Novel & Cerita Dante Crescendo

His body was now dissolving in a vat of acid. Dante Luciano was as far from a choirboy as they could come. Yet, there was something more primal at work, maybe even something I could justify as altruistic. Camila wanted to be kissed. Another step. Camila’s eyes grew impossibly larger, and her lips opened slightly as she backed away from me. Our feet moved in sync, one and then the other. Her breathing came faster, causing her breasts to push against her dress. The material tented over beaded nipples.

She was breathless, trembling beneath him, her fingers gripping his biceps as she fought for control, but the need pooling between her thighs was unbearable. “Please,” she gasped, her voice a desperate plea. “Just fuck me already, Daddy.” Dante let out a deep, throaty growl, his tongue flicking out to tease the tip of her ear. The sensation sent jolts of pleasure straight down her spine, making her toes curl. He trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, along her shoulder, then lower, worshipping every inch of her body. “This body of yours,” he murmured between kisses, his lips brushing against her skin, “it’s mine forever.”

Dante, now completely lost in primal desire, had transformed from his earlier demeanor of restraint into a wild beast. Lani wrapped her arms around Dante, which only intensified his arousal. With one hand tearing at her dress, he was met with a scene of spring—smooth, white skin, luscious red lips, and eyes hazy with desire. Dante propped himself on one arm, lifting her chin with the other, and lightly kissed her lips. Lani eagerly responded, their lips tangling together. Dante explored her mouth as if he wanted to draw out all the air from her, becoming more and more aggressive. Lani's face flushed deeply, and she matched his rhythm, her body moving in sync with his.

A screech cut through the room, Cassiopaia reared up under the touch, but it didn't seem like she was conscious. Then she sagged again, but it was as if a pale, transparent shadow of her was stuck to Dante's skin. Slowly he sucked it in, you could feel how he absorbed this essence and seized it. For an ominous moment he just inhaled, then he tilted his head to the right, then to the left, cracking his spine. A full grin settled on his too seductive lips, he lazily licked over them, as if he were removing the last drop of a particularly delicious wine. But suddenly something changed in him, the expression on his face went cold and he stretched out his hand, curled his fingers as if he were gr

“I was a weapon. A punishment. A reminder of what Nox couldn’t have and he banked on it to cripple him.” Dante sets his drink down with a soft clink. His voice is low, reverent. “Cristo. You didn’t deserve that.” “No,” I say. “But I let it happen.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on mine. “Ascolta. You are not what he made you into. You’re sweet, dolce… the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. You have eyes that have seen too much pain—and still, they look like light.”

He had big plans, and he was going to stop at nothing to achieve them. The music pulsed on, the crowd growing more and more raucous. But Damon just smiled, his eyes glinting with ambition. He was the one in control, and he was going to stay that way.

"Dante... now..." The wind rushing through the broken dome didn't carry the scream of turbines anymore; it carried the deep, echoing thunder of a dying machine. Dante didn't crawl. He dragged his massive, three-ton frame across the scarred marble, his obsidian claws leaving raw, white grooves in the stone as he pulled his bleeding chest toward me. The violet-black fire in his empty sockets had flattened into two wide, burning rings of raw instinct, the death-tether between us tightening until every ragged breath he took forced my own lungs to expand.

Play the part. "She would be honored," Luciano said, his voice a blade wrapped in silk. I took Dante’s hand. His skin was cold and clammy, a stark contrast to Luciano’s heat. As he led me onto the dance floor, the string quartet shifted into a haunting, dissonant minor key. We began to move, but it wasn't a dance; it was a struggle for dominance. "You smell like gunpowder and expensive soap, Zara," Dante whispered into my ear, his breath smelling of sour wine. "A strange scent for a girl who’s supposed to be a 'living bridge.' Or did Luciano forget to tell you that bridges are meant to be walked on?"

Coming from Dante, this qualified as great praise. "I have a good teacher," she replied, raising her sword in preparation for his next attack. Dante stilled suddenly, his head tilting slightly as if listening to something she couldn't hear. His expression shifted, brows drawing together in a slight frown. A small flame appeared in the air between them, startling Madeleine enough that she nearly dropped her sword. The flame expanded, forming the shape of a letter sealed with a symbol she didn't recognize—three intertwined circles. The fiery parchment floated serenely toward Dante, who plucked it from the air with a swift motion.

Dante complimented. Beep. Victor ended the call. With a wide grin, Dante picked up his tumbler and gulped down the rest of the contents. His face contorted as the burning sensation descended down his throat he let out a heavy sigh. Deca Familia… che abbia inizio il gioco dei re. (Deca Familia… let the game of kings begin.)