Devil In A Suit Novels & Stories

she picked up a photograph of the arms dealer, eyes glittering with contempt “—is already drowning in debt. His empire is a house of cards. All we have to do is pull away the foundation.” She stood, walking to the board, tapping her pen against the faces of their enemies one by one. “Darius. Marek. Serrano. They’ve built their thrones on alliances. We turn those alliances into nooses. We don’t hit them in chaos—we hit them in sequence, cutting off every lifeline until they choke.” Lucian’s lips curved, slow and dangerous. Approval burned in his dark gaze. “She’s right.” Marco gave a low whistle, shaking his head with something between awe and unease. “You’ve turned her into a devil too, boss

Had he always been this selfish? My thoughts were immediately silenced when a new voice sliced through the clamor, calm, and utterly lethal. "One hundred million." The room fell silent. Even the auctioneer froze, gavel suspended mid-air. I forced my heavy eyelids open just long enough to see him. He stood at the very back, half-shrouded in shadow. Black suit tailored to perfection. Black mask concealing the upper half of his face. But that silhouette was unmistakable. Everyone in the mafia world knew it. The Devil. Carlos Hernandez. The man they called the Devil in Armani because he destroyed empires while looking like he had just stepped out of a Milan runway.

"You gave her that money willingly. Last I checked, you were practically celebrating. So happy about this." "Things changed." She changed them. "She's in my territory now, Dmitri. That's all that matters." A beat of silence. Then — "The devil is coming down to hell, gentlemen." His voice dropped away from the phone as he announced it to the room. "Brace yourselves." I ended the call. Good mood. Excellent, in fact. Time to let the beast out.

Did he just say they want to turn my best friend into one of their sluts? “Excuse me?” I ask, needing to make sure I heard him right before I lose my shit. “She either becomes an old lady or a Souleater,” Devil repeats, serious, like he didn’t just sign his own death warrant. I stand, pushing my chair back so hard it falls. My mind blanks. Tunnel vision kicks in. My breathing slows. The rage vanishes. I go cold. “You want to use my best friend for your little fuckfests?” My voice is calm. Detached. Ice-cold.

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.

He was a mafia boss and a devil- nothing more than that. I had barely taken two steps into the reception after him when the door opened again and the driver guy appeared. The only difference between his outfit and the devil’s was his navy blue suit. His black hair was held back in a small bun, which was odd, considering his harsh expression. As he walked past me, I saw that he was a bit taller than my dad but not as tall as his boss. He was around Jason’s 6.1” height. How tall is this devil?

Julian locked himself in his penthouse and let the days bleed together. Empty whiskey bottles were strewn across the Persian rug. He wasn't passed out on the sofa. He sat bolt upright, staring at his phone. At the only picture he had of Sera. In the photo, her smile was bright and fierce. A rose with thorns, fighting for the sun. That was his Sera. Not Dante Moretti’s. The name was a brand on his soul. The Devil of Chicago. The king of the Outfit.

But I just offer her a smile and pat her shoulder before walking out of the room, shoving my hands into my pockets. There I see, Devil sitting on a couch while reading through a fashion magazine that is in his hands. Or maybe, he is devising a plan on how to get a new girl for business? Shrugging to myself, I walk up to him just as he takes his eyes off of the magazine and settles them on me.

I was too caught up in my thoughts of what might have happened to my sister when I heard a voice, deep and baritone, almost like they had a speaker buried in their throat. "Who the fuck are you?" The frame dropped to the floor and shattered. I turned around only to crash into a firm shirt. I stumbled backwards, clenching the edge of the desk behind me. The wall was, in fact, a man well over six feet tall with broad shoulders, wearing a dark suit and crisp white shirt underneath. I had to crane my neck and throw my head back to see who it was. And when I did, my heart dropped. It was the Devil himself, in a suit. His hair fell to the side of his head in a stylish sweep, the color as dark as h

Regi, who had never been in contact with any man before, was acting like a professional bitch. "Sorry Sir, what we have to do now is discuss the agreement. Not making love. So please hold back your lust," said Regi, rubbing his boss's bare chest. This is not a fall in self-respect but a well-laid plan. A perfectionist like Regi is used to doing things with careful planning. Even to hit back even in a way he never thought of before. Especially by acting like a bitch or lowly girl. No problem, crazy people like Gerand do have to get special treatment in order to tame him.