When Was Stefan Salvatore Born Novels & Stories

He didn’t want to relive his past. Matteo knew his life was fu*ked up. He was no saint. He was evil, hounded by the most powerful mafia Don, Alfonso di Salvo for the last two years. To escape his clutches, he had to leave his hometown, Sicily, and his family behind and live an anonymous life here in NYC. Although he left the mafia circuit two years ago, di Salvo didn’t wish to leave him at all because Matteo knew all his dark secrets! In fact, he knew everything about the criminal, having worked with him for five years.

Sam. He simply flashed his perfect teeth, unfazed by my glare. "You don't have to worry," he said, his voice confident and calm. Standing there in a white singlet and black shorts, his rough, sexy hair messy and undone, he looked breathtakingly handsome. It was infuriating. Why did he have to be my stern, infuriating stepbrother? "I would do you the honors of showing you to your room," his voice laced with sarcasm. "I don't need your favors," I snapped back. He smirked, "We both know you’re lying.”

"No excuses, Aurora, or I swear, I kill you!" "Killing me on my birthday? Nah! You can do better, Sam." I winked. She grinned wide, wickedly flashing her whites. "Yeah, you are right. I won't kill you. I will keep you in a vegetative state. Better?" "Ugh!" Stefan groaned from beside. "You chose the wrong profession, sis." Yeah, we all knew that. Sammy was a Romano—through and through. **

Salvatore spread his arms and smiled thinly, " You don't expect a mercenary to walk around in his real form, do you? I would have been caught by the police ever since, or worse, my rivals.” Grace nodded in understanding. So he hid everything. She noticed something else. “That scar on your face, I know it's personal to ask, but how..how did you sustain it?" She asked carefully, knowing that a few people were sensitive when it came to their body disability or scars. Salvatore smiled again, his hand going up to feel the scar that traced from the right side of his forehead to his left cheek. “You want to know how I got this?" He asked.

Matteo Salvatore The warehouse looked dead from the outside. But hell was boiling inside. We entered in formation, silent. Me, Paolo, and three trusted men. All in the dark, breathing like predators. And he was there. Sitting on a steel chair, black shirt, cigarette in hand. Viktor Orlov. Or rather... Viktor Romano. My footsteps echoed on the concrete. He looked up, smiled like he’d been expecting me. “Salvatore,” he sneered. “I thought you were smarter.”

The sick feeling in my gut prevailing…again. To find a reasonable person in the Mafia world was akin to searching for a pin in a mountain of hay. There is no chance. The rumors about Salvador were worse than that of Dante. Salvador killed his brother, Mateo in order to become the Don of the underworld. He was also rumoured to eat the flesh of his victims and rivals. Some said he was asexual with little to no dealings with women nor men others said he was gay. Why don't I meet normal people?

Like he wanted me to think I had control. I paused. Then it hit me. Salvatore. His best friend. Now, his worst enemy. I leaned forward. The room felt colder. Everyone watched. And then I said it. Slow. Steady. Deadly. “What happened between you and your best friend -Salvatore, at exactly 4:00 p.m. on 07/05/15?” Otto froze. Then, like he’d been shocked, he shot up from his chair, eyes wide and stunned.

It was purely ridiculous. Salvatore Rodriguez— works as a reporter at Big news Media, no wife, no child. Doesn't believe in relationships because his father was a deadbeat drunk who constantly abused his mother, dropped out of school early, but by some miracle still ended up going to college, and finishing top of his class. Have had numerous cases of sexual assault from colleagues, but somehow someone has consistently been keeping you out of trouble.

Serafina lay awake, staring up at the ceiling as she recalled all the things the man downstairs had done for her. Not only in the past month but the last three years even. She was 20-year-old when he was first assigned to her, and if she remembers correctly, he was 26. Serafina can still remember the way he laughed at her when she discovered that he was Salvatore Romano's younger son. She couldn't bring herself to talk to him after that, too guilty and embarrassed because his father died protecting her's.

“I want to die,” “That is the honest and simple truth. I’m done, I’m tired, and so fucking terrified all the time that I failed to protect you guys that I can’t…I just can’t stand to look at myself. I let Serafina get hit by that car, she was in a coma for twenty fucking months. Mom and dad were attacked due to my inefficiency. Nicole was kidnapped and nearly died because I wasn’t smart enough to anticipate it,” Salvatore's voice tightened with every word, the Mafia Boss sitting with his eyes closed and jaw clenched.