Vongola Primo Novels & Stories

“I need your help. There’s a man we’ve been watching—someone who thinks he’s invincible. He’s turned down our invitation to the club and insulted us with his arrogance. It’s time to take him down, and I need you to get close to him.” Desmond’s brow furrowed as he toyed with the ring on his finger, his tell when deep in thought. “Who’s the target?” “Vincenzo Volkov,” I said, watching his expression darken. “He’s the younger brother of the Bratva leader. Quiet, calculated, and a master at staying under the radar. He’s launching a new brand—Prime Estates—and needs models for his campaign. That’s where you come in.” Desmond leaned back, swirling his whiskey. “You want me to plant someone?”

The moment she mentioned the name, Lily couldn’t help but to feel intrigued–after all, she was a self-proclaimed number one shipper of this great doctor and that mafia boss! “You sound so happy. What is it, Mi amore?” Primo asked with a smile as he raised his legs on the free space of the sofa with his computer on his lap. He tucked his phone between his ear and shoulder, so he could use both of his hands typing on the keyboard.

“I’ve seen your photo with Xavier on social media. You and Xavier really are a perfect couple. Mr. Greco will use you as a bargaining chip until Xavier agrees to hand over what we want.” Her breath caught tight in her throat, and for a second, she couldn't swallow. God, she was wrong. Terribly wrong. This man wasn’t Xavier’s henchman. He was a subordinate of Greco Volkov, the leader of Italy's second-largest mafia and the Vanderbilt clan's sworn enemy. Damn it! Were they targeting her just because they thought she was Xavier’s girlfriend and his weakness? “You’re wrong… I’m not Xavier’s girlfriend; there’s no point in doing this to me,” Anna said between gasps of pain.

"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.

Violet began her subtle campaign, utilizing brief, carefully orchestrated encounters with other members of the Romano household. Her movements were precise, her words meticulously chosen, each interaction a delicate dance on the precipice of exposure. She relied on the ingrained habits of the household, the subtle moments of perceived privacy, the fleeting exchanges in dimly lit corridors or during the rigidly supervised meals. Her targets were the elder capos, the weathered, old-guard lieutenants who had served Don Romano for decades, their loyalty forged in the crucible of countless battles, their faces etched with the profound wisdom of a bygone era.

“What Montero’s trying to say is that we were checking out the area for possible escape routes. Of course, we were going to report this to you today, but my car was in such bad shape that we barely got back last night.” “Amazingly that piece of crap lasted as long as it did,” Bernardino snapped. Then he asked a relevant question. “So who blew up the fucking van?” “Sandro Borromeo,” Craig said immediately. “Fucking Borromeo? How can you be so sure?” Bernardino asked, furrowing his brow. “I’d recognize Borromeo’s freaky white hair anywhere.” “We were about to go out looking for him when you rang, sir,” Rocky Ace chimed in. “Meaning, Borromeo’s part of Gregorio’s crew, but he made a direct stri

"I need a complete profile. Elena Rossi. Twenty-five to thirty years old. High-end call girl, operating in Milan and Venice. Flower tattoo on left ankle. Cartier Tank bracelet. I want everything: addresses, debts, family, weaknesses, regular clients. Make it fast." I hang up without a farewell. A second number. "The Principe di Savoia, Milan. The Cipriani, Venice. For the last six months. All reservations under the name Auracio Ferrari or his shell companies. Copies of records, invoices, security camera footage if possible. Absolute discretion." I hang up. I remain there, fingers steepled under my chin, staring at the blank screen. The war has begun. Not with shouts, but with whispers into a

The Virelli Group would collapse under the scandal. And Wolf Guard? Without its founder, with Luca destroyed? It would burn. Dominic didn’t smile, but his eyes gleamed. “Target in position,” came the whisper. Then... chaos.

The chaos he thrived on. He stood standing, not moving an inch from the window side. He could already tell who was behind the creaking opening noise of the door behind him. "Who did you say owed us five million dollars in debt?" He dropped off the whiskey glass at the edge of the tiles of the window and swiftly turned around to meet the man in black, going by the name Sergio. “Clara Winston Diere, boss. She’s the third aunt of Olivia Derie.” Vincenzo's grin stretched out with malice hearing that name again—OLIVIA DERIE. His gaze swept across the room, tiredly he slumped onto the couch graciously, his legs raised high above the other until they were crossed majestically on each other.

Not with Deirdre's safety and the safety of other women and children in mind. Who in their right mind would bring children to an event like this?! A grunt of frustration escaped me as I scanned the room. Shaking my head, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder and turned to find Vittorio De Luca. He was the underboss of the Serpenti Segreti Cartel, one of the people I was supposed to meet to finalize the agreement for the Carmine Shoreline territory, which was 1440 miles from here. The second person, Adriano Romano, was yet to arrive.