Italian Devil Novels & Stories

“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.

Lucian leaned back in the leather chair of the jet, a half-empty crystal tumbler of scotch resting in his hand. The tablet in front of him projected the latest figures from the Dalvani mining site in Korvenia, a small republic torn between crumbling governments and desperate investors. Profits were up. Labor compliance was down. The usual dance. Across from him sat Fernando Russo, his sharp features made sharper by age and wealth. He was dressed in his signature beige three-piece suit, as immaculate as always, even under the tremble of turbulence.

Roman Thorne is the invincible team leader of college hockey. He is large, aggressive and a nightmare to the media. The press, however, does not know what makes the Briarwood Ice Devils so feared. They are not just players. They are ruthless, blood-swilling offspring of the most formidable crime business in the city. Trying to keep a small scandal which is about to blow up their small business, the Thorne family appeals to the service of Sloane Mercer. She is 24 years old and a brilliant ruthless PR fixer. Her task is easy: to improve the image of the team, to work with press, and not to put Roman in the prison. But Sloane has not come to save them. She is here to ruin them. Sloa

He was his right hand man, his consigliere for a reason. "Che ci fai qui Luca?" Diavolo growled in his cranky and condescending Italian accent. His voice had taken a deeper tone as he asked what Luca was doing in his bedroom. He was still upset about what had happened and wasn't ready to entertain any visitors or complaints.

Tense negotiations with a Mexican cartel over a weapons shipment due to arrive by container at Felixstowe: — If you screw up the delivery, I'll come personally and cut off your balls. His voice was ice, ruthless. Around noon, one of his lieutenants made a fatal mistake: a botched deal in Manchester, a shipment intercepted by the police. Cameron summoned him to the penthouse living room. The man, a tattooed giant named Sergei, walked in with his head down. Cameron said nothing at first. He just stared. Then he struck. A brutal uppercut that sent Sergei to the floor, his lip split open.

“What do you want from here, Pyro?” “Wow, right to the point. I’m looking for this girl right here that I found out by one of the females here that she’s going by the name Angel here.” I looked at the picture to see that indeed it was Angel, but why is he looking for her. “What do you want with her?” “She’s the property of the Burning Devils, and I want her back right now or things are going to get hot in here.” I looked to Levi to single to him that I need to speak to him alone.

"You're acting like I locked you in with the devil." "Yes, you did!" I shot back. I knew I was exaggerating, but for real, she did lock me in with the devil. Dante is the devil. "Do you know what he did? He is so infuriating!" Vittoria burst out laughing, as if the moment were funny.

I yell in Italian while Matteo just rubs his jaw and scoffs. “Firstly, you know fucking better than anyone to compare me to the other fuckers since you know firsthand what I am fucking capable of.” He says, switching to English, with a calm, steady tone, but his eyes have a deadly, dark look. Now I am looking at the Capo Matteo, the one they call ‘Il Diavolo’ (The Devil), not the fun-loving Matt of 5 seconds ago.

She turned to the second page and continued reading. ‘So Velenoso married a woman of Italian origin and was ready to take the oath (omerta) in their language. The Omerta is an extraordinary ritual where Velenoso cut his hand and spilled his blood to show He wouldn't fear spilling blood to protect his soldiers when the time comes.’