Novel & Cerita Dante's Love

Peter must be keeping Alexis busy with a bedtime story. Musing, she began lining the stones up. What had she seen in his eyes? Did he love her? One by one she recited the old saying. ‘He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not.’ On the twenty-fourth stone she stopped. ‘He loves me not!’ *** rley.’ She looked up as Alexis threw her a cherry. He’d been standing there watching her. ‘Catch.’ He smiled that devastating smile at her. ‘He loves you, very much.’ His words were said slowly, and simply because he meant them.

"Please, just—just let me see you. Let me talk to you. Five minutes. That's all I'm asking. Please just open the door." There was no answer. Dante pressed his forehead against the door, his bloody knuckles still resting against the wood. "I lied. When I said I didn't love you—that was the biggest fucking lie I've ever told. I've loved you since the day I met you. Since you smiled at me when I took you to bury Pamela and I thought 'how the hell is she so strong?' I loved you when you laughed at my terrible jokes while we closed the grave together with shovels. When you kissed me that first time in my car."

"I did it because I love you, Dante. I wanted you to choose me, to be with me. Can't you understand that?" Dante's voice filled the room, his words cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "Love? What you did wasn't love, Darlyn. This is manipulation. This is evil. Love doesn't stoop to such depths." Darlyn's voice cracked with emotion, tears streaming down her face. "Dante, please! I just love you so much!” Dante's expression hardened, his voice devoid of any sympathy. "No, you don’t love me, Darlyn. You just love yourself,”

she said, standing in front of him. Dante was pouring whiskey into a glass. “On purpose?” he repeated. “You wanted to scare me,” she said. He took a sip of his drink. “Yes.” Her eyes widened. “Why?” “Because fear is honest,” he replied. “Love is not.” She stared at him. “You don’t know anything about love,” she said. Dante’s jaw tightened slightly. For a brief second, something flashed in his eyes. Pain. But it disappeared instantly. “You’re wrong,” he said quietly. “I know exactly what love does.”

“Not yet young master. She isn't even opening up. Dante nodded his head, she bowed and took the door. Dante stared at his food, he was hungry. Really famished. But the news about Elena not having dinner didn't go well with him. Dante tried to lie by telling himself that all of that was happening because of the guilt of letting her cover such a a kilometer, but he couldn't help but stay true to himself, he wouldn't call this love. He can't love. He doesn't have the right to love, but this is to him a great lust! She was slimy yet had those pretty curves. It was only normal that he felt extremely attracted to her!

He stopped himself again. "Like what?" Isabella pressed. Dante looked down at her, at this woman who'd somehow gotten under his skin in just two weeks. This woman who should mean nothing to him but somehow meant everything. "Like love," he said quietly. "But that's impossible in my world. Love is weakness. Love gets people killed." Isabella's eyes searched his face. "Is that what your father taught you?" "My father taught me a lot of things. Most of them are wrong. But that one….." Dante's jaw clenched. "That one might be true."

Dante stood with his back against the doorframe. His arms crossed against his chest as he observed her from a distance. She always felt his eyes on her from every angle. No matter where she was, his gaze would pursue. Each time that their gazes would ever meet, the smoldering gold of his eyes would twist ever so slightly with the crimson blood that would mingle with it. It wasn't always desire that drove that reaction. She knew how much he cared for her. Loved her. He even died for her when Roy attacked them. Dante was possessive, but not controlling. He praised her and encouraged her as her powers grew while she learned her new abilities. If that wasn't love, then what is?

“Every leak, every whisper—it’s designed to spark civil unrest within the Council.” “She wants chaos,” Dante said. “And in chaos, she’ll crown herself.” “And what will you do?” Dante stood. “I’ll remind her that crowns can be melted.” But even as he said it, a flicker of memory betrayed him. Alessia—beneath him, her lips parted with a whisper of his name. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Her body a battlefield of fire and forgiveness. He had loved her once. Maybe I still did. But now, love is war.

This dark romance had reached its peak—a union of vengeance and love, where the true victor was the one who could bear the weight of their own sins. “I am yours, Leonard,” Dante whispered into the night wind. “And you are mine… in this beautiful hell.”

Lorenzo asked. “Then they’ll have to step over my corpse.” “Dante—that means open war.” “Fifteen years ago I was too weak. I’m not anymore.” When the room emptied, Lorenzo stayed. He watched his brother with quiet sorrow. “You still love her, don’t you? Even after time has taken everything else.” Dante rose and moved to the window. Outside, the garden drowned in darkness. “Every night, I live with her in my dreams,” he said. “How could I ever let go?”