Novel & Cerita In The Hand Of Dante Book

This… Dante’s hands sliding up my sides, possessive and reverent, is like waking up after being buried alive. “Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and dark, laced with something close to awe. One big hand smooths down my spine, pressing me flatter, holding me exactly where he wants me. “My farfalla, finally where you belong. All mine again.”

Dante wasn’t giving up. I opened the letter with trembling hands, feeling both disgusted by the message on Bright’s phone and anxious to read Dante’s words. His handwriting was elegant and meticulous. He wrote that he wanted to see me, that he had made an important decision, and that he needed to talk to me at the lookout where we had last met. Today.

Chapter 121 Dante got home at four-fifty-three with replacement eggs, a hand that had developed opinions about being a hand, and the particular exhaustion of someone who had managed a significant amount of human complexity before five o'clock on a Tuesday. He set the groceries on the counter with careful efficiency, distributed the cold things to the refrigerator, and then stood at the kitchen sink and ran cold water over his right hand for three minutes while looking out the window at the narrow strip of street visible between the buildings across the way.

Large hands caught my shoulders, and instead of falling face flat, I hit a firm chest. “Careful there, il mio sole, I don’t want you falling and hurting yourself,” Dante whispered in my ear, pulling my hair from my face, and my cheeks turned pink. (Trans: my sunshine) “Thank you,” I mumbled, and he helped me stand on my two feet. “And I– oh you suit!” I gasped, like I was watching the end of the world, as I stared at my hand pressed against his chest. The same hand holding a fricken lobster tail.

He moved toward the stairs, never breaking eye contact. My mate was gorgeous. And he was looking at me like I was the only person in the room. He reached the bottom of the stairs as I descended. His hand extended and I took it, his fingers closing gently around mine. "You're stunning," he murmured, just for me. Conversations around us had stopped. Everyone was staring. I felt their eyes on me—on my size, my dress, my hand in Dante's. Dante the ruthless Lycan mafia lord who killed without thinking twice, who was never gentle with anyone, was holding my hand like I was made of glass. Leading me into the crowd like I was a queen.

Dante's pov Dante stands frozen in the doorway his eyes locked on a scene that makes his blood boil so hot he feels like he might explode. Right there in the center of the Persian rug, his brother Lorenzo has his hands all over Danika. Not just a polite touch, but a possessive, filthy grip. Lorenzo’s large hand is cupping Danika’s ass, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh through her dress, pulling her hips flush against his own. Dante can see the way Lorenzo’s thumb is rubbing dangerously close to the crease of her thigh, a motion that screams intimacy and ownership.

The name on the page wouldn’t stay still. It shifted, swimming around in red ink that bubbled up like blood from a fresh cut. June’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and the covers of the wooden book clicked together like bones. “Dante,” June managed, voice barely there. “Look. Look at the last line.” Dante leaned in, holding his breath. He reached for the wood but jerked his hand back, like the book had scalded him. “That can’t be. He was right here with us. We saw him. He fought beside us.”

Andra read it aloud, her voice soft but certain. “Sounds so good on your lips.” He remarked. “That is great to know.” She said. Then she smiled. “Dominic.” “Yes, baby?” “I am glad,” she said, turning to him with playful seriousness. “Truly glad.” “That?” Dominic pulled her closer. She met his gaze. His hazel eyes looked at her tenderly. “That my dad put me in your hands,” she said. His response was a kiss from the heart. THE END .

"You told me you were completely alone. You told me you have no one and care for no one. But you're hiding a soul in this ledger, Dante. You actually care." Dante’s hand shot out. His long, calloused fingers wrapped firmly around my jaw, tilting my head upward. He didn't squeeze—his grip was surprisingly, terrifyingly gentle—but it was unyielding. The heat of his palm burned against my skin, sending a breathless, chaotic rhythm straight to my heart.

After Sawyer, hands us the boxes and I read the prophecy, I wanted to know what were in the boxes since we hadn’t open them yet. Before we open them, Sawyer explains to us, “When you all open your boxes you will have to each be given a test if you fail the test, you will not be able to fully manifest the power that is waiting, and you will not be able to help when the time comes so, please carefully do as instructed. We must start in the order that the goddesses are formed we will start with the Wax Goddess, Peyton please unlock your box.” When Peyton unlocked her box, a scroll floated out and opened. “Peyton, please read what the scroll says” Peyton, read what her scroll said and when she f