Ten Years For His Sicilian Lie Novels & Stories

"He's rotten, Don Mimmo. He's selling to the Picciotti del Sud. Three months of scams, and who knows how long before that." Don Mimmo's face hardened, the cigar clenched between his teeth like a threat. "Bravo, stranger. You have a good nose." He gestured to his men, who disappeared into the night like shadows. Vito didn't ask what would happen to Ponada—he knew. An "accident," a body in the canal, or worse, a public lecture. But in return, the boss's eyes shone. "The center is yours, Vito Russo. Fix it. And remember: in Sicily, loyalty is everything. Betray, and the summer will burn you alive."

“An informant disguised as a Don.” A bitter laugh escaped him, thick with irony and frustration, as he watched his situation crumble before his eyes, realizing that the more he tried to control the chaos, the more it slipped through his fingers. “And you know what happens to informants, don’t you?” he continued, his voice edged with restrained irony. “It won’t just be the mafiosi of Savoca trying to kill me, Seraphina. It will be all of Sicily.” “And you truly believe this path is the best option?” Seraphina asked, her voice low, laced with cutting irony, as if challenging the logic behind his decision. “Because, frankly, all I see is you digging your grave.”

he whispered, “I loved you first. Not him.” My breath caught. “Don’t use my grief to get me back under your control.” That struck him. He straightened his shoulders. The softness vanished. Then his phone rang. He took the call without breaking eye contact with me, his tone clipped and professional. “Yes. Put him through and prepare for Sicily.” My stomach dropped. He kept talking in codes, instructions, orders, but all I heard was that one sentence echoing through my head. Prepare for Sicily. I realized then that the Don hadn’t lied.

Not because he wouldn't. Because he genuinely believed he couldn't. The distinction mattered. Serena saw it. Understood it. "Aiden knows?" A strange expression crossed Lucian's face. Something complicated. Ancient. "Yes." "And Seraphina?" A humorless laugh escaped him. "More than anyone." The answer hung there. Mysterious. Incomplete. Painful. Serena studied him. The shadows beneath his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The way guilt still lived inside him after ten years.

“You guys got together on our ninth anniversary. On our tenth anniversary, you guys made love in the next room. Joseph, I’m not heartless. If you don’t love me, I won’t force you to either. Why did you have to humiliate me like that?!” I took a few steps back to distance myself from him. “Yulia…” Joseph wanted to step forward but I grabbed everything nearby and threw them at him. Something hit him on the forehead, and he started bleeding profusely. “Besides, you’ve put on another ring! Joseph, I feel like a joke. We’ve been together for a decade, and I’ve waited for you all this time. But you still refuse to marry me! What about those rings you bought? You just gave one of them to someone el

Sophia’s heart shattered completely. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Lucas watched her, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “So, it’s true?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She wanted to believe this was all a lie. That this was some cruel, twisted game. But the weight of the truth crushed her. Dante was the most feared mafia lord in Sicily. And she had been in love with a man she never truly knew.

“Dell’s recruiting. Quietly. Through Adriana. Mostly old network men who knew the ports before the Sicilian embargo.” Vincenzo opened the folder, flipping through grainy photos, transfer logs, scribbled aliases. “Cristiano?” The courier nodded. “He’s coordinating enforcement. Family crews. But word is he’s not happy taking orders.” Vincenzo leaned back. Good. Fracture lines. He took another sip. “Tell Lucien I’m inbound with something better than proof. I’m bringing leverage.” Decades earlier, in the rolling shadow of a Sicilian olive grove, a boy of nine balanced on a stone wall, watching a lean, serious young man tie a silk cravat with the focus of a soldier sharpening a blade.

I stared at the unsteady fire and replied calmly, “If he doesn’t come back, then I’ll keep waiting. He promised he would spend my birthday with me every year. I’m going to wait for him.” I refused to believe he would forget my birthday. Mark Carillo was the youngest Mafia Don in Sicily. When he gave his word, he kept it. He had never broken a promise. He had taken a family that was on the brink of collapse and turned it into a force that now controlled half the Mediterranean underground scene, all because he always honored his word. By three in the morning, the manor was still silent. He wasn’t coming back, and everyone understood that. The living room was filled with bodyguards in tailored

CHAPTER 41 I entered the car after Luciano contacted Franco and his boys. Luciano came into the car and spoke to the driver “This is my wife, if I find 1 hair missing from her head or her skin tampered with, I will make you and your family disappear”. He said to him firmly “Be careful with her, she is my egg,” he finally said. I smiled at him, and he gave me a peck on my cheek “You'll be fine” he assured me.

When my capos and underbosses informed me that he had being traced and found, I was expecting to see him in America but he really hid all the way in Cuba. Bloody fool. "You sure he is the one?" I asked Marcello as he walked towards me before the rest. "Completely. We've been tracking him down for days now" he replied. "His name is Vanvick. He is called V when on duty. He is a trained assassin, raised and brought up in it since he was eighteen. He has worked for the Agosti's , the Sicilian Code, and he is sometimes used by those fucking politicians here in Cuba and also Mexico" Luca informed me as he walked over with Alessio. He handed me an envelope which I opened to access it contents.