Devil In Italian Novels & Stories

I heard the shower running and made my way there. “Can you believe that bastard?!” I almost shouted. Cara let out a scream as I barged in. I ignored her and sat on the toilet lid. “Could you at least knock?! What if I was shaving?” “Sorry. Back to my problem.” I said dismissively, and she poked her head out of the shower to look at me. “I talked to the Devil.” “What Devil?” “That Devil, Damiano.” “Ah. Why? Miss him?” She winked, but I only scowled.

VALENTINA’S POV “Tie her up and take her to the Dungeon, she will be one of my whores.” Diego Fernandez said in an authoritative voice. His mere presence seems to send chills down everybody’s spine, he is known to be ruthless and emotionless, not minding who he hurts as long as he gets what he wants. Diego Fernandez is literally the Devil in a human form.

He chose this place after all. “So I'll get down to business. You have to convince us and explain why we have to choose you. As you know, we are wanted all over Italy.” He said. I swallowed my distaste. I am never one to give a reason as to why someone works with me. It is usually a privilege to work with me. Mr. Wood crossed his legs. He is sitting on one side with his two men, staring at me, waiting for an answer. I smirked, “I am the best in Italy. And I believe only the best should work with the best,” I said.

"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.

“Then I reverse the transfer. And I make a phone call to those gentlemen searching for your father. Have you any idea what happens to the daughters of men who do not pay their debts?” I stared at him in horror. He was blackmailing me, using my family’s safety to manipulate me. The charming young man had become the very essence of the Devil. “Why?” I asked. “Why marry me? Why marry a woman you hate? How can you marry a woman you said you would never love?” Luca placed his drink down and moved towards me. He stopped right in front of me and lifted my hand so that he could examine the ring which I was now forced to wear.

My eyes widened when i saw one of the men in black suits pointing a gun at the lady's forehead. Are they really going to kill her? I can't led that happen. I only have months to live but I could save this lady's life but how? . These men, especially Cesare Ferrari, were dangerous and a little mistake could end both I and the person I wanted to save. "saluta il diavolo quando arrivi" ( Say hello to the devil when you get there) . His lips stretched in a wicked smirk and the man holding the gun readied his hand to pull the trigger.

“Even after I’ve filled you three times today.” Adrian moaned loudly, pushing back to meet every thrust. His hole was slick and swollen, leaking Luca’s cum from earlier, but it still clenched greedily around his thick cock. Luca leaned over him, chest pressed to Adrian’s back, and bit down on his shoulder. “You love this, don’t you? Being used by the devil while the world hunts us.” “Yes,” Adrian gasped. “God yes.”

The Russian outfit had no integrity and they couldn’t care less about morals, or compassion but none of them was as worse as Dmitri Ivanov, nicknamed the Mad Dog for his brutality. Dmitri took pleasure in violence, running the Mafia outfit with an almost dictatorial authority. He was horrible to say the least—the stuff nightmares were made of. Gianna smiled sadly at that, “I suppose I shouldn’t call him that, seeing as I would be married to him in less than a month.”

Elena Shock, fear, surprise and every emotion in this world went through my body. I stood in the doorway and stared at him. Alessandro De Vercelli, the most powerful man in Northern Italy, the Devil of Vercelli, was standing in front of my room at nearly midnight, drunk and disheveled and barely able to stand. His robe was crooked and his chest was bare and his hair was wild around his face and his grey eyes were unfocused and red-rimmed. He looked nothing like the cold, controlled Don who sat at the head of the meeting table every morning. He looked like a man who had fallen apart and forgotten how to put himself back together.

I'm about to break down the door with a scream when miraculously the door opens. "3" I whisper. "Che diavolo ci fai qui stupida ragazza?" (what the hell are you doing here stupid girl?) The angry voice of none other than the devil himself booms inside the confined space of this room. He is so tall against the door frame, he looks like the angel of death himself with his black three-piece suit that clung to his muscled body. "I asked you something!" He seethes again but this time now in English.