Dante Booktok Novels & Stories

And Dante was no one she could fool with ease. That was the thing that made it most exhausting. “Tired,” Dante said. He shrugged off his jacket. Draped it over the chair. Began undoing his shirt buttons in that unhurried, ritualistic way—the transition from Don Salvatore into whoever he was allowed to be in this room alone. Shoes off. Arranged precisely. Elena watched him from behind her book. “What are you reading?” “Pale Fire. Nabokov.” “What’s it about?” “A man who spends his entire existence convincing the world he isn’t insane.” She glanced back at the page. The faintest curve at the corner of her mouth. “While in reality he’s already lost his mind completely. Relatable.”

“Thank you, Dante.” I sat still in my chair like my future had not just been decided. The food I was trying to swallow lurched forward and suddenly tasted like paper. My fork moved and the food found its way to my mouth but I couldn't taste anything anymore. His eyes were still on me. I didn't dare to look back but I hated how it made me feel. It was too close to sin. Dante shouldn't make me feel this way. He was family but unfortunately, the delicious lick in my stomach didn't know that.

The days that followed the burning of her book were a desolate landscape for Amara. She moved through the lavish rooms like a ghost, her spirit heavy with the weight of her captivity and the crushing revelations from her mother’s journal. The dry toast and bitter coffee became her constant companions, a physical manifestation of Dante’s psychological warfare. He was systematically dismantling her, chipping away at her identity, seeking to sculpt her into something new, something that would fit his twisted narrative of revenge and redemption.

Surely he would have tried to reach out to his mother or a friend atleast. Dante made a mental note to talk to Alberto about the matter tomorrow_or as it was, later this morning, he amended, considering the time. He wondered why he couldn't fall asleep even though he was quite very tired. He kept trying to evade the temptation of thinking about his wife. But he soon realized that it was an almost impossible feat to accomplish, even more difficult than he had initially imagined. _____________________________

It was a fortress of limestone and iron, a place where history was not just remembered; it was manufactured. Dante abandoned the van a mile out, navigating the treacherous, windswept ridgeline on foot. He moved with a predator’s instinct, his silhouette merging with the granite crags. Every step was a calculation, every breath a suppressed vibration. He wasn't here to negotiate, and he wasn't here to offer terms. He was here to burn the legacy that had claimed the woman he loved.

She had stepped fully into Dante’s world tonight, and she could already feel that nothing would ever be ordinary again. The loft door closed behind her, and Dante was already there, leaning against the window, arms crossed. The city lights bounced off his sharp features, making him look untouchable and terrifyingly close. “You made it back,” he said without turning, voice low, calm, and just a little dangerous. “I… yeah,” Nina said, her voice shaking. “It worked. I did what you asked.” Dante finally looked at her. His eyes were dark, intense, scanning her like he could see straight through her.

But something about it made my chest tighten. For a while neither of us spoke, until my eyes drifted to the wedding band on his finger. It shouldn't bother me, but it did. As if suddenly aware of his actions, Dante dropped his hands to his side, stood up straight, and gestured to the stacks of boxes I hadn’t noticed until now. “There are books in the boxes over there, if you need something to read,” he started, while walking in the direction he came from. When he got to the door, he paused, turned towards me one last time. His voice controlled but distant

For the first time, his gaze flickered—not away, not weakened, but something else—a flicker of heat, the kind that could ignite or destroy. “Careful,” he murmured. “Flattery from your mouth sounds like another lie.” Valentina leaned forward, close enough that the air between them thinned, her perfume curling like smoke. “And yet you don’t seem to mind listening.” The pause that followed was heavy, electric. Dante finally opened the ledger, flipping through its pages with casual precision. His eyes moved fast, cataloguing and absorbing, then snapping the book shut again with a dull thud. “This,” he said, his voice colder now, “is useful. Which means you’re useful. Which means you’re mine. For

It was as if the books whispered: “You are still you, Alina. Even here. Even now.” The words intertwined with my thoughts. I couldn’t stop the image of him — Dante — from surfacing in my mind. The way he looked at me. The intensity of his eyes. The heat his body radiated even when he didn’t touch me. It was wrong. Toxic. And yet, it was there, lodged inside me. I closed the book firmly. I couldn’t lose myself in that. I couldn’t let this gilded cage and that enigmatic man entrap me. I needed to hold on to my sanity, my identity. And maybe, just maybe, these books were my silent weapon.

“Until you let me change that ring for a diamond one.” I stared at him blankly. One person started laughing, and then more and more people joined in. It was pretty clear to everyone else but me what he was talking about. “An engagement ring, Elodie.” Jax said each word slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. “Or a wedding band.” ***The End of book 1!! Book 2 and Dion and Lola's story is up next ***