Dante Devil May Cry Father Novels & Stories

"If you move from this spot, if you even think about approaching that window, I will treat you like the enemy you’ve proven to be." "Dante, wait!" Ivy stood, her silk gown rustling, her voice breaking with an emotion she didn't have to fake. "If you kill him, you’ll never know why he has that box. You’ll never know if your father—" "My father is dead, Ivy! He died in the fire your father helped light!" Dante turned at the door, his eyes burning with a sadistic, heartbroken fire. "And if Arthur St. Claire thinks he can walk into my house with a box and buy his way out of hell, he’s about to find out that I am the devil waiting at the gates."

I wailed and slowly hung to the wall, with my back walking down the wall in tears and sobs. “Sympathy is not in the devil’s book and the last time I checked, I felt so good watching people cry. Tears make people stronger. By the way, how is your father doing? I heard he is in Coma and he will soon be out due to the exclusive treatment he is Receiving” he claimed. I stood up slowly and stood at his back, “how do you know my father is receiving exclusive treatment?” I asked with my eyes shone in Dante and I slowly wiped the tears off my cheek.

Dante returned his glare with his own. "Don't call her that. Her character is better than some people in this room," Dante shot back, his pent-up aggression seeping into his words. It was rich coming from his dad who had cheated on his mother. Of course, he apologized later and suddenly everything was fine. But it was never fine with Dante. He kept resenting his dad for this and he will continue to do so. "Dante," Katty chided his son, appalled by his changed demeanor. Whatever had happened to her obedient son?

The ice clinked—a cold, final sound. "I told you the cost of the debt, Bianca," he said, his voice as flat as a blade. "I told you what happens to thieves. Why do you insist on asking questions you already know the answers to?" "He’s my father!" I slammed my hand onto the desk, leaving a red smear across his pristine blotter. "Is he dead? Tell me to my face!" Dante leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine. There was no pity there. No regret. Just a vast, predatory stillness. "Your father ceased to exist the moment he put a price tag on your head. Whether his heart is still beating is a detail that shouldn't concern you."

He challenged his father and the backlash was horrific. This was because Giordano turned his violence on Rocco who almost lost his life and Dante finally snapped. He killed his father. I remember standing there, watching Dante heave heavily over his father's corpse as blood dripped from his fingers, yet his face was emotionless, as if he felt absolutely nothing.

I walk closer to him and take his hands into mine. "Look at me Dante. You are not your father. You are Dante Angelis,U.S.A most feared and Admired business man and the father of Ireal Angelis. You wouldn't know that if you don't try. She needs your love,you can't stay in the past forever,you need to move on. You need to rewrite your own story,for your child, your princess. Please Dante come back to us,I'll be with you every step away" I tell him.

"Hello, Father. Mateo smirked, leaning on the bar stand as he signaled for the bartender to refill his glass. "I heard about what happened to Dante, if I didn't know better I'd say the moon goddess is on your side." His father Tito started. "Everything's falling into pleasant places and I didn't have to do a thing," Mateo said as he spun his drink before taking a gulp, he felt the alcohol burn down his throat. "I'm proud of you son." His father said, giving him a gentle pat on his shoulders. "So what do you plan on doing from here?'' His father asked as his eyes shined with curiosity.

For the first time in her life… She understood exactly how powerful her father truly was. This wasn’t a family dispute anymore. It was the beginning of a war. And somewhere beyond those gates… Vincent Devereaux smiled inside the back seat of a black car. He wasn’t looking at the mansion. He was looking at a photograph in his hand. A photograph of Damien De Luca as a little boy standing beside his parents. Vincent traced the child’s face with his thumb. Then he whispered, “I’ve waited twenty-five years for this.”

I stepped forward again. My father shifted back to half form. Tall, muscled, claws out, mouth full of teeth too big for a human face. He smiled at me and it made my stomach turn. “You thought it was over, little girl?” His voice was rough. “You think you can kill me that easy?” I couldn’t speak, my throat closed up. All the memories hit me at once. Dante moved first. He ran straight at my father, shoulder down, ready to hit like he does on the ice.

“I’m Maya Vieri.” Dante’s father, who rarely displayed emotion, allowed a faint smirk to cross his lips. He leaned forward slightly, observing Maya with an approving glint in his eyes. “She’s got the Vieri blood in her,” he remarked, his deep voice carrying a tone of pride. “That’s unmistakable.” Maya’s gaze shifted to her grandfather, her expression unwavering. She studied him in return, as if sizing him up, and then nodded in quiet acknowledgment, much to the amusement of Salvatore and Isabella, who exchanged knowing glances.