Dantes Inferno Tattoo Novels & Stories

So I decided to try again. "Luca, what's with the dragon and flames on your back?" I asked, and he laughed. He rinsed his mouth and spat out the water and then stood straight to flex his muscles so I could get the full view. Instead of looking at the tattoo, my eyes were fixed on his tight, sexy, manly butt. My mind was in the gutters. "The dragon breathes fire. It can never burn him. Hell is fire, and I am the dragon that rules it," he said, and I understood.

Silver stood in place with her heart beating wildly and her hand suddenly getting cold as she inspected the man from his shoe up to his legs; he was wearing a crazy blue jean that has a chain hooked on the belt, adding to his hot appearance. She lifted her gaze to his waistline and divulged to her that he wore a white shirt which was perfectly tucked inside his pants and gave him a good fit. His white shirt was a little bit transparent as it revealed his lean and well built body feature. The sleeve of the white shirt he wore was rolled up to his ankle which exposed his thick muscular forearms and his edgy snake tattoo that encircled his hand upward. It was the first time she had noticed he h

“I don't understand why you won't leave me alone” Without responding to his words, I walked towards him, staring at the tattoo inscription on his upper back that read ‘Incendio’ meaning fire in Spanish. My heart slammed hard against my ribcage at that moment. Only the Anoris had that tattoo inscription on their bodies. While mine was Tierra, his was Incendio—Earth and Fire. My breath came out in ragged gasps. “You…are…an Anori” I stammered out and he froze.

LAZZARO I sped at a dangerous speed, cornering him and blocking his car. Without hesitation, I jumped out of my car and approached his, knocking on his window. “Fuck!” He growled and banged his fist on the steering wheel before eventually opening the door and stepping out. “What do you want? Why did you follow me?” he growled. “Enzo Bianchi.” I folded my arms across my chest, observing him closely. “Back from the dead, I guess. Tell me, did you have this all planned?”

They chanted, laughed, their voices raw and wild. At the center, a circle drawn in white chalk stated tonight’s killing floor. Dante walked in first, a predator in black leather. His shirt was open halfway, chest sculpted like marble, tattoos slashing across his ribs. A long blade glinted in his hand, an heirloom sword with a silver wolf crest engraved on the hilt. He looked like sin carved into flesh. "Don’t chant too much," Dante’s voice boomed. "I’m just here to play, not fight."

My body responded instantly, arching toward him despite the voice in the back of my mind that screamed how wrong this was. We were supposed to be in control. Focused. But with him, I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The danger only made it worse—made it better. “This is a bad idea,” I gasped as his mouth moved to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin just enough to make me shiver. I hated how much I wanted him, how much I craved the darkness he carried with him. He was supposed to be my partner, my enemy, my—something I couldn’t quite define.

The mark of the Russian mob. Why would Dante have a Russian mob tattoo? Did it have something to do with his deceased mother? “That tattoo…” I asked, testing the waters. “When did you get that?” Dante immediately realized his mistake and yanked his sleeve down. “None of your business!” But it was too late. I’d seen it clearly. It wasn’t a new tattoo. From the fading and the lines, it was at least a decade old. What did that mean? If Dante was Vincent’s biological son, why would he have a Bratva tattoo? Especially one he got when he was so young?

Dante closed the door of his wing and cracked his neck. The sound was sharp in the quiet. He liked the silence. He liked the cold feeling running through him since Vittorio’s conditioning. It made him stronger. Softer feelings had no place in him. He pulled off his black shirt and dropped it on the floor. His body was cut with muscle from years of training. Tattoos marked his skin; one of a snake across his ribs, another of a cross on his chest. He stepped into the bathroom.

When she turned back, he'd stripped down to swim trunks. Elena's breath caught. She'd known Dante was built—his tailored suits hinted at the body underneath. But seeing him like this, bare-chested in the sunlight, made her mouth go dry. Tattoos covered his chest and arms—intricate designs she couldn't quite make out from a distance. Scars too, thin white lines that spoke of a violent past. He was all hard muscle and dangerous grace. "See something you like?" Dante's voice was teasing. "Maybe." Elena's cheeks burned. "You have tattoos."

I bent over the dead soldier, my heart heavy as I realized that the same tattoo adorned his neck as well. he design was unlike anything I had seen before, yet there was an unsettling familiarity about it, a memory tugging at the edges of my mind. The tattoo depicted a flying demon, its wings outstretched, eyes aglow with an otherworldly luminescence. The level of detail was astonishing, every line and curve capturing the essence of the creature in a way that was both mesmerizing and disconcerting. The artistry was undeniable, but there was an underlying malevolence that sent shivers down my spine.