Short Stories In Italian Novels & Stories

Vincenzo huffs, but he finally loosens his posture, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Our love lives are boring, Elena,” I hear him say as I watch Riccardo pull out a seat to sit. “Lies,” I shoot instantly. Vincenzo blinks. “Excuse me?” “You three? Boring?” I snort. “That's statistically impossible. Three rich, dangerously attractive Italian men with Mafia bloodlines? No. You absolutely have stories.” Riccardo bite down a smile. Nico leans forward. “Alright then. If we’re exposing things, let’s start with Enzo,” he say in a teasing tone.

*“Benvenuta tesoro, lascia che la nonna si prenda cura di te, qui nessuno ti farà del male. Sei al sicuro.” “Grazie nonna” she said and I looked at her. When did she learn Italian? It had to be after she left chicago. “Boys, bring Alessandra’s belongings, she will stay on the ground floor” My mother said. We watched them walk away with her. I found Dante, Gio and Antonio looking at me. *“Cugino, sei innamorato” Gio said “No I’m not” “Yes, you are Kian. You love her or you are heading there. We will discuss this later. The stalker, he knew we were there” Dante said

‘This is the life’ Jackie closed her eyes and took a long drink of her wine, ‘I think I am going to enjoy it here’ Dawn grinned as a group of young Italian guys sauntered over, Penso che a Dio manchino quattro dei suoi angeli più belli. Possiamo unirci a te e offrirti da bere?' [I think God is missing four of his most beautiful Angels. May we join you and buy you a drink?] Melissa laughed out loud, ‘lo adorerò qui' [I am going to love it here’] She replied in perfect Italian as the young men sat down.

KATYA. The restroom tiles were cold against my back as I leaned against the wall, phone clutched tight in my hand. My thumb hovered over the photo I’d saved—his photo. Cerci Lucanto. The mafia lord they claimed was a killer, a criminal, a monster but staring at his face, I couldn’t believe any of it. His eyes were too calm. He wasn’t like the others rotting behind those prison walls. No—he was above them.

How could it not be. I got a new job with higher pay in Italy and I've been taking weekly Italian lessons with Adrianna. I’ve started to improve and I can even hold a conversation in Italian now. The job I got is still as a graphic designer because I really love the job but now I just work in Italy, I wanted to work at Luciano's company but we agreed that dating the boss wasn't exactly the most Ideal situation for us. It’s gonna become far too complicated and I know I know when aren’t we complicated?

He leaned into my ear to say the last part in his low and husky morning voice. A man's morning voice was definitely the sexiest thing I had ever heard and it made my cheeks burn as my heart did a cartwheel. "You also know Italian? " "Yes Bellissima is Italian for beautiful" "Can you teach me please... " "What do you want to know doll? " "Um... Basic greetings" "Okay Morning is buongiorno Sunshine is Luce del sole" "What does my stud muffin mean? " He stayed silent and I looked at his face to see a smirk dancing at his lips

Isabella had always known her uncle Tony was trouble, always gambling, taking heavy loans, shady deals, he was always one step away from disaster, but she never thought it would come to this. The men came at midnight, two of them, huge and dressed in black, they kicked the door open, grabbed Tony by the collar, and dragged him out, Isabella screamed, tried to fight, but one of them pointed a gun at her head and said, “Luca Moretti wants his money, your uncle can’t pay, so he’s sending you instead.”

It is not until he stiffens and shoots his seed deep inside me that he notices something is wrong. 'Dai, piccola, di solito non sei così fredda. Sai che posso farti stare davvero bene.' [Come on, baby girl, you are not usually this cold. You know I can make you feel so good.] I don't think he even realises he is talking to me in Italian. The language of love, so they say. This is not love.

Natalia raised a brow. "I guess when an Italian family climbs the food chain in American society, people make up all sorts of stories about them. If you would just search the Internet, you would only find respectful articles about us in the Italian news. It's the Americans that make up lies about us." He lied smoothly, completely omitting the fact that the only reason the Italian news said good about them was because they were either paid to or were too scared to do otherwise. Natalia nodded thoughtfully. She really did not want to dig deeper into it. After all, there had been no real police reports or cases against the Gretto family - just a lot of speculation from the unreliable pap and he

The words are written in Italian: ‘IL BROKER È PIÙ VICINO DI QUANTO PENSI.’ (The broker is closer than you think.) My eyes blaze. “What the fuck is this supposed to mean?”