Italian Devil Novels & Stories

I wasn’t marrying a prince. I was marrying the devil.

He's the kind you run away from. If only my hormones would listen. A little bit of late night research yesterday showed me that Leone is the scariest thing to ever exist in this city. But what is even scarier than that? Nursing an unexplainable and worrying amount of chemistry with a man popularly known as "the Devil" by the criminal underworld. And for good reason too. He is as ruthless as they come, with a penchant for perfection that shows in all his assassinations, sporting a huge amount of political influence as a mafia boss that is crazy to begin to contemplate, as well as the kind of good looks to make any woman want to sin. Badly.

“Business called. You know how it gets.” Matteo’s face drained of every drop of color. “H-Husband?” Elena stiffened, then caught my gaze. Understanding flashed; she straightened, chin high, shoulders squared. “Yes,” she said, voice steady as steel. “Meet my husband, Lorenzo.” I extended my hand toward Matteo, my smile sharp as a blade. “The name is Lorenzo DeLuca. Or you might know me as Il Diavolo.” The name hit him like a bullet between the eyes. His pupils blew wide, recognition and terror crashing together. The blonde gasped, hand flying to her throat. Matteo’s arm jerked, but he couldn’t leave the Devil’s hand hanging. He took it.

Lorenzo - Fifteen-Year-Old They confined him in an isolated prison cell away from all others. Lorenzo Vitelli had become the most feared name throughout all of Italy. He was named the “Sicilian Devil” by the news channels and the common people. He told them all about every single murder he committed, the four dead bodies rotting away in the basement of his home and the murder of Officer Dario Coppola, that his wife had witnessed. He brazenly admitted to all of his deeds on record. Proudly proclaiming that he would relish the chance to commit the same misdeeds if presented with the opportunity.

Elena Shock, fear, surprise and every emotion in this world went through my body. I stood in the doorway and stared at him. Alessandro De Vercelli, the most powerful man in Northern Italy, the Devil of Vercelli, was standing in front of my room at nearly midnight, drunk and disheveled and barely able to stand. His robe was crooked and his chest was bare and his hair was wild around his face and his grey eyes were unfocused and red-rimmed. He looked nothing like the cold, controlled Don who sat at the head of the meeting table every morning. He looked like a man who had fallen apart and forgotten how to put himself back together.

"The man you just married is the leader of a crime organization that is not a part of the code of the mafia. They kill and destroy as they wish. He's worse than Sergio. Far worse." My blood ran cold. "Wh-what?" "Didn't he tell you who he is?" "Luca Vallario, that's what he told me." She nodded, voice shaky with terror, "Yes, but to the rest of the world, he's known as Lucifero." Oh God. What had I done? "The man you married isn't just a monster; he's the Devil himself."

Who works for the Devil! ___________________________

“The Devil himself.” My interest piqued, and I tilted my head slightly to eavesdrop. “They call him that because no one crosses him and survives. Dante Romano. He’s the youngest capo dei capi in history.” I snorted. “Isn’t that what they call every mafia boss with a decent kill count?” Amara laughed, leaning closer. “No, Sophia. This one’s different. They say he’s ruthless. Cold. The kind of man who doesn’t ask for respect—he takes it.” She smirked. “The Devil himself. Dante Romano.”

“Bring him here.” Alessio De Luca. My gaze locked onto him—the infamous Italian devil, a figure carved from shadow and sin, cloaked in a tailored black suit that dripped with wealth and the promise of violence. Darkness seemed to breathe around him, and his eyes—cold, lethal, and fathomless—pinned me with a pressure that felt like a steel collar tightening around my throat. A predator savoring his prey, his aura a whisper of danger and the certainty of ruin.