Romanos 12 19 Novels & Stories

Romulus' voice was low, husky, and commanding. "I dare not, my Lord." Using his nails, Romulus pricked his flesh till it turned red. "If you do not," he said in a threatening voice. "I'll snap your head off your neck." The servant froze and slowly, he lifted his head till his eyes met Romulus’.

"Remember, my son, dealing with Romans requires a delicate touch. They possess a fire that can either forge alliances or consume all in its path. Be cautious in your dealings, for their pride can be both their strength and their downfall." He continued, his voice a steady cadence echoing through the chamber, "In the pursuit of justice and fairness, you may find yourself stepping on toes. When that moment arrives, be resolute. But, Leonidas, always be mindful of the consequences. The Romans, like the gods of old, can be unforgiving."

“Uhm you told me before that the master room has not been used for a month now. Do you remember? That was the day I first worked in the Casa. You told me that.” Edna cannot understand why Serene was asking about the master room all of a sudden. “What about it?” “The day I cleaned that room, I found a ticket: a transparent ticket with a word Platinum in it. Mr. Roma entered the room, took the ticket out of my hand and told me I was not supposed to be there.” Serene have no idea why she was starting on the very first detail. She could tell Edna the real deal right away, but she cannot find the right words. “The opening of Casa Roma was also last month, so the master room was only used during t

But Roman's gaze reveals nothing He steps aside. Waiting. For me to enter. ###########

Antonio Romano had chosen sentiment over force. And he had just taught me exactly where to strike. ----------------------------------------------------------------

Huh? R? What's– Roman. “Bastard!”

“Celeste has nothing to do with this.” “Tutto a che fare con questo!” Romano’s voice boomed. “Everything! She bears the blood of the man who ended my family. Do you think I can look at her and not see Alessia’s grave?” “Then don’t look at her,” Azrael bit out. The Don’s men stiffened. Guns clicked softly in the dark. For a moment, I thought Romano would order them to shoot him. Instead, he let out a long, quiet breath and said something that made the air go still again.

I'd read the letter already. It was... embarrassing, honestly. A collection of taunts stitched together with pettiness and malice. Mockery masquerading as cleverness. Zamora had always thought herself sharper than she was. Roman shifted, the blanket slipping off one shoulder as he leaned back slightly. Without thinking, I moved closer and adjusted it around him, tucking it more securely. He didn't react. For a moment, there was only the faint rustle of paper. Then Roman spoke. "She used 'your' instead of 'you're' here," he said flatly, tapping the page. "Twice."

As he upped his game, making little sounds escape Rose’s mouth, while her eyes all but rolled to the back of her head in pleasure, he was frustrated to hear Stefan talk some more. When was the man going to leave? “You’ve never locked the door before,” Stefan answered, still refusing to back down, it would seem. True to himself, Roman answered the man succinctly, “Carpe diem.” That naturally did the trick. Indeed, whenever Roman used Latin expressions, or reverted back to Italian, his men knew not to argue. It wasn’t long before his sweet little butterfly got off her high, and began to spasm around him, milking him dry. A grunt of utter relief left him as he hit home one last time, and Rose o

Roman considered: Ro, Re, Ra . The pain came so pure and sudden that Roman was instantly staggered. Flashes of lightning shot through his head, cutting his mind like bright knives. Startled he groaned and suddenly he felt sick, but the pain he felt was not his own. What he received was another person's final inner outcry. It was horrible. With a dry throat, Roman dragged himself to the little bench opposite the door and dropped onto it. He sat there with his hands pressed onto the metal browband on his forehead, listening, trembling, to the horribly distorted voice that echoed in his head. She sounded infinitely desperate, exhausted and discouraged, worse than he could have felt himself in t