Stefan Salvatore Quote Novels & Stories

Rico asked suddenly. Salvatore chuckled, calm. “You ask that every day with your eyes. Perhaps I should answer.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Because you deserve it. You’ve been running too long, carrying weight too heavy for your shoulders. Someone has to give you rest, or you’ll break.” It was a beautiful answer, too beautiful. And Rico felt the sting of suspicion coil in his gut. But Salvatore wasn’t done. He exhaled smoke, watching it curl toward the rafters. “Besides… you remind me of someone I once knew. Someone who got lost in this city and was swallowed whole. I won’t let that happen again.”

If I weren’t, I’d have already slit his gut open, dragged his intestines out, and watched as he tried to shove them back in. “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, rubbing my temple. “Mr. Agostino Salvatore. The great ex-Russian mafia leader.” My lip curled in a sneer. “What a fucking honor.” I heard the slow, deliberate tap of his cane against the ground as he stepped forward. From my peripheral vision, I caught the way his aged fingers tightened around the handle, knuckles whitening. His gaze lifted toward the night sky, as if he were pondering something far greater than the two of us.

His voice grated on my nerves, but I kept my expression unreadable. To my right, Lorenzo Moretti exhaled a cloud of smoke, his gaze flicking between me and Salvatore like he was waiting for one of us to snap. To my left, Matteo Mancini cracked his knuckles, clearly growing impatient. “Enough with the bullshit, Sal,” Matteo cut in, his voice sharp. “What’s your fucking point?” Salvatore smirked. “Patience, Mancini. I was getting there.” I set my glass down with a soft thud, leveling Salvatore with a stare. “Then get there faster.”

Break the line of people complaining, preventing them from running into me, and see the security look at me suspiciously. "To the end of the line, sir!" "I came to pick up my brother, he’s giving work in there" lies easily, and he scratches his beard, thoughtful. "I’m Valentin Salvatore and I can..." "The owner of LDrinks? Why didn’t you say something before? I love your drinks, man. Come on, get in!"

That sentence hit harder than expected, because suddenly this was no longer just a conversation between crime bosses, this was a father speaking, a dangerous father, but still a father. “And?” I asked quietly. “And I still haven’t decided whether to kill you.” Several guards visibly tensed around the room, I almost smiled, finally honesty. “You’ll have to wait in line.” A low chuckle echoed through the phone again, for the first time, genuine amusement. “Good,” Salvatore muttered. “Weak men don’t survive beside women like Melissa.” “She doesn’t know about you.” “No.” “She deserves the truth.” “I know.” Again that regret appeared, buried deep but unmistakable now.

His gaze was fixed on Mr Salvatore, jaw taut, lips pressed into a line so thin it could’ve sliced skin. Salvatore didn’t even blink. He leaned back in his chair, one arm still draped lazily over the back like he was reclining at a goddamn dinner party. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “Your team’s excellent. No doubt about that. But none of them were the designer.” My stomach flipped. Salvatore smiled at me again—like I was some precious discovery he’d stumbled across.

“Stop policing my decisions like you’re my mother or something. I will do whatever I want and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Now tell me what you want from me and why you helped me so that I can go on with my day. I don’t want to owe you anything.” Salvatore shoved him. “You need to thank her for what she did. I would’ve never found you if it wasn’t for her, and you would probably be dead by now. Most people in your position would be grateful and kind to the person who saved their lives. Not rude and condescending.” Salvatore warned him. “I am not going to act like I’m okay with a bitch who left us hanging in Italy and stayed away from us for five years without looking back. She’s no

He crumpled to the ground, groaning. Salvatore, still bound and at the mercy of my men, watched with a hint of amusement. "You're a hothead," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Your father was the same way." "And now," I said, crouching down to look him in the eye. "You're going to tell me everything that you had planned." For a moment, I saw doubt flicker in Salvatore's eyes. Then, he laughed, a harsh bark that sent a shiver down my spine. "You think you can threaten me?" he said. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

Vittorio’s POV At The Top Floor Of A Luxurious Hotel “Just smile and shake hands,” Salvatore whispered at my side. “That’s all you gotta do. Show face. Say a few pretty words. These bastards eat it up.” I didn’t answer. “Try not to look like you’d rather shoot someone.” Salvatore whispered behind his fake-ass grin as another senator’s daughter floated over in sequins and desperation. “I’d rather shoot myself,” I muttered, sipping the whiskey I wasn’t enjoying.

Salvatore's jaw tensed, "Is that all you have to say after you tore apart our family?" I maintained a firm gaze, meeting Salvatore's glare with my own steely stare. "I didn't destroy anything," I asserted, my voice tinged with resolve. "But I can't forgive the way you brought Tony Parker back into my life. That's something I'll never forget. Vincenzo claimed he wanted the truth, but the moment I gave it to him, he couldn't handle it."