The Don Italian Mga Nobela at Kwento

Closed her eyes. Smiled. “This tastes like love,” she said. I tasted mine. It tasted like memory. We ate slowly, laughing, teasing, stealing bites from each other’s plates. Holly smeared sauce on my cheek just to see me scowl. I flicked a piece of basil at her in retaliation. She gasped, then laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. The staff chuckled quietly, shaking their heads, whispering to each other in Italian. Il Don è felice. The Don is happy.

“She dislikes burgers.” “You’re kidding.” He checked to see if she was. “What kind of kid doesn’t like burgers?” His partner shrugged. “She’s a special little girl.” Don Donati wore a dark Armani suit. His hair was combed back, neatly. He was fit and looked capable of taking most people in a fight. When he let the officers in, he sent his bodyguards away, knowing they were unneeded. “So Leroy is dead, huh? That’s a shame. Give Alfero my sympathies, will you? I heard he was fond of that one.”

After getting remarried, I put my husband, Steven Graham, on the family's service roster at a rate of ten thousand dollars an hour. His childhood sweetheart, Julie Ziegler, heard about it and signed a long-term contract without a second thought. Four months later, the balance in my offshore account had climbed to nearly a million dollars. On our wedding anniversary, Steven was supposed to spend the day with me. Then Julie called. Her dog had suddenly gotten sick, and she asked him to go to her. I didn't get angry. I simply sent her an encrypted message. [Don't forget to transfer the payment on time. Late fees will be charged separately.] Later, when I had an attack of appendicitis, St

He leaned into my ear to say the last part in his low and husky morning voice. A man's morning voice was definitely the sexiest thing I had ever heard and it made my cheeks burn as my heart did a cartwheel. "You also know Italian? " "Yes Bellissima is Italian for beautiful" "Can you teach me please... " "What do you want to know doll? " "Um... Basic greetings" "Okay Morning is buongiorno Sunshine is Luce del sole" "What does my stud muffin mean? " He stayed silent and I looked at his face to see a smirk dancing at his lips

At the far end of the room sat Don Alessandro D’Angelo—an older man with silver hair slicked back, a scar cutting through his left eyebrow, and eyes that burned with the same cold fire as his son’s. “Adrien,” he said, his deep voice echoing across the room. “You kept me waiting.” Adrien bowed his head slightly. “Traffic.” The Don’s mouth twitched, amused. “Always with an excuse.” Then his gaze shifted—to Elena. The weight of his stare made her spine stiffen. “And this,” he said slowly, “must be the girl.” Elena forced herself not to flinch. “Elena Rossi, sir.” The Don’s smirk deepened. “Polite. Pretty. And foolish enough to think manners will save her in this house.”

“And that he was the Don.” I then look at Dante, meeting his eyes directly. “Just like you are… right?” I ask quietly. He exhales slowly through his nose, not irritated, just acknowledging the question. “Yes,” he answers plainly. “I am the Don, and Head of the Valencia family… and the Benedettis are our biggest enemy…”

I wonder why they even needed to get so many of them, but I didn’t say anything. “I am not the groom now, am I?” Kasym slumps on one of the empty couches, and it looks so much smaller than normal. He gives me a heated glance, his eyes trailing my body. “Besides, I don’t believe in superstitions.” Lucy scoffs, rolling her eyes. She gives him a look of disgust, but it doesn’t last long and Kasym doesn’t look slightly fazed. “And you are Italian.” “Half.” Kasym snaps, sitting up to glare at her. It seemed like a sore subject for him, because this was the first clear expression I could see on Kasym’s face ever since we had met — apart from his laughter.

He gave me one last worried glance before exiting the room, leaving me alone with the infuriated Don. My heart raced in my chest, thumping so loud I feared the Don would hear it. His gaze bore into mine, igniting an overwhelming sense of vulnerability and another feeling I didn’t quite understand. His predatory grey eyes seemed to lock me in. He took a step closer, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea who I am, Elena?" still pointing the gun at me. I could only nod. "I am Don Luciano Vitello," he declared with authority, his eyes locked onto mine. "And I demand absolute obedience from those who work for me."

The atmosphere in this room seems deadly "How rude of me sorry my name is Luca Morelli the Don of the Sicilian mafia," he says extending his hand and my eyes widen. My blood runs cold. If it wasn't for the sound of the bacon sizzling and the sound of this man's lips spreading into a smile I would think I was dreaming "Cazzo " I whisper shutting my eyes and he chuckles

"Yes. Velina is so good. This household doesn’t deserve her." Nero’s gaze burns a hole into the side of my face so I know my plan is right on track. Quickly picking up the serving silver spoon, I pile a generous portion of the braised meat and creamy risotto onto Adriano’s plate, making sure he gets the tenderest cut. Adriano hesitantly lifts his fork, to take a small bite. "I’m really new to Italian delicacies..." He chews, and his eyebrows lift. "Oh. Wow, this is wonderful." He goes in for a second mouthful with enthusiasm this time.