Novel & Cerita The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari

I didn’t take notes of that one because he wasn’t of any use. “Has he helped you before?” I asked, out of curiosity. And because why not? He seemed comfortable with me today. “Several times,” he said with a smirk. “He’s one of my allies.” We grabbed drinks, and then he showed me someone else again. The guy looked young and had tattoos as well. “That’s Marco Gallo. He’s an IT god who made himself a fortune by robbing banks simply by hacking their accounts and transferring the amounts into his accounts. He’s invincible behind a computer,” he replied.

“Alright. But if I do, you’re not allowed to fall asleep on me.” “I’m literally lying naked with you. Do I look like I’m gonna fall asleep?” His laugh was real this time. He shifted slightly, pulling me tighter into his side, his hand resting over the curve of my waist like it belonged there.” “Monaco was a bitch,” he started, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he was rewinding the memory. “Track was slicker than it looked. Everyone thinks Monaco’s about the glitz, the champagne, the stupid yacht parties. But the race itself?” He exhaled, eyes darkening just a touch. “It’s survival.”

"Garette, goddamit, you are going to use in our racing your new Ferrari F8 Tributo? Atty. Hector exaggeratedly eyed Atty. Garette's Ferrari like an owl ogling it. Atty. Hector's father, a known Chinese businessman is one of the major stockholders of this racing circuit in Cambridge, Massachusetts, which is why they could easily and freely sprint around, running their cars like they are not afraid to die. "Why, would that be a problem?" Garette retorted grinning. He knows how fast his Ferrari could be. But Hector would not settle for an answer that would make him like an afraid idiot mackerel who would scuffle his way inside a can; he also has his own alas!

I asked, my voice tinged with apprehension. "A 2020 McLaren Senna GTR," Ferris replied, a proud smirk playing on his lips. "Looks like a race car. You still love buying those, don't you?" I remarked, earning a silent nod from Ferris in response. I knew all too well that even with his substantial means, Ferris had always been a shrewd and meticulous manager of his finances. As an accomplished economist and entrepreneur, he possessed a keen eye for value, always seeking out the best deals, no matter how luxurious the purchase.

Compared to my 2010 Toyota Camry, I just hit an expensive and luxurious car that obviously belongs to someone rich. When I left Italy, I didn’t drive straight to New York. I sold my Ferrari halfway, took a train, a bus, and another train, just to make sure I wasn’t being followed. Then I got a new car in New York. A car that doesn’t scream class, but also doesn’t scream “I’m broke as fuck.” It wasn’t all that cheap, but also it wasn’t a luxurious car. And I made a promise to myself to avoid trouble and this happened to be one of them.

EMILIO I took a couple of vodka shots, passing every empty cup to any waiter that passed by. This is suppose to be one of the most happiest moments of my lives! I just got myself a deal worth millions of dollars in the middle east. My father and mother in italy, are extremely proud of me and I am living up to my duty as the capo dei capi of the dreaded Italian-American mafia. Yet this seems like the worst night of my life because of Sarah and Luca.

“You can’t do that, miss. Pay now if you don’t want to get hurt.” “I really don’t have any money.” “Miss, I don’t have time to fool around with you.” The taxi driver and I looked outside when a car honked. It was a blue Ferrari. The driver gets off that Ferrari. It was a young man wearing a tuxedo, high in height, with low black hair. The roundness of his eyes is just right and the way he walks for like he is on a runaway. The man went to the opposite driver’s window and the driver immediately opened the window.

I broke the silence as I noticed that he too was lost in my eyes, “if you didn’t have the childhood that you had and you hadn’t found yourself in some street kid gang, what would you have wanted to be in life?” He paused for a bit and I assumed it was in thought, “if I hadn’t had the childhood that I had, I probably would’ve wanted a more carefree life. I would have probably wanted to find peace in my life so I think I’d be a monk.” “Don’t you want peace, now? Don’t you think that maybe…you should change? You can still become a monk, I’m sure of it,” I delicately touched his cheek, my heart at peace in his presence.

As Borghese said, what matters is business. Without waiting another second, I left the meeting room, Marco right behind me. The monks had a collection box near the front door, so I took out my wallet and took out all the money I had, something like seven or eight thousand euros. I stuffed everything into the collection box, then went out and got into my car. It was time to go home.

I crossed one hand over the other to keep myself from grabbing his neck and slamming his back on the wall. “But that's what I want,” he says. “She is no commodity. I'll pay you. Name your price,” I said, not giving him any chance to dispute. “You think you have more money than me?” He asked. “Obviously.” He may be from a different place, and in my research, he is new in this mafia world and rich. He became filthy rich after killing his uncle. “Then stay indebted.” He said, closing the conversation. “Why is it so hard to speak with you?” I asked.