Dante Devil May Cry Novels & Stories

Alex chuckled, “His name is Dante Giordano.” I turned to him, my jaw dropping in disbelief. “Dante Giordano? As in… the leader of the Tiger Fangs gang?” The most notorious ruthless mafia syndicate in probably the world. Dante was known to be ruthless in his dealings which earned him the name ‘The Devil’. Alex simply nodded. A low whistle escaped my lips. “You sneaky bastard. Who would have thought the good boy you pretend to be would be friends with the devil himself?” “We met by chance,” Alex said, his gaze fixed on the road. “And Dante owes me a favour.”

Don’t get me wrong, I completely understand that we are very much a part of the business they did want in the first place so they have to keep up appearances and make themselves known. If anyone of my guys should be feared it would be Dante. He’s the jokester, the fool everyone thinks can’t be serious. Dante’s imagination and fascination with mid-evil torture divides a gore makes him one of those people who would take enjoyment out of watching someone slowly bleed out while watching them suffer until he gets his answers.

He scanned me slowly, then, with a grunt, he asked, “Did you bring it?” “I did.” He glanced back to the driver, who was scanning the edges of the pier like a hawk, and nodded. The driver nodded back and opened the SUV’s rear door. Another man slid out. He had the kind of body that made every other man around him look smaller; thick neck, broad belly, face like a cliff. He wore a suit that cost more than my first car and moved with the slow arrogance of someone who knows his influence in the underworld. “Allow me to introduce the leader of the Vincetti Family. The one and only, Big V,” the man close to me announced with pride in his voice.

I stormed up the stone steps two at a time. My fingers wrapped around the metal handle. Click. I cocked my pistol. Then, I pushed the doors open. Gasps erupted. Heads turned. But I only looked at one person. Dante. He stood before the altar, stiff and devoid of emotions. A gun was aimed at his head by an older looking man. And it didn't take me much to identify the latter. El Diablo. That was the devil. Beside him, Seraphine smirked. My eyes narrowed. And all I saw in that moment was red.

I asked, enjoying the feeling of Dante’s touch. “They went to the main house to make sure everything was progressing the way it should be, and that all the necessary items were brought here. I drew the short straw, or the best straw.” I went over to the shower bench and sat back down. All I could do was stare at Dante. Dante was about 6’5” tall, he is slightly shorter than the triplets and Benji, but not by much, he has long, lean legs with well-defined quads and calves. Dante has golden brown eyes with flecks of green, he has broad shoulders, and strong biceps. Dante has eight-pack abs, and his hip bones stick out just a little bit. He’s not skinny, he has great muscle tone, but he could us

“Don’t be so sure. I doubt you went to the mat for me on this.” “Oh, but I did.” He motioned toward Catalina. “She had to pull us apart. We were wrestling in the penthouse living room. It was awful.” Catalina’s smile and the slight shake of her head told me what I already knew—Dante was full of shit. I rarely thought about the fact that he was also a stone-cold killer like Dario. Their personalities couldn’t be further from one another. “I tell you what,” I said, looking at Dante. “If you unsheathe one of the knives you’re currently wearing and take Aléjandro out, I might decide not to hate you.”

“There’s likely a secondary device still inside. They always leave a second one. It’s how they operate.” I froze, my heart pounding. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about, but who the hell was this guy? I didn’t have time to play games. People were dying. I shot him another look, then glanced at the building, uncertainty gnawing at me. "Who are you?" I demanded, trying to figure out if I should trust him. “Just someone who knows what’s going on,” he said, stepping back slightly. “Kareem Ali.” Kareem Ali.

My mind was still replaying it, his forehead pressed to her temple, his voice dropping into that low Italian growl, calling her amore mio arrabbiato(my angry love) like she was something precious instead of a collared problem we bought for ten million. Could he have fallen for her? Nah. Impossible. Dante is the steel spine of this pack. The oldest. The leader. The one who taught us how to kill clean, how to rule without apology. He’s a psychopath, sure, same as the rest of us but his is surgical. Controlled. Mine? Mine’s a fucking wildfire. Ryker’s is a blade that likes to play. Asher’s is a quiet, smiling abyss. But Dante’s rage is ice. Precise. He doesn’t lose control. Ever.

He reminded me of Matteo in the worst way—raw power and zero mercy. “What’s the price?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “Money? Tech? The Moretti’s will pay triple whatever you’re getting.” Dante smirked, leaning over me. “Money isn't the currency here, Daniels.” “Who are you?” I asked, looking at Dante. “My name is 'Shut the Hell Up',” Dante growled. I let out a weak, hysterical laugh. He looked at me like I was insane. “Are you going to kill me?” I asked, my voice flat.

Wolves collided with the shadows of those wings, thrown across the room as blood and instant death erupted. Vivica froze, eyes wide, her chest rising as she watched the devil himself descend upon them. The dark blue aura surrounding him pressed against her burning skin, sending a thrill along her heated skin, and desire, through her. All the rumors about him turned out to be true. He was the Devil. The real Devil. Finn stepped forward deliberately, each movement slow, lethal, deliberate. He stopped just in front of her, the room now deathly silent except for the beat of her pulsing heat.