Ten Years For His Sicilian Lie Novels & Stories

His annoyed expression and angry tone made Rachel flinch and she moved back. "Sorry…. Maybe I am overthinking." Rachel apologized for doubting her 'loyal' boyfriend. Turning his back from her he continued, "I and my team have been after Vincenzo Siemens for two years. Every time we fail by an inch. Somehow that bloody arrogant mafia wins. I want him to be behind the bars and this has become my craze. I don’t care about my life anymore.” Hearing the last sentence, Rachel hugged Andrew from the back. “Your life matters to me. A lot.”

Sicily. 15 Years Ago. He was fifteen when he first killed a man. The knife wasn’t sharp. The blood came slower than he expected. But it changed everything. They called him il bastardo behind closed doors — the bastard son of Carlo Moretti, born to a mistress with no name and no power. Luca didn’t speak unless spoken to. He cleaned up after the soldiers. Picked glass out of ashtrays. Hid bruises beneath black sleeves. The Moretti estate was a kingdom, but he was nothing more than a stray dog scratching at the gates.

“They’ll want blood, not answers.” Valerio’s voice cut through the haze. “They’ll get ashes. Nothing more.” Lucien folded his arms. “Sera killed him. That puts her in the crosshairs.” Valerio’s jaw tightened. “Then I’ll gut the first man who dares raise a hand against her.” The Sicilian emissary—a lean man named Franco with icy blue eyes—chuckled. “You may have to. There’s already whispers that she’s not just your queen… but your blade.”

It was Don Luciano. I stopped walking, my eyes wide. They both were in the massive bar, with Leone leaning back on the wall, a glass of wine lodged between his fingers, his eyes dark. Don Luciano was sitting on the bar stool, his eyes watching Leone keenly. "Would it be strange for me not to know right now?" Don Luciano sighed. "You hate the girl, Leone. Ten years. You lost your sight. You learnt to walk. To talk. You had to relearn everything except her. That is because you hate her, isn't it?"

Sicily "Oh, thank you so much, Sicily. This is just beautiful." The older woman in front of Sicily had tears in her eyes. "This is for mine and Thomas' fortieth anniversary." "I know. I got to put the 'happy 40th anniversary' on the front. I assumed it was for you. I'm excited for you." Sicily reached out and touched the woman's shoulder. "Forty years is something to be incredibly proud of."

Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled.

Accidents happen when people stop being careful, and I have no intention of being careless. “Hmm.” I adjust my cufflinks, the thought already locked away where it can’t be examined too closely. “How long until we’re there?” “Ten minutes, sir.” “Good.” I lean back, smirking. Soon principessa. Tomaso Greco thinks time has buried what he did to my father. He’s wrong. And this is only the first move.

“I want to end our agreement. I’m leaving the Vittori family.” His hands paused halfway through fastening his tie. Finally, he turned and looked at me with a faint, mocking smirk. “Trying to play hard to get? You’ve been with me for ten years and still don’t understand how I work. I waited for Helena to wake up for a decade. Whatever tricks you’re pulling won’t work on me.” He walked over, bracing a knee between my legs and trapping me between the headboard and his body. Then he grabbed my chin firmly enough to make me lift my head to meet his gaze.

“Their bridge hit failed. A team tried our back stair and left a stain on my pantry door. Sebastian is sitting in a federal room because someone put my bait in his pocket and waved a camera. This is not random.” DeLuca clears his throat. He always clears his throat before he crawls. “With respect, Boss-” “Say it without the sugar,” I tell him. “Sebastian’s a liability,” he says, words tumbling out once permission lands. “Let the Feds have him. We keep our distance. The Sicilians-” he tilts a palm, like we’re weighing produce “They’re offering routes. We bend the knee, keep our ports and live to fight later.”

he began, "And I'm a fucking idiot who doesn't deserve the woman holding this phone..." I leaned against the helm, a small, triumphant smile playing on my lips. "Go on..." "When I was sixteen, I saw Alessia Capone for the first time," he said, and my heart skipped a beat. "She was at her family's estate in Sicily. She had no idea I was watching her. But the second I saw her, I knew. I knew she was the girl who was going to be my wife. So, I went home and I forced my father's hand. I made him strike an alliance with the Capones. I told him we’d help them control the drug trade in Sicily, but only on one condition: they had to give me their daughter. And I'm not sorry for that. Not even a litt