Novel & Cerita Pinocchios Dads Name

I look at his frozen arm, almost on my shoulder, then I strain to look at him. “I’m sorry… It’s just. Dad stuff, you know?” Nicco scoffs softly, turning to where his mum went, “Yeah, I know.” He has a story to tell? Damn, between the two of us and Leonel, it seems like it’s international “Fucked Up Fathers” day.

It was six. I know my father is Leander Voss, who runs a large company. My friend Jin asked me once if my dad was the Leander Voss. I said yes, and he said wow. I told him Papa makes good pancakes on Saturdays. Jin thought about this and said that was a more useful thing to know than anything on the internet. I agreed.

“Oh! I mean, you may call me Dad. Or Papa. Or chichi. Or father—whichever you prefer!” Prefer?! Why would I call him father?! What is happening in my life?! “Uh… Pa, I haven’t told her yet…” Gino tried to say, but his father cut him off immediately. What is it that you haven’t told me?” I asked. His father lifted a brow. “What? You haven’t told your fiancée yet?” Fiancée? My heart dropped straight to the floor. “What?!" “Gino?!” My voice cracked between disbelief and pure confusion.

he asked in concern. Nicky Peters, aka Nicholas Greene. Before meeting my other Dad, Nicky was a baseball player for the Colorado Spring Sox and one of the best. He told me his Dad made him play to be a man, but all my Dad wanted to do was make colorful clothing and make-up. He played baseball until he was in high school, but during that time, he joined beauty pageants when he finally came out. His Dad was unhappy once he found all the dresses and costumes and kicked him out.

And then……Something clicks inside my head. A memory of who my father is. A name that carries so much weight, power and authority. And then my other daddies……Daddy Vincenzo and Daddy Riccardo. Men who do not tolerate nonsense. Men who do not allow anyone disrespect their family. Men whose mere names are enough to make people think twice. My spine slowly straightens and my breathing steadies. The fear that was curling in my chest begins to dissolve. Replaced by something far more familiar……

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.”

he added. They are all my closest friends. We just separate ways when we went to University. But all of us were engaged in business. Nicolas Petropoulis was running a chain of hotels, restaurants and resorts all over the world and partnered with Demetrio Pallos. While Zandros Mailov, His dad is a Russian, though they live in Athens Greece. His mom is a Greek.

"Wow, this is quite the dramatic family reunion we've got here! I didn't sign up for all this intensity!" His unexpected comment caught us off guard, and for a moment, silence filled the room. But then a few chuckles escaped Grandpa's lips, breaking the heavy mood. Taking advantage, Grandpa changed the topic "Hey, Kevin, if this were a movie, what roles would we all play?" Kevin rubbed his chin, pretending to think before pointing at Vincezo's father. "Definitely the mysterious and enigmatic dad, keeping us on our toes!" Vincenzo's father raised an eyebrow, a tiny smile hinting at the corner of his mouth. It was the closest thing to a smile we had seen from him all evening.

You were invisible. My father was the third son of our grandfather, Anthony Luciano. Vincent, Dario’s father, was the first son. Vincent’s mother had difficulty having more children. From what I’ve been told, after her death, Anthony remarried, wedding our grandmother Gia. The different wives accounted for the age difference between Uncle Vincent, Uncle Salvatore, and my father, Carmine Luciano. That was also why Uncle Salvatore’s and my father’s children were much younger than Uncle Vincent and Aunt Arianna’s. Papà was sixteen and a made man when his nephew, Dario, was born. It’s understandable why he and Uncle Salvatore didn’t appreciate taking orders from Dario.

Father wants me to get married to an older man like himself? The man turned to look at me properly from his sitting position, which was on the old ancestral brown leather chair. His wrinkled blue eyes twinkled even more. "Meet my daughter," My father points at me to the man. "The youngest. Her name is Lorena Cicero!" The man grins in amazement. My father continues. "Lorena, meet my perfect friend of the old times. Urso Andino!" He introduced. I then bow slightly to him.