Novels by Gift

Blood pooled beneath the courier's body. The metallic smell mixed with the warehouse's damp air. Santino kept his face blank, but his heart pounded. El Amore's shot had been perfect, a message written in blood. The old man tucked the pistol into his jacket. His face showed nothing as Mia stood beside him in her black suit. Her eyes never left Santino's face."You refused my order," El Amore said, voice low and rough. "Yet you still stand here."Santino met his gaze directly. "Killing him was wasteful. I offered a better way.""Wasteful?" El Amore chuckled. The sound was dry like autumn leaves. "Loyalty isn't about being efficient, Santino Leandro. It's about proving you belong to me." He stepped closer. The light from the warehouse caught his sharp eyes. "But your boldness... it interests me. Maybe you're more than just your father's shadow."Santino said nothing. The silence stretched between them. Salvatore shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable."Well?" Salvatore pressed. "Wha

Cold night air bit at Santino's skin as he stood frozen in place. Salvatore's words still rang in his ears."Kill the courier. Now."The man was already fading into the Paris streets, a shadow swallowed by darkness. Santino's right hand rested on his gun. His fingers didn't move to draw it. The documents crinkled in his other hand.This was a test within a test. El Amore's game. Santino hated being played."No," he said, his voice steady despite the knot in his chest.Salvatore's eyebrows shot up. "No? You don't get to say no to El Amore.""I do when it's stupid," Santino shot back, squaring his shoulders. "Killing him now gains nothing. He's scared, not loyal.""So what?" Salvatore spat."So he'll talk if we let him live," Santino explained. "He'll give us names, routes, and weak points. Dead men don't sing, Salvatore."The two suits behind Salvatore shifted. Their hands hovered near their weapons. Santino noticed them watching, waiting for orders.Salvatore's laugh cut through the t

The car rumbled through the French countryside, its headlights slicing through the midnight fog like dull blades. Santino sat rigid in the back seat, the package trembling faintly in his lap. That ticking steady, relentless gnawed at his nerves. His fingers traced its edges, feeling the coarse brown paper and the subtle vibration beneath."How much longer?" Santino asked, eyes fixed on the driver's reflection.The driver's gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, then away. "Twenty minutes. Maybe less."Silence fell between them again, heavy as a burial shroud. Santino's mind raced, replaying El Amore's cryptic words from earlier that day: "This package represents opportunity or destruction. Which it becomes depends entirely on you, Santino."A bomb? A tracker? Something worse? His jaw tightened. Trust no one—that rule had kept him alive in Naples, and it would here too.Rain began to tap against the windows, transforming the French countryside into a watery blur. The package's ticking s

El Amore's estate sprawled across twenty acres of French countryside, a fortress disguised as a chateau. Santino counted four security checkpoints before the car even reached the main gate. Guards with military precision. Cameras disguised as decorative elements. Dogs that watched too carefully to be pets."Nervous?" Salvatore asked beside him."Cautious." Santino straightened his new suit bought that morning at Salvatore's insistence. "You could have told me she was his daughter.""Would you have believed me?" Salvatore laughed. "Besides, Mia prefers to introduce herself. Make her own judgments.""And what was her judgment of me?""You'll find out soon enough." The car stopped before marble steps leading to massive oak doors. No one opened them. No servants waited. Just silence and the weight of unseen eyes."We go alone from here," Salvatore said, exiting the car. "Remember to speak only when spoken to. Answer honestly. He knows when you lie.""I don't lie.""Everyone lies, brother.

The woman in red moved through the crowded club like a shark through water deliberately, dangerous, turning heads but touching no one. Santino watched her approach, cataloging details. Diamond earrings, no other jewelry. Manicured hands, no rings. Eyes that missed nothing."You're staring," she said, stopping before him.Santino didn't blink. "So were you.""I was assessing." Her accent was pure Paris, her smile anything but. "You're Santino Leandro."Not a question. Santino kept his expression neutral. "And you are?""Disappointed." She signaled the bartender, who brought her champagne without being told what she wanted. "Salvatore promised me someone impressive. Instead, I get a street dealer from Naples.""If you know where I'm from, you know I'm more than that.""Are you?" She sipped her drink. "Men always think they're more than they are."Santino studied her. Beautiful, yes, but beauty was common in places like this. Power was the perfume she wore. The easy command, the watchfu

The taxi pulled up to Club Octana, its neon sign bathing the street in electric blue. Santino stepped out, adjusting his leather jacket, the only good thing he owned. Naples streets had taught him to blend in. Here, he stood out like a stray dog at a thoroughbred show."ID." The doorman blocked his path, a mountain in a black suit.Santino handed over the fake passport Salvatore had sent. "I'm expected."The doorman's eyes flicked between the ID and Santino's face. "Wait here."The night air carried perfume and cigarette smoke as couples in designer clothes laughed their way past the velvet rope. Santino counted exits two visible, probably a back door through the kitchen. Old habits.The doorman returned with a nod. "Follow me."Inside, the bass pulsed through Santino's chest like a second heartbeat. Crystal chandeliers hung above a sea of wealthy women dripping diamonds, men in tailored suits drinking liquor that cost more than his monthly rent. Naples felt a lifetime away.Salvator