Italian Devil Novels & Stories

1000 years later It was in the middle of winter, in the year of the rabbit. Terrified screams filled the night air as the sky in the human world suddenly turned red, but this didn't last a second before it returned to its original form. Before the eyes of everyone a new star appeared beside a red star called the “ devil's star ” causing a great uproar. All these signs remain unknown to a group of people hiding somewhere in the palace of DeHaven. KINGDOM OF DEHAVEN.

Wolves collided with the shadows of those wings, thrown across the room as blood and instant death erupted. Vivica froze, eyes wide, her chest rising as she watched the devil himself descend upon them. The dark blue aura surrounding him pressed against her burning skin, sending a thrill along her heated skin, and desire, through her. All the rumors about him turned out to be true. He was the Devil. The real Devil. Finn stepped forward deliberately, each movement slow, lethal, deliberate. He stopped just in front of her, the room now deathly silent except for the beat of her pulsing heat.

I'm about to break down the door with a scream when miraculously the door opens. "3" I whisper. "Che diavolo ci fai qui stupida ragazza?" (what the hell are you doing here stupid girl?) The angry voice of none other than the devil himself booms inside the confined space of this room. He is so tall against the door frame, he looks like the angel of death himself with his black three-piece suit that clung to his muscled body. "I asked you something!" He seethes again but this time now in English.

I slid my hand down to her throat and gave it a possessive squeeze in return. “Careful, little devil. Sheath your claws, it's my time to punish.” I leaned down and nipped at her bottom lip, sucked on it until it was tender in my mouth and the next bite had a drop of blood welling up. I licked it, tasted it and growled. “Lo farò soffrire, proprio come ha fatto male a me, mio diavoletto.” I am going to make it hurt, just as much as it hurt me, my little devil.

You devil spawn' When i had enough money stolen off from different crimes i committed and killings for a local gang of men who wanted to control the drugs moving in and out of that area, i moved back to italy where i worked under padrino but years later, i still had not shaken off the voice of them all as they echoed off the same thing "You are cursed, you devil spawn!" I chuckled as I threw my head back with the whiskey in my mouth before swallowing, the burn in my throat leaving me satisfied as I felt something, except for the anger in my mind at Alvarez, at life, at myself

(I told you that the Italians wouldn't work with you. I was sitting in my office sulking over losing another opportunity to expand the business and make more money. I had just heard about how the Italians I sought to work with were now working with Adam. How did that man attract so many business partners? Most importantly, what kind of name was The Devil Dog? That sounded so stupid. "No hay necesidad de lanzar eso en mi cara." (There's no need to throw that in my face.) "Lorenzo, ¡necesitas crecer! Empiece a trabajar más en la construcción de alianzas."

"I'm not interested in that right now! Are you taking advantage of me? For fun? Is that so?" "Honey, darling, babe, or May boo! Choose one of these calls." "My Boo?" I mocked a cold-blooded man like him, a Sicilian mafia family. Not at all worthy of being called that cute "What about My Demon? That suits you better." Mattia approached me, narrowing the distance between us. Suddenly, his thumb rubbed my lower lip. "That's good, but from the start, I was also like a devil. Are you interested in seeing my devilish side for you, My boo?" he said, bullying me.

No humanity, just hunger. “You’re him,” she whispered. “The Devil of the Underworld.” He bowed his head slightly, a mockery of courtly manners. “Dante Moretti. Though most only whisper my name.” Her heart pounded. Dante Moretti wasn’t just a crime lord—he was a myth. A monster in a designer suit. A man with more blood on his hands than the war itself. Rumors said he didn’t age, didn’t bleed, didn’t sleep. That he struck deals in shadows, and those who betrayed him were never found again. Or if they were, it was in pieces.