Asta Vs Dante Novels & Stories

“You called?” “You fucking bastard,” Dante, the D’Angelo Alpha, the man who not only married a thief, but learned to accept the fact that she was nothing but a traitor who worked for his father. I didn’t even understand how he managed to look at her after she had worked as a whore for his father, but then again, I doubted that he cared considering the experience that she had. “Nice hearing from you, Dante…” “What is the meaning of this, Alessio?” He asked, stopping me.

The sound of our footsteps echoed, every step feeling heavier than the last. And then I saw him. Through the glass partition, sitting on the other side of the table, was Dante. He was dressed in a pale prison uniform, loose and unfamiliar to him. Dante, who had always been so impeccable, tailored suits, crisp shirts, watches that glinted under the light, now looked like someone I didn’t recognize. The sight knocked the air out of me. My knees almost gave way, but I forced myself forward, blinking back tears that threatened to fall.

Of course it did. Dove was right. "Dove was right, Dove was right, Dove was right," the thought looped through me. Maybe I deserved this for being stupid enough to end up here. Through my agony, I could still see the other side of the separate room romantically set up. My jaws dropped to the floor when it opened and she walked in playfully dragging someone. I don't know what I expected. Some stranger, maybe. Standing in full flesh and blood was Dante with his shirt was open and untucked, hanging off his shoulders, the tattoo of my face and name clearly visible across his chest, a bottle of wine in his hand. He was smiling as Risa seductive ran her hands all over him.

he thundered, pointing an accusing finger at Alessandro. But Alessandro ignored him. "It's as if she’s come back, Dante. I won’t let you repeat the same mistakes you made years ago." Dante’s fist came out of nowhere, connecting hard with Alessandro's face. Alessandro stumbled and fell to the ground, wincing from the blow. My cover was blown; I was in full view, and Dante’s eyes slowly shifted from the ground to me. His piercing green gaze, full of raw hatred, froze me where I stood.

That shit only happened in movies. The door opened again, and this time, green eyes was accompanied by another man. The man had aqua blue eyes and dirty blond hair. He was very tall, with a lean yet muscular physique. He was quite handsome. Not as handsome as Dante though. What brought Dante into this? My subconscious asked. Just a passing thought, I quickly replied. ”Are you done checking me out, beautiful?” the man asked. His Spanish accent was thick. Spanish? Dante is Spanish too. I decided to disregard his question. After all, I wasn't checking him out.

“And let’s not forget, he’s the one who turned Zack into a human punching bag, not Elijah.” Zoe opens her mouth to retort, but before she can get a word out, a familiar middle-aged man in a crisp hotel uniform approaches our table. His nametag reads Daniel, and his polite smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Excuse me, are you Miss Zoe?” he asks, his gaze flickering between us. Zoe freezes for half a second, then points at me. “Nope, that’s her." “Seriously?” I roll my eyes at her and glance back at Daniel. “What’s the problem?”

“Boss, you know what waits for us if you go down this path you think is calling you.” “Do not lecture me, Luca.” “I am not.” “You are.” “No, I am not. I just wanted to remind you what is at stake if you get invested. Only weak men get invested.” “I am not weak,” Dante said through clenched teeth. He grabbed Luca by the collar and pulled him close. Luca raised his hands up in a surrender pose. That small gesture made Dante release him, but not before giving him the kind of stare that burned. “Get me what I need in forty eight hours,” Dante repeated. He walked to the door. “And clean this place up. It smells like sin.”

I kept my cool, though my anger simmered close to the surface. “I was careless,” Dante explained, almost pleading. “I didn't expect…” he trailed off. I raised my hair again, and he flinched. However I only tilted his chin back up to look at me. “Good. You recognize your mistake,” my thumb brushed his cheek, musing internally. He truly was beautiful. If only he could control his strange impulses to annoy me. “Now, tell me. Who is Marcel?” “He’s a colleague. An assassin,” Dante spoke, but his eyes betrayed a veiled emotion I could not read. My ire sparked once more, and I hummed low, almost a grunt.

I had lost hope thinking of of those voluptuous American ladies I saw when we went for a vacation last summer, not that they are a match for my elegance though. I spotted Dante in a corner sipping wine looking from his phone to the crowd repeatedly with a worried expression as if though he was expecting someone. was it Anna? no, I don't think so. emiliano bernade hardly likes just anyone, especially an orphan like Anna who have nothing to offer and she would leave Dante if she knows he is a mafia lord's heir or should I tell her ? so she can be gone? I thought sipping my wine.

“Oh, this should be good. Vengeance—it’s the gift that keeps on giving.” A moment later, Dante entered the room, wearing an olive-green jacket and dark jeans with loafers. His shoulders were sprinkled with drops of rain because the winter storms hadn’t abated. He glanced at Theo, and the disdain on his face indicated he hadn’t anticipated his presence. “Just counting our coins.” Theo raised his glass and took a drink. Dante said nothing, but it was clear he had a lot to say. I remained in the armchair, my chin propped on my knuckles. “What do you want?”