Massimo Mancini Novels & Stories

Angelo stood tall, breath misting in the cool night air, his knuckles bloodied, his chest rising and falling with measured calm. The three men writhed on the ground, beaten but not shattered. “Tell my father…” Angelo began again, his voice sharp with finality, “I’ll come to him myself” A slow, deliberate clap echoed from the shadows. Angelo froze. His head turned toward the sound. From the mouth of the alley, four more men stepped into view, larger, heavier, the kind that moved with the calm precision of predators. Behind them, a sleek black car idled, its headlights dimmed but its presence unmistakable: the signature of Giovanni Mancini.

With glance I can tell, Zeus' grip was brutal, the way Vittorio’s jaw tightened from the shake, just for a second, before he smoothed it away. On the other hand, Massimo didn’t reach out. He only dipped his head. The chandelier light caught in his pale hair, making it look bright, almost holy, if you didn't know the kind of man he was. Saints never smiled like that — cold, calculating. “Mr. Mancuso here has been busy!” Vittorio went on, eyes flicking between them like a referee pretending he still controlled the game. “Russian circuits. Balkan routes. Disruptive, to say the least. I thought it wise to make this moment…official. After all, alliances are the only true currency left in our worl

Blood sprayed across the concrete. Dante stood, accepting a handkerchief from Massimo. "You're going to deliver a message. Some of you, anyway." He pulled his gun. The men tensed, but Dante didn't fire immediately. Instead, he pointed at the youngest one, he couldn't have been more than twenty. "You. What's your name?" "M-Mano." "Mano. How long have you worked for Caruso?" "Six months."

"You are so stunning like this, Stevens," Magnus Andersen murmurs, his golden Alpha eyes fixed on my bare chest as his broad hands massage my flesh, his thick fingers circling the sensitive tips of my nipples. "I cannot wait to see your body swell and heavy with my royal blood as you carry our heir to term."

( Take her to the boss) Isabella soon began panicking as she would recognize that language from anywhere the man was speaking in Italian and this boss he was speaking off must have been their Mafia's boss. She tried to pull away from him, she went as far as trying to bit him but the man chuckled as he pulled his hand away just in time. "Fiesty slut non è lei quello che non pagherei per essere quella che scopa questa figa vergine" (Fiesty slut isn't she what I wouldn't pay to be the one fucking this virgin pussy) the man said cruelly.

He wastched us both suspicously, then said, "Vince, I see you met my daughter." His name is Vince? "I'm Sofia. It was a pleasure to meet you." I indroduce myself to 'Vince'. "Vincenzo Moretti." He said in a deep voice. He had an accent. "Vincenzo is the Italian Don." My papa said to me. That explained his sexy accent. Did I just call his accent sexy? "Why are you having a meeting with the Italian Don?" I ask, confused. "I'll explain later, now come, your mama made breakfast." He answered.

They knew they were too valuable and we won't risk killing them. Silvio Capone just raised his head, hate reflected in his eyes but his lips transformed into a lazy smirk, "Suck my dick, Mancini," he said grinning at us. I smirked back, "That's Allegra's job, isn't it?" His smirk transformed into a scowl in a second. He looked ready to rip my head off but not just him Enrico Ferrari looked just as pissed. "You know that's why I came here anyway. I wanted to know how good she was at it," I grabbed my dick, to let him know what I meant.

_Dominic “What is it, spill it out,” I said impatiently. “Boss, we have company,” Vini said and we both got up from our respective chairs. The man I was with started to walk towards the back window and looked out. “I never got your name,” I said as soon as he turned and looked around. “Nikolai, but you can call me Nic,” he said, looking between me and Vini. Nikolai. He was Russian, but even as I searched in the hazy compartments of my brain, there was no Nikolai.

It was a rich, decadent, tiramisu, "How did you meet Don? And how are you liking the mafia life?" Sofia was a very nice woman. She was extremely sweet and was really smart. She was working towards getting her PhD in Italian history. I was about to answer, but then I felt Mariano's hand on my bare thigh under the table. I coughed. "We met at work, actually." I said, shakily. Mariano's fingers reached my core. He pinched my upper thigh. "I work at a cafe, while I'm still in University. He was there with Luca, our Capo."

“My name, like yours, is a half truth.” I blinked at him. That was the moment, the moment all secrets would be revealed. “What is your name?” His gaze locked on mine. “Giovanni Domenico Mancini Ferrante. My father is Giovanni Ferrante, head of the Ferrante family.” My stomach dropped. The room seemed to spin and I grabbed hold of him, my eyes never leaving his. “You’re a Ferrante?” Of all the secrets, I was not expecting that. “Technically, yes.”