Devil's Tea Table Novels & Stories

“How soft your hands are. Come. Sit right next to me.” I obliged, and allowed him to bring me to the couch he had just risen from. We sat next to each other and I brought my gaze back to the devil. “Would you like some wine? It is the best I have had in a long time. This man right here, he does everything!” Lev heaped praises on the devil. “Everything indeed.” I nodded. “Here, have some. Tell me what you think.” He gave me his glass. I accepted and took a sip from it.

CHAPTER 2: The Leaked Videos. (Vincenzo’s POV) Last night, I was upstairs in the VIP lounge, nursing a glass of whiskey that had long since lost its burn. The lights were dim, the air saturated with perfume, lies, and secrets. The waitress had brought me my drink, but my mood was already poisoned. All I could think about was that girl... the one who dared to yell at me outside like I was some street rat. "Are you blind?" she’d said.

He already takes too much. I won’t give him my shame. --- They bring me downstairs. The house is vast, marble floors, tall ceilings, gold chandeliers—but it feels like a mausoleum, cold and suffocating. Guards stand at every doorway, their eyes crawling over me like I’m prey. And then there he is. Dante. Sitting at the head of the long table, black shirt open at the collar, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looks carved from shadow and arrogance, his dark eyes finding me the second I enter.

she said, raising her glass higher. Everyone lifted their glasses, the sound of them colliding filling the space—except for Devon’s. His glass remained on the table, his fingers tapping against it. "First, we ignore the fact that bastard of her son isn't mine, and now we're toasting to this slut who probably slept with Emmette Nash to get the fucking deal? Typical..." Devon's voice cut through the room, silencing the table. Conversations at nearby tables faltered as onlookers turned their attention to us.

David finally announced. Gypsy did so slowly, and her heart swooned once she took in the scene in front of her. There was a table decorated with a white and red table cloth. On the table were several covered plates and a wine bucket with a bottle of the blood red liquid resting in it accompanied by two wine glasses. Two plush chairs sat on opposite ends of the table, and around the whole arrangement were several lit candles. Unbidden, unwanted memories tried to flood back into her mind but Gypsy quickly shut them off.

I saw the hand and then followed it's direction, watching it belonged to none other than the devil himself but he was listening to the presentation so soundly like he didn't do anything. He was acting so oblivious. I glared at him and saw the tumblr of hot coffee and I smirked. I sneaked that from the table hiding from everyone's gaze and took it under the table with my right hand. I slowly took it closer to his hand and make it touch with his hand. His hand immediately twitched and I understood it burnt his hand a little.

The room was a haven of secrets, and the silence within its confines was almost deafening. As they took their seats, I ensured each man's order was met with meticulous attention. Emilio Vargas requested a glass of single-malt Scotch, neat, while his brothers opted for various selections of aged whiskey and classic cocktails. Diego, the tech expert, requested a simple glass of water, his focus ever on the devices he carried. With their orders taken care of, I moved to the head of the table, standing before Emilio Vargas, who was now regarded as the puppeteer among his peers. I knew this was the moment to set the tone for the meeting.

~✴~ The DEVIL'S Heart ``````````````````` PERORATION : I love you and it is the only thing I believe in - The Devil ` ` `

The lower gallery was already in motion when Ayla emerged. The transition from the dim hallway to the vaulted space felt like stepping from shadow into theater. A polished mahogany table stretched the length of the room, its surface empty except for a single black gavel that gleamed like onyx in the low light. Above, chandeliers hung heavy with crystal, but their glow had been muted to a dusky gold, forcing shadows into the corners where conversations whispered and eyes lingered too long.

The devil was in the room. And his name was Cruz. The name still clung to her ribs like smoke. Cruz. It had been whispered in alleyways, hissed in corners, spat across Dante’s lips. But here — here it slid across the polished table in crystal tones, staining silk and silver alike. Valentina’s crimson smile stayed fixed, diamonds glinting at her ears. But her pulse hammered. Every laugh at the table felt sharp, every glance weighted, every sip of wine heavy with the taste of danger.