The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari Novels & Stories

This man is going to be a problem. He got in the car and told me to "fucking get in," which is something I ought to be doing because this is my car. He climbed into the driver’s seat of my Porsche and cranked up the speed to 250 kilometers per hour. I truly hate speed; it makes my stomach turn. Why is this man making my life difficult? "Doctor Blackwood, where did you meet Mrs. Monroe?" "Who is that?" "The girl you say’s your fiancée."

I think the distance was not that far, and then my body was turned to the right, and after that, he took off my blindfold. Oh, Hell!! My eyes stared at the shiny red Ferrari sports car in front of me with wide eyes; my soul seemed to run away from my body. It is the latest sports car from Ferrari, why should I use a fast car?? I exhaled and then turned to face Sean. My senses massaged his forehead in frustration; this man might just be able to buy me an island. The hair on my body stood up instinctively at the thought. “I already told you, don’t waste your money on silly things like this.” I’m angry. Will he always be like that?? He has a lot of money, but this is beyond me.

You would be left dumbfounded. The abbot, once rumored to have grown up poor, chopping wood and eating scraps, was now stepping out of a luxury car. With a glass of red wine in hand, he swirled it slowly and chuckled, "A million? You think that's a lot? How pathetic. We monks lack many things, but money isn't one of them. Titan's Palm? Even if you offered 100 billion, it's not for sale." The abbot would then pull out an imported cigar, hold it between his fingers, and start puffing away.

I weighed it in my hands and smiled. Meanwhile, Ralph was grinning from ear to ear. He never dreamed that he could sell over a dozen luxury condominium units worth almost ten million dollars each in a single day. The way he looked at me was as if I were a deity or something. Mitchell's relatives then gathered together in groups of twos and threes, excitedly discussing how they would renovate their places. Mitchell came up to me, got down on his knees, and looked up at me. His eyes were filled with love and infatuation.

Only a fool would cut off his escape route. Roland immediately nodded. "Alright! You want to buy me off, huh? Then my price is fifteen million dollars in cash! Also, get me a sports car, and arrange for me to leave the country immediately." Monica rolled her eyes internally. 'This guy is the epitome of greed! Fifteen million in cash? Can he even carry that much? Huh! Tell me you're poor without telling me you're poor.'

I don't know how people get that I'm a kind monk with a clean heart by merely smiling at them. the little guy begged with tears in his eyes, but I didn't do anything to him, I only asked for a donation of blood and he happily gave it to me... nothing more " the bald monk raised his bowl to signify how much blood he collected from that unlucky guy. " wow!!! we can also use that method? why can't I think of it before now? Reverend monk, can I learn from you Sir? " the bat guy said to the pretentious monk. " drop that butcher's knife, shave your head and follow the teachings of big brother and you shall succeed in all of your endeavors. " the pretentious monk smiled.

Dad added three fucking Ferraris to the collection last month. Talking about irresponsibility and shitty extravagance. I know it is his fucking money, but wasting it on things that don't have any fucking value instead of using it to increase the measly salaries of his construction workers is really disgusting and cruel. I finally locate my Yamaha baby. The entire body is black and shiny, the seat is also black leather and smooth, and the windshield has this Jaguar sticker that my best friend Marco sticked to it the very first day I bought this motorcycle.

“Among others. One thing you don’t know about me is I’m a grease monkey.” “Oh.” I turned to him, impressed. “I really didn’t expect you to know about car engines.” “Because I’m a mafia?” “No. I imagine you collecting expensive cars, liquors, and cigars for fun, and shooting people here and there.” “You really have a low opinion of me.” He wasn’t offended. Instead, he drove out of the compound in a relaxed manner. “You haven’t answered my question. Where are we going?” “You’ve been home all day. I’m sure you’re bored being with the people you don’t know anything about.”

The car moved on a smooth and majorly straight road, taking only a few turns here and there before rolling into what looked like an estate. He picked up his phone, dialling a number, and began speaking a language that sounded like Italian. He balled his fist that was on his lap, I could tell that the conversation was making him angry. Just as he ended the call, the car halted to a stop. “Welcome to your new home, chica bella,” he said, giving me a bone-chilling smile. Scary man say what?

16 years of being the head of the Mafia and no one could ever beat him, not if they wanted to live anyway. “Do you think he would have arranged for the payment?” Luca fell into steps with him as they both exited the club and Hugo moved toward his G Wagon. Luca took the keys from him and opened the door to the driving seat while Hugo sinked in the passenger seat. His skin was overheated with all the exertion and warm in the club and the AC felt cool.