Novel & Cerita Dante Devil May Cry Father

“What matters is that she’s not anyone's toy and if you think I’ll let you or Blackfang use her for whatever game you’re playing in that wasteland, you’re dead wrong.” Dante exhaled slowly, as though weighing his response. “ Aren't you moving too quick Damien, your father is actually very cunning ” “I don’t care,” I snapped. “But I know that whomever is involved with his shits is also crossing me.” We stared at each other for a second. Finally, Dante leaned back again, his calm mask returning. “Your father is a complicated man. He seeks alliances where others see danger. He sees opportunity in chaos. That is all I will say to you.”

G I O V A N N I P O V Grace and Dante walked outside to have some time for themselves. I understand they needed time to process this and hive it a place in their minds. Dante didn't just gain a sister. He also gained a cheating father in his mind. His mother and father were already married when Federico had an affair with Grace's mother.

I was staring. Oh shit I was staring. Shawn, what the fuck are you doing? I quickly turned to leave but I was frozen on my tracks. It felt like I had been hypnotized. Thom Sinclair, my father in law that hates me, moaned my name. He moaned my name while beating his junk.

"If you don't do as I say then you'll as well end up like the rest of those bastards you call siblings." "That is where you're mistaken, Adolph, they're not the bastard but you are! They're just unfortunate to have to call someone like you a father..." "Watch your tongue once again Alaric!" The king lifted his finger to warn Alaric but he didn't seem to be scared of his father anymore.

When he heard his mother being mentioned, he even raised his eyebrows slightly then chuckled softly. You whistleblower. That's what Gerand was thinking. Then unfortunately he loved his father and mother so much that he turned into a good boy in front of these two people. Cheating? Not really, Gerand just followed the rules his parents had made. When they are happy, that is enough. [Why are you calling. Hurry up and say or I'll just turn off the phone.] [Just relax Brother I'm...] Deny's words could not be resolved because Gerand immediately hung up on him.

I was done calling her bluff. “That was extreme, Delanxy.” My mom's voice complained. “You could have opted for a more… safer means.” Delanxy scoffed. “Nothing good comes easy, Helen. Rapheal had to pay a little price for choosing me over that slut and making a mockery of me. Besides, you practically begged for this so why’re you acting like you have a choice?” She could barely hide the irritation in her voice. “But he's my son, Delanxy. You should have considered that fact. We had an agreement.”

She licked her chapped lips, she had been drained of blood in those seconds that her heart was finally pumping new ones and circulating it through her. Her legs felt like jellies and she almost crawled to the bed and sat down on it, she placed her hand on her chest one more time and closed her eyes, God, I’m alive, I am really alive, she thought as she covered her mouth with her hand as tears blurred her vision. Her father was the scariest men she had ever seen and she hated seeing him angry but this man, the man she just saw? She would gladly watch her father angry a million times than have another scene with that monster. It was as if his eyes were an empty vacuum, no, bottomless pit of he

I wanted to hear Diego call me his fucking sex-doll, his obsessed little brat, telling me exactly how much better he was at filling me up than his son ever could be. "Ah... fuck... Daddy..." I sobbed, my hips bucking. The friction was becoming unbearable, the pleasure peaking into a blinding white light. I was sobbing now, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. I imagined his hand wrapping around my throat, not to choke, but to claim. I imagined him spitting on my chest and telling me I was nothing but a hole for his pleasure. "Fuck me, Daddy... please, just fuck me!"

“Isabella Moretti—your childhood friend, returned from the dead. I bring her back to you and what I receive in exchange is suspicion? Is this the gratitude a father deserves after wringing himself dry to meet your expectations?” The rhetorical assault landed with precision. Victor knew exactly how the phrase the father you wanted could reroute a man’s psychological current—a form of emotional bait engineered specifically to topple anyone’s defenses. But Dante refused to surrender that emotional ground to his father. “If your claim is true—if she really is Isabella,” Dante pressed, his voice turning cold, “then why is she still breathing? Eliminating threats is your standing protocol, Father.

My father hasn’t been able to look me in the eye since I returned from New York a few months ago; I think the guilt is eating at him. Before my father sent me into the meeting with Dante a few months ago, I had done research on him; and to this day I wish I had been ignorant. He was a monster, a stone unfeeling monster who saw no difference in killing children and women if they stood in his way.