Novel & Cerita In The Hand Of Dante Book

However, it was too late now. Nicholas kept inching closer and closer to me. Then, he stomped on my right hand and kept stomping on it with all his might. The pain was so great that I couldn't even make a sound anymore. Tears flooded my eyes at once. Nicholas' figure turned blurry in my vision. Now, he looked even more like a monster to me. I tried to pull my hand back, but it was to no avail. I felt terror spreading through my chest. My hand!

I don't know how we managed to leave the club when neither of us could take our hands off each other but we made it to his Mercedes where I performed a much needed handjob. " You have a beautiful home," I murmur admiring a nude sculpture of a woman in the middle of the hallway. Dante doesn't reply right away , instead he comes behind me, his hard length poking my butt. His big hands wrap around my waist, he pulls me closer and what ever sassy sentence I had in mind dies. Hot breath snakes over my neck and I let out a small whimper. Dante's hand move over the slope of my shoulders, feathery strokes brushing my bare skin. I throw my head backward, grabbing a fist full of his hair as my lips pa

The hand fell with a sickening thud to the floor, twitching like it didn’t know it had died. Damon wailed—the sound wasn’t human anymore. It was the sound of a soul being shredded. Dante picked up the severed hand, blood running down his leather glove. He tossed it into Damon’s lap. “Eat it,” he said coldly. Damon whimpered, shaking his head violently. “P-please… please, I-I can’t—” Dante slammed his fist into Damon’s mouth—breaking a tooth. “You ate well when she starved. You slept easy when she was screaming. Now chew.”

Watching me with those arctic eyes that didn’t just see—but dissected. My lips trembled. Every cell in my body screamed run. But there was nowhere left to run. I thought back to the box still hidden in my dressing room. The box with the remains of Dante. His severed head. His dismembered hands. A macabre gift from Lorenzo himself. A prelude to a life of silent obedience and unspoken fear. And yet... even now, there was no screaming. No salvation. Just this moment. This altar. These vows.

Then, he immediately withdrew his hand as if burned. Dante held his hand and barked a few commands at Pablo while he pointed angrily at Flora and her daughter. Pablo bowed and helped Flora rise to her feet as Dante glided back to the library. Pablo then held Flora’s arm and escorted mother and daughter out of the hall. Just as they left the landing, Jon caught a glimpse of what it was that seemed to have burned Dante's hand. Around the neck of Flora's daughter was the garland of sanaria that was missing from his room.

he responded and Mj tried to laugh as he continued to drown her in affection. After a few minutes Dante set Mj back on her feet and turned her to face the shelves. Mj inhaled the scent of old glue and inked paper as she leaned into the shelves to get a better look at the titles. Mj started to giggle, “Dante the title of this book is almost an entire paragraph,” and she snatched it off the shelf but before she could open it Dante grabbed it away from her and his fingers turned almost white from the grip. “You had to pick this one first,” he growled and Mj’s breath caught in her throat as she watched his eyes flash from their beautiful pools of hopeful blue and green to black and then back

I pulled the trigger without a second thought. Leone's whole body jolted. He stared in disbelief at his mangled hand, then lifted his head to look at me, his eyes full of shattered shock. "You stabbed my hand. Now, I'm paying you back. Leone, from this moment on, we're even." "Anna! Don't go..." His eyes were bloodshot, his usually sharp features drooping with despair. The pleading in his gaze looked like a condemned man waiting for his death sentence, making one last, useless struggle.

Dante said quietly, his hand lingering inches from my face until I reluctantly reached out and took the mug. My fingers brushed against his knuckles, and a sudden, sharp jolt of static electricity raced up my arm, making my breath hitch. I pulled my hand back as if I had touched an open flame, gripping the ceramic handle tightly to steady my trembling fingers. I didn't want his coffee. I didn't want his consideration, or his observation, or the cruel reminders that he had cataloged every detail of my former life like data points in a dossier.

Dante suddenly staggered. His hand went to his head. A memory had surfaced. I could see it in his eyes. Rain. Fire. A baby crying. A man screaming. Dante dropped to one knee. “Dante!” I rushed toward him. He grabbed my arm. “Don’t.” His breathing was ragged. “I remember.” My father’s expression became satisfied. “What do you remember?” Dante looked up. His eyes were filled with horror. “There was another man.” “Who?” “He took the baby.”

At the center, brighter than the rest, someone had gone over a single shape three times. Beneath the hand, three words. "Posa la mano," Lucia read. "Lay the hand down." She swallowed. "That's all. There's nothing after it." "Whose hand?" Dante asked. "It doesn't say. It doesn't say your, either."