Speak Softly Godfather Mga Nobela at Kwento

I whispered, tears prickling my eyes. "How the great have fallen." A voice so cold sliced through the air. "The great Gabriel Russo, Don of the Miami Mafia, beaten up and blood soaked, on his knees. Now what do I call this?"

Warning: This story centers on a priest. If you’re uncomfortable with this subject, please skip it. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Please confess your sins” The man’s voice came from the other side of the confessional, low, deep, laced with a thick Italian accent. The kind of voice that instantly makes you picture a tall, dangerous mafia man. The kind that could make any woman feel something sinful stir deep inside her.

"Yeah. I just...I want to speak with you." I raised one of my brows at him. Uhm... "Well, you're speaking to me right now." "Yeah," he paused and stared at me for a while before he continued, "I wanted to make a suggestion." His hesitant behavior was killing me. He should just go straight to the point, please. "Okay?" "I know that it might sound so selfish of me but at the same time, I need you to understand me..." "Alessandro, get to the point." Why was he speaking this gently and softly? It was unlike a Mafia personality that I would expect him to have.

Federico Di Grazia; The Godfather had arranged a meeting at an exclusive golf club. Golf wasn’t exactly my game—I’d barely played—but on a bright, sunny day, surrounded by the city's wealthiest and most influential men discussing business and politics, I couldn't ask for a better setting.

Dante’s stomach twisted every time he thought about it. “Papà is… steady,” Dante said. “He is always steady. He is grieving and he is managing it in the specific way he manages things.” He paused. “Luca is…complicated at present.” “Sofia,” Giovanni said. “Sofia is Sofia,” Dante said. Giovanni heard the thing in those three words that Dante hadn’t intended to put in them — the way he had been careful when speaking them. He said nothing. He looked at Rome.

he asked. “Huh?” I blinked, surprised. “You don’t have to answer if you’re not sure,” he added. “I like you,” I said honestly. He held my gaze. “That might change. You’re still young. Maybe it’s just a crush.” “I don’t know but I like you,” I repeated. “I’m older than you. And I’m your godfather. Do you still feel the same?” he asked. “Why not?” I said. “I don’t like you because of your age. I like you because I just do.”

You're perfect. "Only your beauty, blonde hair, blue eyes, and flawless skin can satisfy Jackson. "As long as he takes you, all my gambling debts will be wiped clean." My heart clenched violently. "Who?" Fear and reverence filled Calvin's face. "Jackson Grant. "He's the new mafia Godfather. He's a legend. "They say he came from the slums and used to be the old Godfather's daughter's bodyguard. He fought his way up. His means were violently cruel.

He sat down next to me. ​The maids started bringing out plates of food. People started talking again, but the voices were quiet and careful. Nobody wanted to say the wrong thing in front of the Godfather. ​I picked up my fork. I stared at my plate. I couldn't eat. ​Every time I looked up, Alexander was staring right at me.

Watching the world through bulletproof glass. The silence was unbearable, so I had to say something. “Hello to you too, brother,” I said, dragging the words out. “What a lovely way to say you missed me.” “Mirabella.” His voice was hoarse. Tight. He finally turned, and the sight of him struck me harder than I expected. Dominic Belluci, once unshakable, looked aged. There were shadows under his eyes, his shoulders slightly slumped. And guilt was written across his face.

After a while, I was feeling thirsty, so I decided to go downstairs to get a bottle of water, but on reaching the stairs, I overheard a familiar voice speaking with Father. Of course, I knew who it was — even in my sleep, I could easily recognize his deep, husky voice that commands power and dominance. It made me shiver every time. It was Sir Frederick, my Godfather. “So where is she?” He asked, sounding displeased by the news Dad had shared with him. I bit my lip anxiously as I took in his disappointment. For some reason, I didn't like that he was displeased with me. “In her room. I should have done better in training her. I have spoiled her so much that she is now involved in drugs,” I ove