Nico Di Angelo Book Series Novels & Stories

He could be playing along until he got a chance to flip the tables. But despite all of that, despite everything, I would still clean his wounds. And I would still protect him even if he drove a knife through my chest right after. Because when it came to Angel Di Cristina, I had never been in control. Not even from the start. *** After cleaning his wounds, I grabbed my phone and ordered food from a nearby Italian place. Penne pasta with chicken and creamy Alfredo sauce. Angel needed food, and even if he didn't, I wanted to get it for him.

Celestina stalked towards me closer and whispered with glee into my ears. " Yes...that's right...That tongue belonged to Nico's first son.I just wonder what Nico has to say to that" My breath seized as Milo inserted. " You don't know Nero De Santoro.He isn't called the Mafia God for nothing.If he couldn't get to Nico,he figured he have to do it through Robert,his twenty year old first son." I was suddenly cold all over and I was shaking.God knows what Nico would do now as retaliation..My children..

I muttered to him, asking. "It could be something else." Niko muttered, walking along with me. "Is she part of your family?" Angelo asked, still looking at me. "No one has ever mentioned that Bianchi has a daughter." He added, waiting for an answer. "You're here for business, not to poke your nose in our matters. I hope I have made myself clear." Alessio shot, daggering a cold look at him. "I was just curious." Angelo said, smirking. I didn't like him, I didn't like the way he looked at me, it was similar to how Sienna looked at Alessio, but her intentions were pure, but his intentions seemed evil, his gaze made me furious.

In daylight, the river flared beyond the tall windows; at night it became a strip of black glass. Nico sat in a worn club chair by the window, tie loose, jacket abandoned on the armrest, shirt sleeves rolled over the black curls of ink that climbed his forearms. He’d pulled one of his father’s books down, half out of habit—a volume of Livy in Italian no one in the family had read with a mouth that wasn’t lying—but it lay open and ignored on the low table, the lines of history as useless to the room as prayer.

The ride up felt endless, my foot tapping the entire way. And then I pushed Nico’s office door open with a sharp sigh of relief. “You’re late,” Nico said without glancing up from the notepad in his hand. “Traffic,” I lied. “I’m sorry.” He only grunted, tossing the notepad aside and picked up a folder. As he flipped through the pages, his voice sharpened. “She does whatever she likes now. And that’s because of Dante.” I frowned. What? Did something happen? He stood and started down the hall. I hesitated, then followed until we reached the fitting room. He stopped, holding the door open.

Emiliano asked with a frown and Angelo beamed as he prepared to pop the champagne open but posed to look at his best friend "So how was the night, I heard you took the little kitten to your private penthouse huh...tell me...did you have fun?" Angelo lowered close to Emiliano and whispered with a grin and winked in the process, Emiliano feeling irritated massaged his temples because it seemed Nickolas had started running his mouth anyhow "Do your work okay...focus on getting people out of jail and putting more criminals in jail" he said coldly and rise from his chair and folded his white shirt sleeves up to his elbows and glanced at his phone

With each container, my hand started shaking more and more until I eventually couldn’t take it anymore. Why did Fabio have these weapons? How? “What do you expect me to do with this?” I gulped, eying Nico, who shrugged his shoulders. “Why don’t we sit down?” Nico and I took a seat in the separate office in the basement. I shot daggers with my eyes both eager and annoyed to hear what he had to say. “You might’ve known me as a close associate of your father’s.” Nico grabbed a big dusty book from a safe before throwing it on the table.

(WARNING: SEXUAL VIOLENCE) Angelina POV Three days. Three days since I last saw happiness. It had been the most terrifying three days of my life. Every day, Ace would come and have his way with me. At first, I cried and struggled for him to stop, but then I gave up. What is the use of saving your virtue when it has already been brutally taken? After that, I would silently stay on my knees until he finished his dirty work. He even started being less violent; I guess he understood that I wouldn't fight it. And since yesterday, I had been feeling sick. I even threw up on myself last night. My body smelled of puke and dirt. He had tied my hands to hooks on the wall and my legs to a chain. My han

He quickly shut a book that he must have been reading and pushed it aside, his expression hardening into that familiar mask of control. There was the faintest hint of suspicion in Nico’s eyes. “I hope i’m not interrupting?” he asked, his faze flickering to the book that Nero was still obscuring. “Ever heard of knocking?” he snapped, leaning back in his chair. “Or have you finally decided you’re allergic to manners?” “My apologies, don.” Nero rolled his eyes. Nico dropped into the chair opposite the desk. “You won’t believe what I found.” Nero sighed dramatically. “I already warned you before, Nico. Stop talking in riddles. You aren't senile yet.”

But Father Antonio is not any other person. He's not just a job to carry out. He’s the last crooked stitch in Nico’s life, the one that keeps the wound open. He's the man who smiled while Nico shrank and I can’t let him walk away with the things he's done. His time is simply up.