Devil In Italian Novels & Stories

I yell in Italian while Matteo just rubs his jaw and scoffs. “Firstly, you know fucking better than anyone to compare me to the other fuckers since you know firsthand what I am fucking capable of.” He says, switching to English, with a calm, steady tone, but his eyes have a deadly, dark look. Now I am looking at the Capo Matteo, the one they call ‘Il Diavolo’ (The Devil), not the fun-loving Matt of 5 seconds ago.

Marcini’s tan bled to ash, Giovanni’s glass slipped and shattered, Dante’s hand went for the gun under his jacket—then froze when Matteo stepped out from behind me, his hands already on his gun. I smiled the smile that made grown men piss themselves. Marcini recovered first. “Enzo… Cristo santo…” I closed the distance, pulled him into a hug that looked brotherly and felt like a threat at the same time. Over his shoulder I whispered, “Surprised to see me, brother? Sono tornado, Marcini. Non si uccide il Diavolo. Il Diavolo non resta morto.” Translation: I’m back, Marcini. You can’t kill the devil. The devil doesn’t stay dead.

From up here, the city glowed like a wound—fires smoldering, broken glass glittering, and the cries of the desperate echoing into the dark. Behind her, Dante’s footsteps were measured, deliberate, like a predator stalking the silence. He had grown quieter in recent weeks, his rage contained but seething like a furnace beneath the surface. The attack two nights ago had proven what they both already knew: there was someone else moving pieces against them. Someone smarter, colder, and more patient than Lorenzo had ever been. Amara didn’t turn when Dante finally spoke. “They call him Il Diavolo,” Dante said, his voice like gravel. “The Devil. An old ghost. I thought he was buried years ago, but

Isabella wondered who this Leonardo person was and why was he so feared but as she started to put two and two together her heart began racing in her chest as she remembered where she heard that name before. " Il diavolo"( The devil) was what her gang leader father called him, her father was a feared and powerful man, but as he said this to his associates he said so with fear clearly written all over his face and the thought that she was being taken to him didn't help her growing anxiety. They walked down four sets of stairs and soon entered a darker mustier area.

I scrunched my forehead thinking hard until Lidya shakes me back to reality. "This... is... so... freaking... awesome, Laila... he's like a sexy-greek-god!! Cant you believe it!!" she whispers animatedly, "I'll do anything to make this Hot-piece of stud to be mine... this Blaze A. DeVille... is worth a catch!!" Blaze. Blaze? Blaze? My eyes bug-out impossibly big while hearing that name. The devil in my dream mentioned his name... it was Blaze.

He seemed to enjoy my bold spirit. “Vile? Is that what you think of me princess?” he asked, his eyes showing a flash of interest as if he actually cared what I thought of him. “Well you are literally the devil. The king of hell and source of all evil in the world. Why should I think differently?” I said glaring at him.

“What do you want from here, Pyro?” “Wow, right to the point. I’m looking for this girl right here that I found out by one of the females here that she’s going by the name Angel here.” I looked at the picture to see that indeed it was Angel, but why is he looking for her. “What do you want with her?” “She’s the property of the Burning Devils, and I want her back right now or things are going to get hot in here.” I looked to Levi to single to him that I need to speak to him alone.

How dare they let their voice reach outside the room? “You both have guts to talk sh*t behind my back, hm?” he coldly said, ignoring the shock as if a dirt in their faces. He smiled, not reaching his eyes, a warning to their inappropriate display in a sacred golden room, “You're ignorance to even secured the place for damn talk-shit is what's make you both a powerless. Bare in mind, you're not the devil here, it's me!” He looked at the young man, a very man of Denever who immediately recover from shock.

The Earl shrieked in wonder, "You call her a maiden! She is no maiden. She's a thief! A mercenary, unbelievable thief!" He continued barking while he walked backwards away from them, "She handed her drink to the Earl of Vetcom, said things too daring for any normal Scottish woman and stole food. You would not call such person a mai…" He found himself staggering suddenly, noticing he was just at the edge of a ditch, one he didn't notice because he was too busy shouting. While he found himself falling into it, a hand quickly gripped around his hard and tight. Gently, that same hand pulled him up, straight back to his balance. And it was the devil herself.

“Tutto è andato come previsto? (Did everything go as planned?)” “Yes, Sir,” Seth replied politely. The old man set down the newspaper he was holding and turned his attention to Seth. “Ben fatto (Well done).”