sicilian olives

We’d been in love for five years, and I was on the verge of telling Nico Rinaldi everything—that I was the heir to the Griffin family. But in the private room of a club, I overheard him speaking with his cronies in Sicilian—a language I happen to speak fluently. "Nico, when are you and Miss Bianca getting engaged?" Nico Rinaldi’s eyes swam with what I mistook for adoration. He used the pad of his thumb to wipe a smear of red wine from the corner of my mouth, his tone deceptively casual. "The Capones had a date chosen. It's ten days from now." They shot me leering glances, their curiosity undisguised. "So, what happens to Genevieve after the engagement?" "Just keep her in the manor outside the city. I can't bear for her to be tainted by the filth of the family business." The group erupted in lewd laughter. "This Genevieve must be a real siren in the sack to have our Nico so twisted around her little finger." Nico Rinaldi kissed my forehead but did nothing to stop their crude teasing. I lowered my gaze, my nails digging deep into my palm. They didn't know that not only did I understand their entire conversation, but I was also the Principessa who ran the Griffin family's entire European territory.

The night before the family gala, Dante Moretti pulled me into his penthouse apartment overlooking Manhattan. He traced the family tattoo on my back. His touch was undeniably possessive, and my very soul trembled with a decade of unspoken longing. I had loved Dante for ten years. In that moment, it seemed my silent prayers were finally about to be answered. Then, as we were tangled in the silk sheets, he whispered promises of a future where I would be the queen of his empire. He would make me the one and only Principessa of the Moretti family. I believed him. The next morning, I was curled against his firm chest as he chatted casually with my stepbrother, Marco Rossi. My cheeks were flushed, my heart racing, still lost in the sweetness of the night before. Then, they slipped into Sicilian. Marco leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well done, future Don. Didn't think you'd ever tame that little wildcat. So, tell me, how was my dear stepsister?" Dante let out a lazy chuckle. "Plays the innocent in public, but in private? A total animal. Who would've guessed?" A low, knowing laugh erupted in the room. Marco raised an eyebrow. "So, should I keep calling her 'sister,' or is it 'future sister-in-law' now?" Dante's tone darkened, and his arm tightened around my waist. Then he sighed. "She's nothing. Just... practice," he whispered, his voice dropping. "I'm about to get engaged to Sofia Bianchi, and I can't have her thinking I'm inexperienced. Isabella Rossi was just a warm-up." He paused. "But don't tell Sofia. I don't want her thinking I'm some kind of player." They didn't know I'd been secretly studying Sicilian for months, hoping to one day fit seamlessly into Dante's world. I understood every single word. Later that day, I quietly withdrew my early admission application to the University of Southern California and applied to Columbia University instead.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, one of Malcolm’s most trusted consiglieri turned to him and asked with a laugh, his words thick with the Sicilian dialect. "So, that little wildcat from your club—have you tamed her yet?" Malcolm sliced a piece of my favorite roasted lamb from the bone, carefully placing it on my plate before replying in the same dialect. "She's wild, fiery. A good diversion." "Just remember to keep it quiet. If your wife finds out, she'll raise hell." The men erupted into laughter, all promising to keep his secret. I sat beside him, my knuckles white as I gripped the stem of my wine glass. They didn't know I understood Sicilian. I had also already discovered that Malcolm was keeping a mistress in a secret apartment. But I didn't confront him, cry, or make a scene. I just silently pressed the 'send' button on my encrypted phone, initiating my "death" protocol. In three days, I would raise my own kind of hell—and leave him forever.

"Y en mi locura, encontré mi libertad..."

This Fiction Horror Novel is about a kid that goes by the name of Micheal Thorne. He is a Junior Highschool student from Langston High and the son of his now two loving step parents, Katy and Stewart Thorne. Unknowingly to them though, Mike has a huge secret... ~Mike is a sociopath~ If you are interested in a mysterious horror story with a little bit of realistic fiction, then come join the journey into the mind of a sociopath as he tells his story. ~warning, this book may contain very graphic imagery and language.~ ~This book is also used for educational purposes.~

Trapped, fearful, scared, frightened, panicky, nervous. These are all human emotions felt when in a life threatening situation. In a strange world creatures of different races of different planets and off different timelines are summoned to fight for survival to amuse the gods. Why must I amuse some sickos? Why am I involved in these games? Why am I not the one on top? I should get to the top, This is not where I belong, I should be the one in charge, I will rise and have the gods beneath me regardless of what it takes.

My journey with music has been amazingly wonderful, but I never wanted anything to drag me apart from it. - Author

Just a basic Getting reincarnated into another world with op powers or is it?

Silas Tylers is left behind as part of the fourth of the population who has no superhuman powers, and when his best friend is wronged by the society built around these abilities, no justice can be found except power. "I walked in a world full of the evolved, but I wasn't one of them. In the Evolution, it was estimated that seventy-five percent of the world gained some varying degree of special power. That left the other twenty-five percent to be the basics. Me? I, Silas Tylers, am as basic as they come." (Updates on Wednesdays and Saturdays)

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