Vito Basso の小説・ストーリー

Marcel didn’t say a word, he didn’t object on his beta, and clearly his best friend, staying in the room. “Do you want to get something to drink?” He asked me, and I shook my head as I looked down at the man who I knew was fighting back his own blood. “Thank you for calling me.” I said, looking at Vladimir who nodded. “I should be the one thanking you for trusting me.” He said, watching as Marcel fought back his own demons tonight, fought back his pain and anger. Whatever had caused this trigger, I knew that it was not easy for him to control.

She sits at one of the tables, sipping what appears to be a martini, and her face contorts in disgust after her first sip. I chuckle, tilting my head as I observe her. She wears a sash, but due to the distance and dim lighting, I am unable to decipher its inscription. "Gelo," I utter, the name of my beta. "I desire to know the message on her sash." Gelo chuckles next to me, catching my eye. "It's her twenty-second birthday. Her sash says to buy her a drink. I've sent you, her details." My phone vibrates a moment later. I pull it out of my pocket, her username shining brightly on the screen. The temptation to ignore this perfect chance tugs at me, but I can't resist the mystery of the unknown

The kiss deepened, years of familiarity blending with a quiet hunger that had never truly faded. Soraya’s fingers curled into his shirt as Vittorio lifted her effortlessly, her soft gasp swallowed by his mouth. Despite his age, his strength was undeniable—his energy unmatched by men far younger than him. Vittorio Vitelli was power incarnate. The former Italian don still carried authority in every movement, every touch, every breath he took.

Xavier (wincing): "You here to stab me yourself?" Vito (smiling coldly): "No. I want you alive." Xavier: "How flattering." Vito (leans in, whispers): "You're not who you say you are." Xavier: "I never said who I was." Vito: "And I will prove it. Piece by piece. Memory by memory." Xavier (raspy): "Then dig carefully. There's fire buried there."

“YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO, YOU TRUNK OF A MAN!” A low, sinister chuckle leaves his lips at my lame insult, his wide shoulders shaking slowly at the motion. “My name is Santino Ricca.”

“But it seems to me that she is carrying an Alpha blood.” “You…” “Alpha Dante D’Angelo, my mate, Valerie Morozov.” He said, looking down at me. “Put the knife down, Valerie. You are going to end up hurting more than just yourself with these stupid reflexes that you’re having…”

I knew I had to work on it which is why I tried not to show my discomfort. "Juno, welcome to the family and I hope we can be friends too. You don't seem like you talk much but I would appreciate getting to know more about you…and your eyes…" Bas said and just then we both flinched at the sound of Vito's fork jabbing his plate. "Are you good? What's with the sudden force?" Bas asked Vito, hand still on mine, so I tried to pull it back slowly so as not to seem off. "Force?" Vito asked, giving a tight-lipped smile as he stabbed his chicken again.

His right hand rested on his thigh, ready to take his gun out. "Liam Rodriguez," Vincent Vitale got on his feet and stuck out his hand. A broad smile greeted him. His expression was schooled, his intense gaze settled on him as he took his hand and gripped it tightly. He wanted his neck instead of his hand. Vincent smirked again, "He's my consigliere, Dominik Giordano, Peter Alo." gesturing with his hand.

A knot of fear twisted in my stomach. I clutched the sides of my seat, my knuckles turning white, as the words from the man seated with Salvatore reached my ears. "That's two hundred and seventy pounds of pure muscle trained for smashing skulls," he chuckled, a sinister laugh echoing in the air, "I've been training him for years for this day." I found myself holding my breath, a silent prayer for Vincenzo echoing in my mind. "Who is that?" I asked Adriano. "That's Sotto DiFato, the one who helped Luciano and betrayed our grandfather so he could get the power over Indianapolis," Adriano clenched his jaw as hatred seeped into his words, "And in the ring is his number one fighter, Bruto."

I whispered, shame flooding my body. “Good. Your focus should be on God, not men.” He paused. “Especially not Mr. Moretti.” I nodded, fleeing from the room on shaky legs. As if the day couldn't get any worse. We were about to have dinner with everyone already seated and Father Antonio droning prayers when Mr. Vito walked in. This time he wore a crisp white shirt pulled at the arms to show off the array of colorful tattoos and black slacks. He took the empty seat right beside me without even asking. His thick warm thigh pressed against mine under the table.