Muichiro Father Novels & Stories

I was assaulted by the scents of cedar wood and expensive cigars hung thick in the air. I let go of a shuddering breath as I stepped inside. Gaetano Siciliano, the patriarch of the family, the Don— one of the most powerful and feared heads of the mafias in Italian history— my father was sitting in his chair before his massive desk. His thick brows knitted together, hanging low over his dark caramel eyes and gray hair cut stylishly. In his sixties, he was still fit, strong, and could beat me in the ring if he desired to, but he always humbly said his prime was over. “Figlio.”

Bria's POV I am no fan of Mia Costa, but I realize I do not love Riccardo Marino. I only wanted him because I could not get him, and my father kept pushing him down my throat. If I married him, my father would have killed him or made him hand him the Godfather title using me. My father is very ambitious and has always wanted to become the Godfather. However, he is also a coward and will never fight the Godfather for the position, unlike Riccardo, who went to face the Godfather because he was misusing his powers and steering the Italian Mafia in the wrong direction. Riccardo fought the previous Godfather to get the title, and the Italian Mafia's Dons respect him. My father has lost the last r

♧THE DISOWNED SON♧ "Wow... you have nice grades, Mahiriko. Some of it raised but mostly it didn't. Another rows of flunking grades to show me... again. Nothing new." Mahiriko's Father sarcastically uttered as soon as his Father saw his card. "Well thank you, Otosan." He sarcastically answered his Father with a menacing smile. "You never learn do you?" Mr. Quihiro asked his son as he placed his son's card down on his table and take his eye glasses off. "I thought we had a great deal."

We've been so careful, but he may have his loyalty tested soon, and I'm not sure what we can do to work around it. In the evenings I would have Micah and the Tattooed Wall Cafe. Kenji's grandma Michiko has taken a particular liking to me. It is hard to see her as a retired mafia boss. She seems far too ordinary. Whenever I see her, she's usually wearing some hideous outfit that is a confusing blend of too many colors and patterns and is usually covered in flour from baking. When I come home here for dinner, she makes sure there is an extra big plate waiting for me.

My father, without a doubt, is behind this grand welcome. Amerigo Marcello is still a powerful man, even after handing down the empire to me. He was, and still is, the most brutal man I have ever known—especially when it comes to matters of the mafia. My father is many things, but above all, he is a man who does not lie, because he fears no one.

His father hiked him a brow and snapped his gaze to face the nonchalant stare of Raphael. "Drop the formalities. What do you want? I don't have all day" Micheal muttered carelessly, taking in swift glances at Raphael and Dante. "Look father we have an issue"Dante breathed. "Well fucking spill it out!" "Do you know Mario is dead?"Raphael curiously asked, leaning forward and placing his hands on his father's desk. His father stared in amazement and was open mouthed at Raphael's revelation. "I have no idea. How?when? Where?"His father immedately asked.

"Besides, look how well it turned out last time you picked someone yourself." My smile froze. He was right. "Alright," I nodded. "Deal." "Good." Leopold put his arm around my shoulder, pleased. "Let's go. We're going home." I sat in the back of the stretch limo, polishing the Beretta my father had given me. "But Father," I said suddenly. "The woman I am now... I doubt most men would have the guts to even approach me." Leopold let out a booming laugh. "Even better," he said. "Saves me the trouble of cleaning them up."

he asked, dragging a chair closer like this was a conversation over drinks. “Nothing that will change the world.” I rolled my shoulder, the stress still clinging to my muscles like a second skin. “Some dirty arms trades. Human trafficking routes. My father’s greatest hits.” Mario pulled out two cigars from his inner coat pocket, tossing one at me. “Daddy dearest still causing problems from the grave?” “He’s not dead yet.” Unfortunately. Julio lit my cigar before I even asked. Always two steps ahead. Always too loyal. When Mario reached out for his, Julio barely spared him a glance. Cold. Silent. Refusing. Mario smirked and lit it himself.

Only a wise person would understand to do the math of how Borasco was going to get a grasp of the chance to receive the fulfillment of the promise he was given. “Father, I have come to say that….” Mauricio paused as his chest seemed to be in intolerable pain, trying to say the emotions it held. “I am grateful I am able to see this beautiful world through you,” the son smiled with his eyes clouded by tears as he looked up to meet his father’s gaze. “Don’t be stupid. Stay away from me and save yourself!”

Mario kart" It just came out, I don't know how it did, but it happened. I can't keep doing this anymore. I need to air it all out. I looked at his face, there was a touch of hate, shock and disgust. I don't wait for him to finish, I just started talking. "My father and Mario were very close friends, their union was too close, too close that my dad promised to give me to him son for marriage. His son... his son was an abuser, I hated him with my life. He was wicked and he..." my voice trailed off and I swallowed hard and kept my eyes on the table.