Dante Lady Devil May Cry Novels & Stories

"Especially family members." "I could forcefully enter and you won't be able to stop me, you know that right?" I got up instantly, needing to see who it was at the door. I pushed open it, coming face to face with her. She doesn't need an introduction. Camila De Luca, a.k.a Belladonna. The De Luca's only daughter and a certified psychopath at heart. In our world, she was not to be trifled with. In other words, she was worse than even me, the devil's spawn.

I swallowed hard and looked away, meeting the woman's intense stare. She had the same eye color as Raphael, her curls hugging her perfect face. She is more beautiful than the last time I saw her. She wore zero makeup, her full lips were glossy, high defined jaw and cheekbones, long lashes and thick shaped eyebrows. Her skin was honey toned and looked soft and clear. Too bad I don't like her. "Slept well" Dante's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I faced him, smiled and nodded. He crossed his arms. He wore black jeans and white T-shirt with his hair brushed back.

His racing heartbeat told me that he was more than just a little furious right now. “And you are?” Aiden asked, clearly challenging Dante. The man was dumb enough to be speaking to him in such a tone let alone challenging him. Dante was literally three times the man’s size, and needless to say, he didn’t even know that he was a wolf, and even in human form, Dante could easily crush the man’s head in seconds. “The fuck date that knocked her up” Dante said, catching Aiden of guard. Jade’s eyes widened in surprise, and putting a hand on her stomach, she looked between the two of us “Dante D’Angelo”

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.

Dante’s hands gripped her waist, fingers digging into her skin as he thrust up to meet her. “That’s it,” Dante said, voice low and rough. “Keep riding it. Take every inch like you were made for it.” The woman moaned louder, a raw and nasty sound that broke on every downward roll of her hips. “Fuck!! yes, mmmhhh… so deep, don’t stop please… use my cunt, daddy….mmm” Dante’s eyes were half-lidded with pleasure until they opened and locked directly onto Luca’s. For one second neither of them moved.

One of him looks at me like I’m the only person in the world. Text overlaid in pastel fonts: > *they were endgame* > *devil in a suit vs. angel with a guitar* > *she wrote the demo about him, obviously* Hashtags under the post title: #RafLuna #ProducerAndMuse #SheDeservesBetterThanTheDevil That last one hits like a tiny punch. For a second, something hot and irrational flares in my chest—defensiveness on Dante’s behalf, of all things. Then doubt rushes in to drown it.

Then narrowing. “You look so—” the woman pointed at Ayra, frowning slightly. “You really look like someone I saw online a few months ago. The scandal stuff with Leo—Leo Devine, I think? That scandal thing, you know. You remember?” Ayra’s breath froze. Her hand gripped the cloth handles of her shopping bag tightly, enough to make her knuckles blanch. “I get that a lot,” she said quickly, forcing a smile that felt stretched and awkward. “But no, sorry. Not me.”

Dante's POV. I watched her walk away, that small, defiant firebrand of a girl, clutching her torn dress like it was her shield. My cheek still stung from her slap, the sting sharper than any knife wound I’d taken. I raised a hand to touch where she’d hit me, half-expecting to feel blood, though that would have been less humiliating. A slap from a petite, twenty-one-year-old woman. Me, Dante Moretti, one of the most feared men in this damned city, slapped by a woman who should have been too scared to breathe in my presence.

After a few seconds of eye-to-eye battle, he still maintained his silence, leaving Don Basco with no choice but to break the deafening silence between them. “Am I right? What do you think? (Am I, right? What do you think?)” Don Basco questioned; his lips painted with the image of the devil's grin. Without Don Basco's knowledge, the real devil was the young man in front of him—a devil who is hiding in human flesh with an innocent face, waiting for the right moment to attack his enemy and make them feel what hell is like.

A scream escapes her lips as blood spatters against her face staining down till her jean short. A wheezing sound rains down inside her head as everything begins to replay in front of her. “We have to move. Laurel, we have to move now." Jeremy screams. Laurel remains transfixed on the now white counter designed with red droplets of blood. The sound of sirens feels distant and the only words Laurel can mutter is, “Fuck!” Laurel curses. Jeremy pulls her away but her eyes remain fixed on the blood. They hurriedly through the store till the front door.