Tayo Ricci Father の小説・ストーリー

"My father's illegitimate son from a previous relationship." "Half-brother," Rico corrected. "Same father, different mothers. Though unlike Matteo, I wasn't raised with silver spoons and private tutors. I had to earn everything I have." "You weren't raised in this family because Father didn't acknowledge you until five years ago." I kept my voice level despite the rage burning through me. "You have no claim to anything here." "Don't I? I'm still a Romano. Still Father's blood." Rico's gaze shifted to Don Enzo. "And unlike you, I haven't been distracted by romance. I've been focused on business, on building relationships, on doing what's best for the family."

And, to be honest, I was curious to see what Nicolas had in store for me tomorrow. “That’s amazing!” Sally squealed. “Well, I mean, it’s wonderful that he was such a gentleman to you. Good night everyone,” he cleared his throat and rushed to the stairs. Daisy laughed and followed Sally, saying, “Good night, dear.” “Anaya,” my father called. “Yes, Papa?” I inquired. “I know Ricci is a tough nut to crack, but give him a chance. I’m confident he’ll treat you well,” he remarked.

Together, we are stronger than either legacy alone. So here is where my story begins: in the space of a minute, in the weight of expectation, in the promise of all that’s to come. I am Matteo Alessio Ricci, firstborn son, heir to the Ricci empire, and never alone. I was twenty-eight when my father handed me the empire. Not with ceremony, not with fanfare—just a quiet nod across the courtyard of our ancestral villa in Sicily, the kind of gesture that says, “It’s time.” Luca Ricci never needed words to command a room. His silence was sharper than most men’s threats. And that day, it cut through me like a blade.

Vito Ricci lifted his foot and kicked Marco square in the chest. Marco rolled across the floor and slammed into the wall. He stared at his father in disbelief. "Dad...?" "Shut your mouth! You animal!" Vito Ricci roared, tears of grief and rage streaming down his face. But he wasn't looking at his son. He turned, trembling, to face my mother and me on the platform. THUD. The Don of Chicago's ports, a made man in his own right, crashed to his knees. In front of his crew. In front of his son.

Kael sounded surprised to be sharing all this with his boss, but he couldn't hold it back. "Ricci was our oldest agent. He was forty-two when he died, and his daughter was only four at the time. When I found her, she was terrified. She wouldn't stop crying. It took so long to calm her down, and once she finally trusted me, she didn't want anyone else around." His voice softened. "Given the nature of my job, I never intended to marry. So I decided to raise her myself instead of sending her to the safehouse. It seemed like the least I could do after the injustice done to her father."

When he turned his gaze at me again, his eyes were already red-rimmed. “Willow, let me see Artie just once. I’m his father after all…” I gave a scornful smile and blocked his view. “But our son doesn’t want to see you. “Ever since you missed his last birthday, he has never wanted to see you again.” I shut the door, leaving him with one final remark. “Logan, you don’t deserve to be Artie’s father.” He called out my name and Artie’s over and over again until his voice broke into sobs.

I twisted my hands together, wondering if this was another plot by my recent captors to fool me. “If you think I’m working for the feds, I assure you I am not. To get you to believe me, I’ll tell you something no fed will ever know. Your father was the right hand man of Gilbert Riccardo, he was loyal up until he was captured, tortured and killed.” “A rival gang got a hold of him from information that was leaked from inside the Riccardo gang. After your father was killed, Gilbert did a thorough cleansing and killed off the rats that had infiltrated his organization, but he also didn’t see the last one and that was who killed him.”

Luciano stirred the food on the fire and occasionally glanced at the young boy who was in the kitchen with him. He was quiet and obedient too, he had followed his instructions without complaint. He covered the food. "so all we have to do now is wait for the food to be ready" he told Ricciardo. "Okay" he replied. "I uh am sorry about the death of your father, accept my condolences" he told him. Luciano had heard about the death of Ricciardo's father from his aunt Fiona when she was discussing with a client the other day.

“The kind of life that opened doors before he even touched them.” “And you?” Riccardo swirled the wine in his glass slowly. “I came from nothing.” The answer surprised her. “My mother cleaned hotel rooms,” he continued calmly. “My father disappeared before I could remember his face.” Amara blinked slightly. Riccardo didn’t look like a man who had ever lacked anything. “I attended university on scholarship,” he continued. “Vincenzo found that amusing.” “Did you hate him for it?” Riccardo chuckled softly.

And this photograph has been taken by someone who knew exactly what they were looking at and exactly why it would be useful. I do not touch the photograph. I do not look up from it immediately. I take the time I need to make sure my face is doing nothing when I finally look up. "Where did you get that," I say. My voice comes out completely even. "Does it matter?" Salvatore's voice is gentle in the way that threats dressed as conversations always sound gentle. "What matters is that I have it. And others like it." I look at him. "Antonio Ricci," he continues pleasantly. "Your father's former enforcer. A man who has been part of your life for — what is it now? Eleven years? Twelve?" He pauses.