No More The Don's Broken Doll Novels & Stories

I was forced flat against the floor, left with no choice but to watch Grace throw the doll against the floor, creating a deep crack across the doll’s surface. “Damien! Damien gave that to me! You’re not allowed to touch it!” I struggled like an absolute lunatic. Startled by my sheer madness, Lucy’s grip faltered for a second. Using that brief moment, I dragged myself forward on my hands and knees, throwing my body over the broken doll on the floor. As my fingertips brushed against the deep crack, tears splashed onto the back of my hand. “Damien, I’m sorry… I didn’t take good care of it. I let them break it.”

“Just a warning, we love him, but Donny is horrible to watch movies with. He is incapable of remaining silent for more than ten minutes at a time.” Donny rolled his eyes, “Hey, I once lasted an hour Dad. So give me some credit where credit is due.” Doc laughed, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you Miss Dubois. I’m going to take these instruments and put them in the auto clave in the other room to sterilize them. If you need me just holler. Son behave yourself and no horror flicks. You know your mother doesn’t want you watching that crap.”

Not the Tommy we knew, the one who could scale a tree faster than a squirrel, the one who could make us laugh until our sides ached. “I saw him smile the other night,” Donny said, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, like he didn’t want to scare the memory away. “Just for a second. I was telling him about the raccoon that stole my dinner out back.” A laugh tried to escape my chest. It didn’t quite make it. It caught in my throat, a painful lump of fear and relief. “You serious?” Donny nodded. A ghost of a smile played on his lips. “Dead serious. Little bastard took the whole burger. Didn’t even drop the bun.”

"The doctor said she needs to keep her strength up. The wound on her arm is healing poorly. If she doesn't eat or drink—" "Then bring her food." I don't look at him. My eyes stay on the screen, on her, on the slow rise and fall of her chest that is the only sign she is still alive. "We did. She won't touch it." Then I turn and look at him. "Force her." Marco's face doesn't change, but I see the hesitation in his eyes. The slight tightening around his mouth. The way his weight shifts from one foot to the other. "She's not a prisoner, Don."

The silence was worse than the gunfire had been. I stood at the shattered bar cart, surrounded by broken crystal and the metallic tang of spent ammunition, and listened to the penthouse breathe. Dante's men moved in quiet currents around me—sweeping glass, securing the hallway, dragging the last of Enzo's failed assault team toward the service elevator. No one spoke to me. No one looked at me directly. I was the Don's woman, and the Don was gone, and that made me something between royalty and a widow in waiting.

“I don't want one day. I want you to make it up to me now.” “Scarlett, I want you to be my Donna.” He had placed the diamond solemnly in my palm and said our love would last like the diamond, forever, never fading. And now he said: “You agreed to be my Donna, and that's the only reason I gave you this diamond.” “Now that you want a divorce, you've lost the right to take it with you.” He paused and gave a cold laugh. “You don't think you're still worth thirty million, do you?”

Right after I hung up, I heard the roar of Daniel's sports car in the driveway. Was he back? I barely had time to hide my suitcase away before he walked in, holding a paper bag. He handed it to me with a bright smile. "You've been working hard these past few days. Here's a gift for you. I remember you like this." I opened it, and inside the bag was a plush toy. Of course, it was pink. I set it aside and asked pointedly, "Didn't you say you hated theme parks because they were noisy and childish?"

It’s like being in the Principal’s office again as he hears words like idiot boy, or stupid lad, and mischief. “R-rock,” Don muttered suddenly. “What are you saying?” asked Alice. “Van… R-rock…” “Just say it please,” said Alice before whacking Don’s knee with a steel ruler. “Hey that hurts!” Don shouted after yelping in pain, “I mean Van here, is listening to too much Rock Music.” Van slowly turns to the hysterical Don. “Please man, I’m already having a bad day,” he pleaded. “See what I mean, he’s not well! Van was never been the same since he bought the latest album of Stonehearts on Fire.”

By the window, Neo watched as cars departed from the neighborhood. He reached out, slowly drawing the curtains closed. Picking up the zombie doll from the floor, he placed it on a shelf in the small room. Then he walked over to the cabinet furthest inside and pulled open the drawer. Inside the drawer lay a row of handmade dolls. They were all tattered and strange-looking. Some were missing arms, some had broken legs. Others had their mouths sewn shut, their faces expressionless. These dolls all bore a striking resemblance to Jenny. Neo picked up one of the dolls, looking at its broken arm, his eyes filled with a chilling sense of foreboding.

I just stared at him. "How did she die?" No answer. "What happened to her?" Nothing. "Am I just a replacement for Camilla?" He didn't speak, He didn't move, He just stared out the window like I wasn't there. I turned away. I looked at my own reflection in the glass, My face was pale, My hands were shaking. What the fuck? I had signed a contract to be some man's Doll. I had let him touch me in a red room. I had worn a dead woman's name at a family dinner.