Romans & histoires Stefan Salvatore Damon Salvatore

He stepped forward until he was just two steps away. “You think love is enough to survive what’s coming?” “No. But it’s what brought me here. And now, it’s what keeps me standing.” I stood between them, feeling the sparks in the air. It was like watching two opposing forces on the verge of colliding. “I’ve heard of you,” Dimitri said, his voice low. “Matteo Salvatore. One of the most feared names in the Italian mafia in New York. The man who solves with blood, who leads with an iron fist. They say you hesitate before no one.”

"You, who the hell are you?" Salvatore couldn't help feeling offended by the fact that these three famous people didn't recognize him. As a powerful Mafia boss, he had always regarded himself highly, and he would have expected other powerful individuals like Mrs Danvers and Erin, to recognize who he was. Rising from his seat, Salvatore approached Mrs Danvers, saying, "I'm Don Salvatore. And I believe you know the reason why my men kidnaped you?"

“Dinner out here. On the balcony. It’s better company than the walls. The night is cold, and it is only a matter of time before winter hits. And normally, that might call for no more dinner in the balcony if it is snowing. I wouldn’t mind, but I am not the one who puts the rules in this place.” “At this point, I believe that you do.” He said, making me smile. For a second, I thought he might refuse, Dominic Salvatore, the Alpha who dined behind closed doors, at a table filled with silverware that he most likely didn’t even bother using… not under the stars. But then something in his face softened, almost too subtle to catch. “Dinner on the balcony,” he repeated. “You drive a hard bargain.” “

A figure leaned against a sleek black Maserati and a thick cigarette burned between his fingers while he watched me with the kind of scrutiny that usually made weaker people wither. I recognized him at first glance. He was Domenico Salvatore, the Fourth Capo of the Salvatore family. He hadn’t changed much— he was tall, dark and still exuding that effortless Sicilian arrogance. He was wearing a tailored suit that fitted like a second skin and he looked at me the way a predator studies a rival that had stepped into its hunting ground. I let him look and let him wonder why I was here. I could bet he was speculating if it was because my father was dying.

He smiled again, wider now, and stepped back as if we were just two old friends catching up. “You’ve done well with the mask,” he said lightly. “But I knew Elena. And I never forget people who help me survive a war.” I blinked. “Wait.. what?” He raised his glass. “Dante Salvatore. Former associate of your late alter ego. Once a thorn in Bruce Calloway’s side.” He tapped his glass to mine. “Still am.” The twist in my gut didn’t loosen. “What do you want?” “To help you,” he said plainly. “And to destroy Bruce. Piece by piece.”

“I see you’re struggling.” Keiran’s breathing was uneven. His wound was worse than I thought. I tightened my grip on him. Salvatore’s gaze lingered before he turned back to Donovan. “Shall we talk?” Donovan scoffed. “You came with swords, not words.” Salvatore shrugged. “A precaution.” He stepped forward, stopping just before Damien’s corpse. He glanced down at the body. No emotion. Just mild interest. Then he looked at Donovan again. “You killed your own blood.”

from Damien? A scowl twisted my lips as I thought of the man that had stolen Vivian's heart. Damien was dangerous, no doubt about that. But Vivian didn’t know that. She didn’t know the world she was involved in, didn’t know the kind of person she was surrounded by. **Damien Sullivan was a part of the Cosa Nostra**, and that meant he was a part of something far darker than she could imagine.

I greeted with a wide smile, immediately throwing my body back onto my bed. "Hello, darling," I heard the thick British accent from my godfather say to me through the phone and a shiver ran through my entire body, "how's my little star doing?" he asked me and I bit the corners of my lips. I felt so shy as though I was beneath his intense gaze, "I'm doing ok, how about you?" I asked him. My godfather was Octavious Bradford, and he's probably the most good looking gentleman I've ever set my eyes on. It doesn't help that I have a bit of a crush on him and he continuously spoils me way more than he spoils my older sister.

With that, the other man walked out of the bedroom and towards the study leaving Salvatore to stand by his bedside and pinching the bridge of his nose, sighing before he turned towards Nicole. "Just get some sleep, I'll deal with him." He informed her and walked towards the door. "Salvatore?" Nicole halted him. "Who is he really?" "He is actually my best friend from high school. We met at 17 and were roommates at Stanford; we even shared an apartment. Then he further pursued his education and just received his Ph.D. degree to become 'Stephan with a Ph.D.'." Salvatore chuckled. "It's a long story." He waved dismissively at seeing Nicole's confused expression. "Just get some sleep, yeah?" With

a voice called from the doorway. I turned to find the capo I’d hit in the infirmary, the one I’d threatened to kill with his own gun. “And who are you?” I asked. I hadn’t gotten his name. All I knew was that he was blocking my way out, and I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. “Salvatore,” he said, but his stance remained rigid. “Again, what are you doing in here, traitor?” “Traitor?” I stood and stepped up to him. “I am no traitor.”