Dante Sparda X Reader Novels & Stories

Light spilling out. I move closer, staying in the shadows. And then I see him. Dante is at a sink, washing blood off his hands. His hair is wet—he must have showered. Water droplets are running down his bare back. His scarred back. With FARFALLA tattooed down his spine in elegant script. My name. My nickname. Permanently etched into his skin. I swallow hard, my eyes tracing the letters. Tracing the scars around them. Evidence of everything he survived. Everything he endured.

The number kept spinning in my head like a bad dream. “I wonder why my Dad hates me so much , which is so sudden. We used to be a happy family “ I sighed The others were busy. Enzo was cleaning his gun in the corner. Nikolai typed quietly on his laptop, trying to find a new safe place for us. Nana had gone to rest in the small back room. I was alone with my thoughts, and they were loud. The door to the library creaked open. Dante stepped in. He looked different. His shirt was still stained with blood. His wrapped hand had soaked through again. Fresh red dripped slowly from his fingers. His eyes were dark. Not just tired. Something deeper. Something broken and angry.

That I had fi ally gotten a text from one of the jobs. Until I opened it. 'Did you miss me, little sister?' My foosteps faltered, and my vision turned dark for a second as blood turned to ice in my veins. Dante. He was out of the prison. ____ A. Gupta

A subtle gesture of “taming.” I ate anyway. My body needed it. Then I lay on the bed—clean now, wearing the robe—and tried to sleep. But sleep didn’t come. Only the void. That’s when I heard the door open again. Dante entered. This time without the jacket. Just a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Black tattoos winding across tanned skin. A leather bracelet on his wrist. A man made of shadows and control. — Feeling better? — he asked, like it was a normal question.

The ballroom glittered, but the air was sour with fear and lies. Eyes followed her. Men whispered. Women stared. And above them, on a mezzanine balcony, a man watched. Pale. Blond. Smiling like sin. Dante Spina. The blood heir of La Spina Nera. And the man who’d ordered her mother’s execution. He raised a glass in her direction, as if toasting her pain. His voice carried over the orchestra. “I was wondering when the Varela flame would light the room again.” Amara’s heart pounded, but her smile never cracked. “Then I hope you’re ready for an inferno.”

“That you want to be bound to my brother. Is that what you want, Amara?” Dante had dropped his hand in favor of also staring in anticipation. Something about the way she had said my name made my stomach tighten. Grey eyes searched through mine for any semblance of a lie and I was all too reminded of how awfully similar the DeLaurentis siblings were. I lifted my chin just a little, and with the grace of someone who had been groomed to perfection, I nodded. “Yes,” I turned to Dante, and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss on his lips. He didn’t move or react as I’d thought he would. But I could have sworn I felt the ghost of a stiffen.

“I don’t like it, Kenna. You are mine now and he should leave you alone.” “Ah, but he does not know that I am yours, Dante. That you have claimed me. How could he possibly know? And besides, I don’t share my body with two men.” I keep to myself the fact that I was almost tempted when we were in Phoenix. But it has changed and when I see Xander next in Dallas, I will be full of everything from Dante. My mind, my body and my soul. Xander cannot compete with that. The feelings I have from my heart for Dante are stronger than I could have imagined.

His brooding eyes scan Adelaide and I, and I swallow, sensing something off. “I also wanted to speak to you, Adelaide.” He adds and Adelaide glances at me, already panting. “About what?” “Christopher.” Dante says the name like he wants to stab whoever it is until they are paralyzed. “What about him?” Adelaide tries to act cool, but it's pointless, Dante knows everything. “You're dating a hippie?”