Speak Softly Godfather Novels & Stories

I say with my gaze still facing the ground "Поговори со мной [Speak to me]" He says walking towards me. "Вы просили меня, сэр [You asked for me, sir.]" "О, да, я сделал[Oh, yes, I did.]" His voice suddenly softens. Whenever it softens it means he’s too angry to shout. I hold onto where I stand praying he wouldn’t take my life away. He is used to killing people without a valid reason and with the way he sounds, I am sure he has a reason to kill me.

The damn thing felt like the whole universe on my right pinky. Heavy and powerful. “Then rise, Renato Marino,” the Godfather said, his voice a growl of authority. “Don of New York.” I stood. The lion ring gleamed under the firelight. One by one, the others followed protocol. Tommaso first, fists clenched, jaw locked. He dropped to one knee. “Don Marino,” he said bitterly. I could see the rage in his eyes and the anger in his tone. But it didn't matter. It never mattered.

It would be a great mistake to sit in a room when the godfather hadn't seated yet. The door made another squeaking sound, accompanied by loud footsteps. The godfather walked in with the aid of a walking stick. He looked to be in his seventies and was still agile. “Greetings from me and the Rossi family. ” Giovanni bowed before raising his head. “Giovanni Rossi. Have a seat.” the godfather called. His voice was deep and carried so much authority. Giovanni took one of the seats on the table and waited quietly for the next order from his host.

Imogen asked shifting his gaze intending to hide the blush from Orion and Fergus. The voice over the ph beamed with surety sipping from each word," È di moda in questi giorni. Perché dimenticare che ora sei un maestro della mafia, nessun uomo comune sul ciglio della strada. E un'altra cosa qui non si può fare senza che io lo sappia) ( It's in trend these days. Why forget you are now a mafia master, no ordinary man on the side of the road. And one more thing nothing here can be done without me knowing ),"

No one would have anything to say. “No one.” No one, of course. The old man looked at us this time and snapped his fingers so that a younger priest could join us at the altar. “You two must repeat after me. For now, it is the turn of Mr. Gotti to speak. You shall look at your wife while you repeat the sentence.” “I understand, Father.” “Good.” A mic was close to my mouth and I started. “I, Carlos Gotti—” I began. “I take you, Seraphina, as my lawfully wedded wife.”

His heart pounded with confusion, guilt and a flicker of disbelief. Silvio... no. He wanted to speak, to protest but the words wouldn't come. They choked in his throat like smoke. "You did what?" the Godfather growled, stepping closer. His voice now carried the promise of violence. Silvio lowered his gaze "She irritated me... so I killed her." Without hesitation, the Godfather's fist struck Silvio across the face. The hit the floor hard, blood spilling from his split lip. "I'm so disappointed in you" the Godfather muttered, eyes cold, refusing to even look at Silvio crumpled at his feet.

My godfather's sudden appearance was like a slap in the face; his calm demeanor was a sharp contrast to the chaos swirling in my mind. "Marcello, what's going on?" he inquired, his voice smooth as silk, as if he were discussing mundane matters over coffee rather than confronting a crisis. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, seemed to dissect me in the fading light, searching for the hidden truths I was struggling to articulate.

If Adam knew the amount of money I left in Italy to have a dignify life, he would also laugh at the irony of his affirmation, not princess… I’m the queen of the Sicilian mafia, the queen of contraventions, drugs and death, worthy of a Coppola. “The godfather”, “The powerful and repulsive Lorenzo”, “dumbass Luna”, these are the movies that sum up my life. I’m laughing out loud, Sam and Maggie don’t understand, but they laugh with me, it’s a girl’s thing, accomplices in binge drinking.

) Francisco shouted after me when I pulled whatever her name was out of the living room. I was walking down the hallway when Isadora came out of a room, wiping her nose clean. What the fūck? Before I could say anything, that guy that had kissed her and a few other people walked out. I gritted my teeth together as my hold around the woman I was getting ready to fūck tightened. “Padrino.” (Italian for “Godfather.”) She said, batting her eyes until her eyes flickered to my hand around the woman’s waist.

I sighed, and in a pleading tone, said, “Listen, it took me years to get her to speak to me. Please do not mess this up for me you guys.” Gio waved his hand around dismissively, and in a prideful tone replied, “Do not worry my friend. We Sicilian men are very charming. I can help you if you are worried.” John and I rolled our eyes at our European friend. “Humble as always Gio,” John replied with a sarcastic voice. Gio nodded in absolute. “Can you guys give us a minute?” I asked my friends, hoping they will go away to give us some privacy. John pouted and was about to reject, but Gio nodded and pulled him away.