Vongola Primo Novels & Stories

Yet their situation became a conflict in their growing romance. "Fuck, dude!" I looked at the newcomers, it's Apollo and Gonzalo who were just staring at Primo lying on the table. "Primo! What the hell are you doing?” Gonzalo opened his mouth and suddenly asked, and I noticed Primo's head lift. He looked at him badly and angrily. I won't be surprised, Gonzalo did a lot of wrong things to Primo. "What are you doing here, Gonzalo?" he asked seriously, he seems to have gotten rid of his drunkenness earlier.

It was a declaration of war. Alessandro set the whiskey down, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot. “Who did it?” Luca’s mouth twisted. “We’re still digging, but the Volkovs are the prime suspects.” The Volkovs. Of course. That snake Nikolai had always had an insatiable hunger for power, but this? This was bold, even for him. But before Alessandro could respond, the office door creaked open again. “Zio (uncle) Alessandro!”

“I wanna ask something.” “Don’t make it too complicated to answer,” she said giving me a worried expression. “Don’t worry, it’s just simple.” “Okay, spill.” “What kind of a being is Angelo?”

Elena's POV Dante Romano's gaze faltered slightly as he looked at the die on my desk. He recognized it immediately, having personally ordered its creation years ago. He had placed a weighted core in it, meticulously engineered to ensure that regardless of how it was thrown, it would always land on the exact same side—one. He raised his hand to rub his temples, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Please quit playing around, Elena. You ought to know how troublesome this case is. If the Romano Famiglia loses its business in Vallenzia, the entire Famiglia's foundation will be shaken.

Geller stammered as he hit the concrete floor and looked up at me with his glasses slipping down his sweaty nose. "You have your signature on twelve separate wire transfers that came out of Zurich last week and those funds were used to pay the shooters who attacked the Rome palace, so you are going to give me the names of the Valenti capos who are currently drawing from those accounts or I am going to leave you hanging from one of these hooks until the morning shift finds you," I said as I clicked the safety off and stepped on his fat fingers until he let out a sharp cry.

"Ah, Dante. You're trying to contact me? I thought you were busy being a gentleman." "Don't play games with me! The bank—what did you do to the main operating account? My Capo in Brooklyn is ringing my ear off, his payroll didn't clear!" I took a slow sip of the Barolo. "Oh, that old thing? You know, you really should pay better attention to the signatories on your accounts, Don. Since I’m the famiglia’s legitimate front, the papers let me manage the treasury with considerable... flexibility." "Viola, if you don't unfreeze those funds right now—"

“Just not the kind you advertise on billboards.” The air suddenly feels thinner. The laughter around us grows sharper. “So who….” I start, but she interrupts me with a sigh, like she’s been waiting for this question. “The people here? They’re important. Dangerous, but important. Some are legit like CEOs, politicians, investors but they all have something in common.” She tilts her head slightly toward a table near the center of the hall. “See that man in the navy suit? That’s Vito Lamberti. He’s the capo of an Italian crime family.”

I've had some pretty vivid fantasies of my Godfather, that's one thing that I will admit. The man oozed dominance, mystery and sexiness that rubbed off on any female. I'd enjoyed those subtle touches whenever he would place a necklace around my neck, the way his fingers seemed to linger on my waist a second longer than necessary when we pulled away from our hugs and the way that he would give me this intense look as if to whisper to me that it was our little secret.

This rigorous structure allows the organization to thrive and expand. The First Modern Godfather: Don Vito Cascio Ferro The first truly known and recognized godfather is Vito Cascio Ferro (1862-1943). A shrewd and ruthless man, he modernizes the mafia and imposes a systematic extortion called the pizzo: a form of tax that all merchants must pay under threat of sanctions. He liked to say that he "pecked" this money like a sparrow pecks its water in a puddle, hence the very term pizzo.

They looked at each other. “Isolde is building something under our noses,” Matteo said. “Correction,” Anton replied. “She already built it.” In the northern war room of the Marchesi estate, Vincenzo Rinaldi stood with three monitors glowing in front of him, a dossier open to page seventy-four. He adjusted his glasses and tapped a small flash drive into a reader. Strings of financial data lit up. He’d been chasing a hunch—something too simple to be coincidental.