Romans & histoires Ten Years For His Sicilian Lie

Alessio huffed, leaning forward to pick up his glass of whiskey. "Are you saying that the next Boss of the Italian mafia is scared that he will be fooled by a mere woman?" Ricardo laughed his mocking laugh, one that had always grated on Alessio's nerves ever since he could remember. "That does not really sound very promising for a future Boss." The man looked over at his father, who had a thoughtful smile on his face. "Ricardo is right, Alex. Are you not even confident that you could hold off or even play a vixen?"

Before I have even ended the sentence, he is already shaking his hands in front of him dismissively. “Oh, no, no. Capo, I did nothing.” Leaning back into my chair, I play with my pen. “Dario told me about the fact. Why didn’t you come to me?” “Oh, but I am just driver! I could never!” He points his hands to him, as he scoops forward in his chair. These Sicilians have some sense of hierarchy. “Well, you telling me would have prevented a lot of problems as I was thinking that my woman was sleeping with my men.”

I suppose when a man takes lives for a living, he reaches a point where he starts to fear for his life. His Consiglieres had decided that I was a young lad filled with promises and I had the ruthlessness to lead a squad of ten men down Sicily to retrieve their goods. And I was fucking excited. I'd chugged down a bottle of beer for good measure, revved around the street on my bike with Luca in tow. We screamed around town like banshees, laughing our heads off and when night came, we hauled our asses to the port by the coast ready to seal the deal.

Lorenzo - Fifteen-Year-Old They confined him in an isolated prison cell away from all others. Lorenzo Vitelli had become the most feared name throughout all of Italy. He was named the “Sicilian Devil” by the news channels and the common people. He told them all about every single murder he committed, the four dead bodies rotting away in the basement of his home and the murder of Officer Dario Coppola, that his wife had witnessed. He brazenly admitted to all of his deeds on record. Proudly proclaiming that he would relish the chance to commit the same misdeeds if presented with the opportunity.

To keep the secret, I bit off half my tongue. Ten years later, I was in the terminal stages of cancer, lingering on my last breath in prison. Alexander, having firmly secured his position as the Don, stormed into the prison hospital. The first thing he did after dragging me back to Sicily was strap me into the memory extraction chair reserved for interrogating traitors. "Ivy, you ungrateful wretch! I never should have picked you out of that orphanage!" "I treated you like a sister, made you the Family's most cherished Princess, and Elena treated you like her own blood. Yet you colluded with outsiders to kill her!"

Not as the heir to one of Italy’s most powerful mafia families. But as a man who had given everything up. Dominic stood in front of me one evening, thinner than I remembered, his eyes stripped of the arrogance that once defined him. He told me he had renounced his claim to the family. Signed away the inheritance. Walked out of a world built on blood and loyalty and fear. “I chose you,” he said. “I finally chose you.” I looked at him for a long time. And for the first time since I left, I felt nothing burn.

His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, his tailored suit hung loose on a frame that had wasted away, his face lined with a exhaustion no amount of power could erase. The scar on his throat stood out pale and stark against his skin. “Isa,” he said, his voice rougher than I’d ever heard it, broken. I set the glass down on the shelf, my movements calm. “You shouldn’t be here, Luca. You know the authorities are hunting you the second you step outside the EU.” He didn’t care. He stepped forward, his eyes never leaving mine, and spilled every word he’d carried for a year. He’d annulled his marriage to Sofia, exposed every lie and set-up she’d engineered, run the Lombardi family out

"Sorry to bother you so late. Any chance you have some sugar? I’m in the middle of making a sauce and ran out." I froze for a second, taking him in. Marco was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark tousled hair, a stubbled jaw, and piercing green eyes that scanned me slowly. At 36, he carried that rugged Sicilian confidence, the kind that came from long days working the family olive groves. His simple white t-shirt stretched across his chest, and his jeans hung low on his hips. I smiled, suddenly very aware that my robe barely reached mid-thigh. "Sugar? Of course. Come in, I’m Sophia."

“Hey, Siciliano. Remember the old car I drove? You can have it if Kolby and his assistant won’t fall in love and get married in less than 365 days.” “Fuck you. Six months.” He just fistbumped with Linden. “They will get married. I will have your car anyway.” “I’m here, listening to you two, assholes.” They both laughed at me. “I say, he’s been in love with her for months, or maybe a year, but he’s not a rulebreaker, even for a kiss. What a loser,” Terzo told Linden. “Oh, so now you’re an expert, mafia?” Linden laughed. “Kolby, you don’t know a shit about him, and I agreed with Siciliano. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t care about the pretty girl with big brown eyes. So, what do you drive?

Her body shook from side to side, wrestling softly with the binds in discomfort. “What do you say?” Domenico turned to Lucian, but he remained quiet. Then, a little scoff escaped Domenico's throat. “The fact that you're thinking so deeply before you send out a dangerous message to the man that tried to get you killed, says a lot about you right now. About your strength.” “It has nothing to do with my strength.” Lucian fired back. Domenico gave a mocking nod with his hands in surrender playfully. “What would the men say when they see that the supposed devil of Sicily can't kill the daughter of his enemy to honor the code?” he continued, “we lost more men in that petty scheme Gianni set up, yo