Dante Club Book Novels & Stories

Swallowing the lump of terror in my throat, I pushed the door open and stepped into the lion’s den. The room was a stark contrast to the pulsating club below. It was dim, lit only by a few low lamps, and the air was thick with expensive cigar smoke that stung my eyes and lungs. I coughed, waving a hand in front of my face as my vision adjusted. And then my blood ran cold. There, lounging on a deep leather sofa as if it were a throne, was Dante. A cigar was held loosely between his fingers, smoke curling around his head like a crown. His expression was one of cold, detached amusement, but his eyes… his eyes were twin pools of molten fury.

At the mention of Dante, the two men knew that they had to leave, or they would be roasted for wasting his time by talking to her. “We are leaving; you can have breakfast with him. We will schedule ours another time; you can call us later.” Rider shoved a card into her hand. “We also have a gamers club; hit me up, and you will be invited.” Before she could open her lips to respond, the men were already gone. “What the hell happened?” She inquired. “What's up with them?” “Don't you know who your voter is?” He crooked his head to the side. “He is Dante Volkov, the most dangerous man in the world. Why wouldn't they run away when they are wasting your time dining with him?”

Closing In II Hours later, Elena and Dante pulled up to the club, the night heavy with tension. The neon lights flickered above the entrance, casting long shadows on the wet pavement. The place was packed, music thumping from inside as people milled around, unaware of the undercurrents of danger that flowed beneath the surface. “We’re not here for a scene,” Dante muttered as they approached the entrance, his eyes scanning the crowd for familiar faces. “Maletti’s people will be inside, but we can’t afford to draw attention. We go in, find our target, and get out.”

Dante opened the journal. The pages crackled with age. Entries filled the first half. Names. Dates. Operations. Votes. Decisions. Years of history. Then he stopped. One page had been bookmarked. Recently. The ink looked fresher than the rest. Much fresher. Someone had written there recently. Everyone gathered closer. Dante read aloud. Meeting 417 Attendees: Vincent, Gabriel Others absent. Silence. Marco frowned. "Wait." "Only two founders?" Dante continued reading.

Vincenzo and Dante were impressed as they watched the girls speed down the road. They gave each other a knowing look. "Who were they?" Dante asked in a daze. "I have never seen them here before," Vincenzo shrugged. He had the records of everyone who entered his club but he had never seen the two of them before. But he knew he was surely going to find the enticing blonde who captured his attention in no time. And then it would be easy to track down Dante's girl as well, as she seemed to be a friend of the blond. He remembered the real reason they were present at the club for.

Should feel something other than this strange detachment. But the drugs are making everything feel distant. Surreal. Like this is happening to someone else. Dante turns to his men. "Take care of this mess. And burn this club to the ground." "Sir..." one of them starts. "I don't care who dies in it," Dante continues calmly. "Everyone. Everything. Burn it all." Then he turns to Adrian, who's been standing frozen in the doorway this entire time. "And you," Dante says, his voice dropping to something dangerous. "You meet me tomorrow. How dare you let this happen in my establishment."

JULIAN’S POV The devil I know is better than the angel I didn't. Problem is, I didn't know any angels. Born into a life like this, there were just devils and devils and they showed up when you least expected. Tonight's surprise was Dante Martinez. He arrived at dinner fifteen years late with a suit that must have cost a fortune. The moment he walked into the room, the air thickened like even oxygen was scared of him.

“You nearly killed him, Dante — and don’t you dare grin like that.” Selene’s voice cracked like a whip across the chamber. The words hung, sharp as glass, echoing off the obsidian pillars that ringed the council hall. Dante didn’t flinch. He leaned lazily in his chair, draped in crimson silks, one leg hooked over the other. A cruel smile curled at his lips as if her fury was a fine vintage he intended to savor. “Nearly,” he repeated, tasting the word. “But not quite. Pity, isn’t it? All that smoke, all that spectacle — and still the boy walks.”

NEAH Dr. Nathan Price stands in Diane's study like he owns the place. My uncle. The man who experimented on my mother. The fifth council member. Family I never knew existed. And he's smiling at me like I'm a prize he's been waiting to collect. "You're lying," I say. My hand stays on my knife. "There's no tracker. My mother would have told me." "Would she?" He gestures to Elena. "Tell her, sister. Tell your daughter about the gift we gave her before she was even born."

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.”