Novel & Cerita The Don Italian

Alora's POV Luciano—my big brother—always told me to stay out of trouble. My whole life, I had been shielded from dangerous situations. And now, I just managed to drive myself into the most dangerous one of all. "You’re in the Mafia now, Alora." My breath caught in my throat. "Mafia?" I blinked, struggling to process his words. "You’re telling me that Gianni… you’re all… in the Mafia?" Dante sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yes.I am Dante Bellini, Don of the Italian Mafia."

Siena frowned. “I thought those were just stories,” she murmured. He let out a cold, humorless chuckle. “The police, the shootouts, the gangs in the city… you really think they’re fiction created by news channels?” She stayed silent, staring at him with a furrowed brow. Cristiano’s voice dropped to a deadly calm. “I am the Italian Don, Siena. And I became the head of the Famiglia after marrying you.” Siena’s heart stopped. Her entire body went numb.

I had always known he would serve the family after my father since he had been serving since my grandfather's rule and his father befor him. “Roman,” Sergei said quietly, pushing a file toward me. “These are the immediate matters. The Turkish shipment needs confirmation. The Italians request a meeting for territory discussion. And…” His voice faltered as he picked up another folder, “…your father’s pending accounts must be—” “Stop.”

I said in my best gravelly Italian accent, "you are a dishonor to this family." "Sofia, what the hell…” he started to say, but I cut him off. "I am Don Mustachio," I said, pacing in a circle. "You think you can storm into Italia, insult the family business, and yell at your poor innocent fiancée? For shame, Don DeLuca. For shame." Adrian rubbed a hand down his face, already fighting a smile as he said, "Don Mustachio? Let me guess, Elena put you up to this?"

Martin asked. “Do you want me to suspect you?” Don shot back. “Do you really need my help here?” Martin questioned. “Are we beginning a game of asking a series of questions?” Don questioned angrily. “If it is about your men, I know nothing about it.” Martin said to him. Don stared at him without saying a word. After some time, he said, “The Morano's appeared to have relaxed a little; any updates on them?” “Not yet, except that they will be arriving in Italy in a few weeks.”

She paused. "This looks like... some kind of fancy warehouse, or a posh safehouse. What is this, some kind of weird club?” She squinted at him, feigning confusion, though she knew damn well who he was. This was Don Adriano. The Italian Don. The one Hades had been fighting over Vito Carbone’s properties, the new head of the Italian Mafia. He was more powerful than she’d pretended to know. He chuckled, a dry, rustling sound that made her skin crawl. He walked closer, his eyes raking over her, like she was a piece of red meat on display. He was checking her out, you know?

“I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for putting your life in danger. I never meant for any of this to touch you.” My stomach twisted. “Oh my god, you do know her.” He nodded once, it was slow and miserable. “Who is she?” “Her name is Donna Sofia.” He spoke the name like it tasted bitter. “She’s married to one of the old bosses, Don Moretti. Back when Don Antonio adopted me, Don Moretti and Antonio were partners, they were thick as thieves.” He paused, rubbed his thumb across his knuckles like the motion could erase what came next.

A man slammed his palm against the table, the sound cracking through the chamber. “Insolence!” he shouted, his face red. “Who do you think you are, speaking to us like this? We are Dons, the most powerful Dons in Italy, and you, a woman with no mafia blood, dare to sit here and mock us?” I tilted my head, studying him. He was older, with thick silver hair slicked back, a heavy gold ring on each finger, and a gravelly voice from years of smoke. Dante leaned down to me again. “That’s De Luca,” he whispered.

He raised his glass and cheered towards me before finishing it off. "How dare she challenge the don like that." I heard a hiss a couple of seats over. "She must have a death wish." Another one said, "The don has killed people for less." I paled at their words, not believing what I heard. "The don?" I whispered a little too loud because I drew eyes from all over the table. Mr. Morelli cleared his throat, "Isabella, I'm not sure if you were introduced to Dante yet." He tried to salvage the situation, "Dante Romano is the Don of the Italian mafia."

“You—you are Don Dante Romano?!” “In the flesh.” I knew him. I definitely knew him. Hell, any Italian person who has the barest connection with the underground world would know him. Youngest Don in history. This man became a don at age fourteen. At age fourteen I was having sleepovers, painting my nails, beheading my Barbie dolls, and doing weird makeups with my mother, while he was going around, shooting, killing, and selling hard drugs and bizarre things. Marriage with him was like selling myself to the devil.