Rico From Rico Story Novels & Stories

“Groom: Rafael Vittorio Ricciardi. Bride: Alessandra Marino.” The sound of the air conditioning suddenly became too loud. I was still sitting in the same chair. Still holding the same mug. I could still see Washington’s thin rain staining the window behind my laptop. Rafael. Vittorio. Ricciardi. My right hand tightened against the desk. My nails pressed lightly into the wood. I didn’t notice until the small sting reached me. “Can you imagine the press? That European dynasty? It’s like… Succession, but richer and older. And we—”

"Common! Don't ignore me like that. I can assure you that you'll enjoy me. My p**y is very hot. I'm sure you've got a long c**k down there." Out of anger, Ricco held her shoulders aggressively. "Stai lontano dai miei piedi, stronza!. Ho degli affari di cui occuparmi (*Stay out of my fucking way bitch!!, I've got some business to tend to)." "And someone I need to find!" He said lastly with his eyes locking with that of Lorenzo who understood what he meant.

I could see it…Valerio running from his own shadow, punishing himself for sins that weren’t entirely his. “He promised me,” Rico said softly, his voice breaking on the words. “He promised he’d protect me. But instead, he left me in that house… with the same man who killed my father. For years.” I swallowed hard. “Rico, I’m… I’m so sorry you went through that.” He smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed sad. “It was a long time ago. I’ve made peace with it. Or at least I thought I did.” For a while, the only sound in the room was the soft tearing of a plaster as I covered his wound. He didn’t move. He just watched me, quiet, almost tender.

Besides, I don’t have a dick, so Rico is not interested in me. (Stop being an idiot. Rico is a friend.-Me) (I don’t like other men touching you.-Luca) (Seriously, it’s Rico. He is not the least bit interested in me. He would only be interested in me if I suddenly grew a dick and a pair of testicles.-Me)

-———————————————————— A week after Rico’s death, the police report was released, the headline flashing across newspapers and television screens: **"Detective Rico Morales Found Dead in Apparent Suicide." At the precinct, detectives gathered in somber silence, discussing the details of the report. The forensic team had found a glass laced with poison, Rico’s fingerprints smudged across it, alongside a handwritten suicide note. The note was short but sorrowful, expressing his regret over his failures in solving recent high-profile cases, including those of his friends Jack and Carlos.

The two of them met later that evening at a restaurant called "Chips n Nyama," where they enjoyed barbecued meat for dinner. The beer was flowing like water and they talked into the late hours of the evening. Jamie shared her life story on how she climbed her way to the top of the company after she grew up in a poor household. Her story wasn't similar to how Warren made a name for himself, but Warren could tell that she was a fighter who would fight hammer and nails for what she wanted. He liked that quality of her.

His hand slid from mine to my hip, fingers pressing just enough to make me do a cartwheel in my head. No words needed. The man got it immediately. "Respect to every man who takes back what’s his," he chuckled, giving me a quick salute. "Villa’s ready. Enjoy, lovebirds." He clicked his tongue and stepped away, already answering a call. "Who’s that?" I asked, my eyes trailing after him. "A friend I made while building my company," Ricochet replied, his hand coming up to cup my temple, turning my face back to him. "And don’t stare at him like that. I’m the only one you’re allowed to eye-rape, okay?"

Every word Rico uttered was being recorded, broadcasted, and absorbed by a city that had been waiting for years to pierce the veil of secrecy cloaking its underworld. Rico leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced together to steady the tremor that ran through his body. He had already recounted the story of his father, Michael Jack, and how death by cancer had left his family broken and destitute. He had recalled his starving mother Gloria, his desperate fight for survival, and how Kroos had plucked him out of a food canteen brawl with the promise of bread, money, and belonging. But now, the inspectors wanted him to go deeper. To give the city what it was waiting for—the truth about

Chapter Sixty-Six Author's Pov Rico's Flashbacks ********************* Rico sat on the old wooden bench in the park, his thoughts consumed by memories of his tumultuous past. As he gazed into the distance, his mind drifted back to the time when he lost his parents. Left with no one to turn to, Rico found himself at the mercy of his wicked aunt, Isabella. Initially, she had welcomed him into her lavish home, seemingly out of compassion and family duty. Little did he know that her intentions were far from pure.

I laughed in the right places, nodded along, let the normalcy sink in. Then Rico—quiet, intense Rico who rarely spoke unless he had something heavy to say—leaned back in his chair and started a story. “You guys remember my buddy Diego from Eastside crew? The one with the mayor’s son beating the shit out of his old man every weekend?” A couple of the guys grunted yeah.