the same time. In the days since Massimo was shot, he has to take a step back from the business because he was fucking shot. He's not particularly thrilled about it, but when he tries to go about his regular business, Dr. Moretti lays down the law, and it's pretty damn funny to see a big, deadly mafioso bow to a woman who can't be taller than five foot two.