روايات وقصص ضمن The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari

Stone looked down and unleashed a string of angry curses when he saw the condition of his suit. "Look at this," the man turned to Jet and Angelo with an angry face. "That fucking bastard has ruined the Armani I just bought." Jet just laughed and slapped Stone on the shoulder. "That's what happens when you slice someone's throat, Boss,” he said. “The blood sprays everywhere.”

“I… lost track.” “Enough to justify your death.” I take a step forward. “You used the Morelli name to rack up debt. And didn’t pay. That’s not just stupid. That’s a crime.” He mumbles something, then repeats: “I can pay… with her.” I move closer, slowly. His fear has a sweet scent to it. “What do you think this is? An auction? A brothel?” I murmur, my voice firm, tension filling the room. “You think you can bargain with flesh?”

It was mine alone. The flight from Louisiana to Italy was going to take a long while, eleven hours max. That was enough time for me to go over everything that had happened today. About all that Jamie bastard had said to me before he stopped breathing. My father was a monster. The type that locked his thirteen years old son in prison without the intention of getting him out simply because he fought some group of highschool gangs. I wondered if there was more to my arrest then than just my gang fight. By the time I reached Italy, it was already 6 a.m and the dark night clouds were disappearing behind the morning sun. A car is already waiting for me and as soon as I sat down, I asked to be take

CARLY'S POV As I stood waiting for his reply, Marco walked in with a briefcase. "You see, Little Davison" Alessandro began as he sat on the chair, Marco walked behind him and stood by his right hand side. "I'm not little Davison! My name's Carly." I cut in. He stared at me, and continued; "Your father failed in his own part of the deal, and now he owes me a fortune, and I'm pretty sure you know about all that, well he called this morning."

I don’t know if it’s because he was the real perpetrator of the crime or he was just so embarrassed that I found out he was one of the suspects. “Nothing.” I turned to him and smiled broadly. I know what I’m doing and saying is in a hurry, but if I can handle it, I’m sure I’ll get the answer little by little. I continued to exchange words. “Someone told me they have landed in Madrid.” He straightened up and let go of the polo shirt he was holding. “I would have liked to buy that land so that I could build a business. What do you think?”

"So that's why she sold the ticket to the man who used to beat her..." The realization swept through the crowd like a wave finally breaking. "Holy... Check the news! This morning, a man with a bad leg lost control of his car and drove off a bridge. Police found 30 million dollars in cash in the vehicle. That has to be her ex-husband." I closed my eyes and let my mind drift back to the phone call Wesley had replayed for me earlier that day, the last call to Hank.

Everyone we passed seemed to part instinctively, giving him space as if the world itself recognized who he was. The car waited outside, sleek and black, tinted windows hiding the interior. The men from the auction guided me inside. I hesitated, unsure whether to sit, to run, or to collapse. Dante didn't look at me, didn't give instructions. Yet, the faint click of his watch, the set of his jaw, commanded obedience without a single word. As the car moved through the dark, wet streets, I wrapped my arms around myself. My mind was a whirlwind of fear and humiliation. Sold. Five million. Claimed. It all felt surreal, like a nightmare I couldn't wake from.

"Stop throwing a tantrum. I'll have the butler run you a bath." I couldn't be bothered to argue. I knew exactly how clear my mind was. That night, I secretly contacted one of New York's top divorce lawyers. The next morning, I was awakened by a phone call. "Miss Falcone, we saw that your booking for the Monaco Formula 1 race on your birthday has been canceled. Was there a change of plans?" "Canceled? I absolutely did not cancel it. You must have made a mistake." I had been planning this Monaco racing extravaganza for a long time and had already told all my racing team friends.

I ignored it. I checked my wristwatch and realized I’d stayed too long, lingering in thoughts I had no business entertaining. Stepping out of the car, I tossed the cigarette aside and slid my hands into my pockets, walking straight toward the club. Music slammed into me the moment I entered loud, I made my way into the VIP section. Vicente Montoya sat at the center, relaxed, surrounded by indulgence like a man who owned the room . The leader of the Spanish mafia. He approached me with an offer. He was also the reason I’d agreed to the honeymoon charade.