Somali Names の小説・ストーリー

"The Rossi family doesn't need a Don. We just need a Donna." As the only heiress of the Rossi family, this was the law that I had set when I received the Browning pistol—a pistol that resembles the ultimate authority in the Rossi family—from my Papa when he was on his deathbed. But three years ago, the police relentlessly investigated the money laundering business that my fiance, Lorenzo Moretti, was in charge of. If that business were to get exposed, the Rossi family's hundred-year-old legacy would be ruined. In order to protect my family's legacy and to allow Lorenzo to continue legalizing my family's businesses, I decided to become the scapegoat for all the crimes. On the rainy night of my arrest, I personally handed the pistol over to Lorenzo. "Protect my family for me before my return." This gave Lorenzo legitimate authority to run my family. He used the pistol to purge my subordinates and take over the family business. He even broke my law by announcing to the public that he'd become the next Don soon. An invitation with golden borders is soon leaked from the family's inner circle. Lorenzo's and another woman's names are printed on the cover. During a visit, my private lawyer says mockingly, "If you don't get out of prison now, the Rossi family might take on another man's last name for real." I just sneer in response. After that, I get bailed out of jail in advance and return home to celebrate Lorenzo's "funeral". But no matter how many times I scan my iris at the biometric scanner in the estate, the result always comes out wrong. A young woman, who's toying with the pistol, opens the door at that moment. The contempt and disdain in her eyes are plain to see. "Where the hell did a crazy woman like you come from? You came to the wrong place. This is my private turf, you know."

"If I were you..." He began, his eyes suddenly having slits of fury burning within them. "I'd mind my thoughts and limit what I say." His voice dropped gravely low. My brows knitted in a frown. "Excuse me?" I asked, amused. "Are you threatening me??" I prodded further. Nicholas chortled, his voice reverberating through the walls of the room. "Call it whatever you want-I honestly don't give two fucks, but let me make it known to you, young lady..." He started and paused, and in a flick, his face became contorted with rage. "You're my possession now... You're at my mercy and I can fucking do anything I want to do to you right now, in case you don't realize that yet." He continued and I stared on, goosebumps breaking out on my forearm. "Who can save you from my clutches? Exactly what you're guessing... nobody, not even your boss, Megan!" ~>>>~ Nicholas Hills is one of the new names on the movie production scene. He is known as a Billionaire Playboy who had inherited his fortune from his Grandfather. Nicholas is naturally flirty, his good looks making him an automatic ladies' magnet, so he hides his vulnerability and prefers to give off the impression of being a careless playboy. Corvette Vincente, a 24-year-old Private Investigator is the best at what she does. Working for the ruthless gossip magazine "Splash a Star" which makes its profit from bringing out the skeleton in the closet of celebrity stars,Corvette is the best they have and her latest assignment is the Playboy Billionaire movie producer, Nicholas Hills. Getting him caught up in a scandal should be as easy as swatting a fly, but what happens when his charms and sensuality turn her into his scandal instead...? And she loves it! Every single bit!!

Before my death, I repeatedly remind my son, Clark Sinclair, what to do after I pass away. I stress that my heart must be donated to my husband, Craig Sinclair. He has suffered from dilated cardiomyopathy for 30 years. This is the last thing I can do for him. Clark shakes me off impatiently and snaps, "Enough. Stop pretending to be kind. Dad was never sick." I think I must have misheard him. "What?" He lets out a cold laugh and continues, "If you hadn't refused to divorce him all these years, why would he have needed to fake an illness just to be with Vern in secret?" My whole body trembles as I demand proof. Clark hands me a marriage certificate. On it are the names Craig and Verna Bloom, my widowed sister-in-law. The two lean against each other intimately, smiling sweetly at the camera. In an instant, rage and grief overwhelm me. The family I spend half my life building turns out to be nothing more than a complete lie. Clark continues expressionlessly, "Actually, Vern is my real mother. Your child was drowned in a bathtub long ago. Back then, Dad and Vern couldn't resist each other. She went into premature labor and nearly bled to death. She gave birth to me on the same day you gave birth. "Dad was so frightened that he developed heart palpitations. He was afraid you'd never stop causing trouble if you found out, so he pretended to be sick for 30 years." Curled up on the floor, I cough up a mouthful of blood. "Why tell me now?" Clark looks at me with eyes full of nothing but hatred. "You stole Vern's place for 30 years. And now, even on your deathbed, you want my dad to owe you a favor. Why should he?" An inexplicably bitter taste fills my mouth. In the end, I die consumed by regret. When I open my eyes again, I find myself in the delivery room next to Verna's. A wave of excruciating pain surges through my lower body.