Devil Realist Novels & Stories

But it was also offering her a lifeline, however dangerous. She placed her hand in his, ignoring the electric jolt that shot up her arm at the contact. "Deal." Later, as she signed the contract, Maya couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just made a deal with the devil himself. A devastatingly handsome devil with an Italian accent and eyes that seemed to see right through her carefully constructed defenses. What she didn't notice was the way Luca watched her sign, a flicker of something beyond professional interest crossing his face—something that made Sophia raise an eyebrow in silent warning.

I whispered to myself as I waited impatiently for his call, asking me for directions or asking me to come out but I got no call. Then he finally walked in, an hour later, and the moment I set my eyes on him, I nearly forgot how to breathe. Six-foot-three, wide sculpted shoulders in a fitted black coat. A black shirt unbuttoned just low enough to reveal the ink running down his bronze skin, his jaw was sharp, his nose straight, his cheekbones high and cruelly perfect. Midnight black hair, just long enough to fall into his piercing, cold grey eyes, the kind of eyes that stripped souls, not just clothes.

“Too late. You already tried your luck with me.” I looked into his eyes—desperation, fear, and something pitifully like regret swimming beneath the surface. “You wanted to know why they call me the Mafia Devil,” I said, voice dr,opping to a whisper thick with menace. His nod was frantic. I smiled—a slow, cruel curve. “Do you get it now?” His eyes widened just before the cold barrel of my gun pressed against his temple. “I don’t do mercy,” I muttered. The shot echoed, final and unforgiving.

“…just like your mother.. You are a bigger devil than she ever was.” My eyes flew open and the steering wheel vibrated beneath my hands. The engine was still running.. Sunlight had finally broken across the skyline. My chest rose and fell in ragged breaths as the words echoed inside my skull. You’re a monster… Just like your mother… You’re a devil..

“I’m here just because of Samuel. I don’t care about any of your sick desires.” She strengthened her voice, even though every inch of her body started to shake. She realized that Dervel was serious about what he had just said. It was a game he wanted to play with her. “Imagine a prey which comes back to its predator. Every single return results in its partial death. Either it’s an actual murder or the slaughter of an integral part of someone’s entity.” Dervel was more than happy to explain everything in detail. “To put it another way - you're gonna feed me with yourself, with every dimension of you, until I let you go, with some life in you or not. Is that clear?”

His calmly composed facial features remained unchanged, whereas his eyes remained glued to her brother, so in her desperate attempt to save her brother's life, she extended her hands in his direction to grab his feet to plead him more, but she stopped when she witnessed his eyes finally travelling down towards her. His gaze felt so calm that it terrified that girl. It made her feel like she was looked into the eyes of someone inhuman, because a human could never be so soulless. A human could never look so pitiless. Not just only looked, but this man was feeling internal. Just like what the world called him. The Devil. “A hero of your story can be a villain in someone else's book, and….” Brea

My mind drifts to Savannah fuelling my hunger to save her, my hunger to survive. How can I let her live in the Villa with such a monster? A man who doesn’t have an ounce of empathy within him. Does he have no compassion for women whatsoever? I’m sure there are laws in the Elite Families bible about harming women and children. He's the devil incarnate, a grim reaper with a heart as black as coal, a grinch who steals joy and a boogeyman, who haunts your dreams all rolled into one. Don Valentino is like a dark and stormy night, causing the air to grow thick with the stench of fear and desperation.

The blood he stepped in forming foot prints on the road as he moved. He wasn't anything special. A man with scars that disfigured most of his face, leaving him with only one eye, a permanent chip to his top lip that showed a bit of the silver that covered his teeth. He was a tall, well built man with a rebellious history of crime in every country he'd been to. That's why Agustine Verlice chose him. Because there's no one else who'd face off with his demon of a son and win except him. Don Diablo.

That's one of many unacceptable things his sky high ego utterly refused. The graphics in the game were just too realistic, and Uriel wholeheartedly admitted it now, putting his difficult nature to the side for just a rare moment. From the slits in the skin, the blood gushing out of the wounds, the pain- it was too hyper realistic. Way too realistic. It made his skin crawl, his virtual skin, that is. The mere thought of his virtual skin crawling made his skin crawl - a seldom ceasing paradox. He laid there, quivering, as he allowed all war-like flashbacks to invade his cognisance. No wonder this game is eighteen and over, Uriel pondered. As you may have figured, V is Uriel, Uriel is V; though

If he dared to act in any way, the one would be battered. You know, from Regi's beating just now it still hurts a lot. For that he will not do something without good judgment. "Watch out if you dare to mess around," said Regi sharply. The same as his gaze which seemed to be skinning Deny. Sadistic, yes that's what happened at that time. really very scary. Suddenly at that moment the hair on Deny's neck stood up. If only Regi was a kind, friendly person and of course she didn't have the strength, Deny had already finished him off.