Pietro Polendina Novels & Stories

Main branch: Marcel Delacourt, Viale Maria Cristina di savoia 16 Pontasserchio, Pisa, Italy. So he is an Italian guy.

my voice broke. She stopped short of my bedside, her disgusted gaze lingering on me longer than it had ever had. "Is that how to bow to your Luna?" Fiona barged through the door fangs baring. "You omega wenches need to be taught better." "Fiona?" Luna Estella cut in harshly. "No foul words in my presence." Fiona bowed courteously, the sides of her ball gown lifting into the air. "Forgive me mother." Estella Rydor and her daughter Fiona, the two most powerful women in the Silverpine pack, and the most dangerous.

When I got the opportunity to share my thoughts about the struggles our dear town was facing in a four-page journal, I poured out my heart, focusing my writing on the ‘one man’ I shouldn’t have talked about. The journal got flagged down, of course, and its publication halted indefinitely. But the damage had been done, and unknown to me, the man I wrote about was worse than I thought and he neither forgives, nor does he forget. Pietro Eppolito is the devil that has tormented our city for the longest. He is a beast, a demon, even. Ruthless, merciless, bloody, monstrous. He kills for a living and he has turned our city into his den and my father, the Mayor of Queensland, his puppet.

I was angry at myself for kissing Natalie. I was angry at her for kissing back. I was angry at Diego for interrupting us. I stared at the troubled expression on Diego’s face and immediately realised that whatever he was going to say next would only get me more upset. “Alpha Vincenzo has been killed “, he said.

_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.

If there was anything I knew how to do, it was how to make good food out of cheap ingredients, one of the few perks of being poor. Julius watched intently as I operated practically on auto-pilot, methodically preparing the ingredients for Spaghetti Carbonara. “Shouldn’t there be cream?” He asked curiously as I aggressively grated the Parmesan cheese. “Not if you’re making it the right way.” I scoffed. “A friend of mine used to make it with cream, she said that was the proper way.” He continued, his voice suddenly much closer as he peered over my shoulder. “Give her a call and get her to make it for you then.” I snapped, jealousy coursing through me at the mention of another she-wolf.

My eyes slightly widened as I turned my head to see Octavious standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a navy blue suit, with a black shirt underneath, greatly contrasted with a red tie and as always a trench coat thrown atop his shoulders. It was the same red as his tie and I won't lie and say he didn't look both terrifying and handsome at the same time. He looked like those mob bosses you see in Italian or old British films, all the way down to the hat he always told me was called "the capone". It resembled a fedora and panama.

Rocco looked tense. Like something bad had happened. Massimo’s heart skipped. Without thinking twice, he spoke sharply. “What happened to Chiara?” Rocco blinked. Then he shook his head quickly. “No, boss. She’s fine. She’s safe.” Massimo’s chest loosened slightly, but his expression remained cold. “Then why are you here?” Massimo asked. Rocco hesitated for a second, then spoke. “The strongest Don in Russia…” Rocco started carefully. “It’s James Pietro.”

All I could do was watch as a middle-aged man entered, flanked by a squad of Soldati. Gasps echoed throughout the room. "Mr. Pellegrini wields real power. Those are Soldati, loyal only to the Don. Their strength alone could lay waste to an entire nation. There's nothing like this anywhere else." "It's a true blessing to be able to serve under Mr. Pellegrini…" Giordano unconsciously puffed out his chest. The middle-aged man gently pulled Fabiano to his side and said, "I heard it's your mom's birthday, so I came to offer my congratulations. Where is your mom?"

“Say it.” Marco’s jaw tightened. “Someone we weren’t expecting to move this fast.” Adrien’s gaze sharpened. “Who?” Marco tapped the last photo. Adrien stilled. The man in the picture wasn’t unfamiliar. Dark hair. Sharp features. Eyes that carried something calculating beneath the surface. “You’ve heard of him,” Marco said quietly. Adrien’s voice dropped. “Yes.” A beat. “Leonid Petrov.” The room felt colder instantly. The analyst shifted slightly. “You know him?” he asked carefully.