Vongola Primo Novels & Stories

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.

I decided to marry her and my future father-in-law can’t change that fact. Remembering my father-in-law’s warning, a smirk appeared on my lips, and I said “I’ve been told.” He tilted his head and said with an arrogant voice “Romano sends his greetings.” Hearing that name, my stomach tightened. Romano! Even I knew that name. That was the leader of the rival mafia group. In this city, two mafia groups always fight for their territory. Victor Falcone was the mafia king of this city and Romano Vitelo was his rival.

"Signora, we have all the proof you wanted." He placed a file in front of me. The first photo made my blood run cold. Ornella in a motel room with a man who wasn't Vittorio. Her body was pressed against his, their lips locked. The time stamp on the photo: two months pregnant. "Who's the man?" I asked. "Roberto Santini. Second-in-command of the East Side crew," Luca answered. "A sworn enemy of the Falcones." I flipped the page. A DNA report.

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.

No intermediaries. No recordings. Only coded phrases. “Il Lupo è sveglio. The Wolf is awake.” By the time he returned to the Marchesi estate, half a dozen black-market ports had switched allegiances. Cargo once belonging to Dell and Cristiano was redirected to ports under Marchesi control—quietly, efficiently. And with no visible fingerprints. Meanwhile, in a sleek, mirror-lined chamber below the villa’s west wing, Seraphina sat across from a secure terminal with Vincenzo at her side.

Alessia said tightly, one hand resting on the dagger at her thigh, the other clutching her wounded shoulder. The man’s eyes glinted gold in the torchlight. “Myth is simply memory soaked in blood.” The mysterious woman at Alessia’s side dipped her head. “My king.” “I am no king,” the man corrected. “Not anymore. Not since your bloodlines broke the pact and turned sanctity into sin.” Dante’s jaw clenched. “You’re the one they called Il Primo. The First.” The man smiled. “I was the first to wear the crown of the Syndicate. But I was not the last to betray it.”