Novel & Cerita No More The Don's Broken Doll

So you're going to start acting like it. Something inside me snaps and I start laughing loud like a maniac. ‘This is insane,’ I say, wiping at my face from the tears that are stinging behind my eyes. ‘You’re insane. This whole thing is insane.’ Dante watches me and instantly, he is in front of me, grabbing my neck. ‘Get used to insane, doll. It’s your new life.’

I'll never let anything hurt you again. "The family, the title, all of it can be yours. I'll step down as Don if that's what you want. We can walk away from the Mafia, from all of it." I listened quietly until he finished, then I took a small sip of my coffee and calmly replied, "Cesare, it's too late." "It's not too late." Cesare grabbed my hand. "We still have a future. If you come back to me, I'll give you anything."

Dennis grins at him. “It feels like you want him inside your apartment to reduce boredom?” Don Angelito looks in the other side, but his ears are reddish as well as his cheeks. “No! It’s not like what you think—“ “I know your mind is sometimes perverted, Don. I will buy protection for the both of you—“ He cannot take it anymore. He clips his lips to stop him from talking about such hideous and dirty things. Dennis knew the Don is a playboy and made many girls cry during their high school days.

"You don't deserve to be my Papa. And you certainly don't deserve to be the Don of the Costa family." The gunshot cracked. Edmondo fell back on the couch. His eyes were wide. He couldn't believe his own son had just killed him. Vincenzo stared at Edmondo's bloodied body expressionlessly. He had killed everyone who had wronged Ella, but the ache in his chest didn't ease an inch.

*** The words hung in the kitchen's sudden silence, reshaping everything I thought I understood about patience, about loyalty, about the particular kind of grief that could calcify over decades into something patient enough to wait twenty years for its moment. "Tell me everything," Dante said quietly. "All of it. I think, finally, it's time I understood exactly what my family has cost people I never knew to ask about." Marco's shoulders sagged, some final wall crumbling as he began, at last, to speak.

Then I swept the wine glasses off the dresser, sending them crashing to the floor. The expensive champagne pooled on the hardwood, dark and accusatory. I tore the carefully arranged candles from their holders and threw them after the phone. The romantic music still played from the speakers, mocking my failed seduction with its sweet melody. I stood in the middle of the destruction, breathing hard, still wearing the ridiculous lingerie that had cost more than most people made in a week. All that planning. All that preparation. And he was halfway around the world, probably standing over Vanessa's grave and mourning what he'd lost.

He had no intention of keeping secrets from me, not even during the ceremony. Dante Moretti was gone—completely out of his mind. He was currently at St. Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital in Connecticut. The security there was tighter than it had ever been at the Moretti estate. The photos in the briefing showed the once-invincible Don wearing a blue hospital gown, skeletal and wasted away, clawing incessantly at a blank white wall. The doctors said he suffered from severe hallucinations and cognitive breakdown. He refused to eat. He spent every day by the window, screaming my name at the empty air.

"I sold everything that's left of the Martinez empire." "The money is split three ways. One part goes to charity. In your name." "One part goes to Rachel and the child. That's the least I owe my brother." "And the last part..." He let out a hollow laugh. "I'm keeping that. To buy myself a grave." "Right next to yours." "Next life, I'll come back and spend it paying you back." The line went dead. I held the phone in my hand for a long time. Until the screen went dark, reflecting my face back at me.

To repay Victor for saving my life, I gave up a brilliant career as one of America's finest neurosurgeons and willingly became his trophy wife. For seven years, Victor lavished money on me and treated me with bone-deep tenderness. Yet his obsessive rules suffocated me. Every other week, I had to subject my scalp to agonizing bleach treatments to keep my hair icy platinum. I had to bathe in a discontinued Venetian white iris perfume. And I had to wear a fake beauty mark at the corner of my right eye. I once mistook it all for the obsessive devotion of a Mafia Don. Then, on the eve of our wedding of the century, I found a wall covered with portraits of another woman. The measurements of my gow

I muttered looking around, “I'll get a doll for you” “A doll?” I asked and he nodded “Why?” “Cause a doll can make you smile, also I want when you look at the doll you can remember me, the last time I bought you a necklace you took it off the next day I hope you don't throw this away too” Immediately he said that I felt so bad, I remembered that I didn't throw it away but instead Jade took it, I guess he must have thrown it away.