Italian Devil Novels & Stories

“Then I reverse the transfer. And I make a phone call to those gentlemen searching for your father. Have you any idea what happens to the daughters of men who do not pay their debts?” I stared at him in horror. He was blackmailing me, using my family’s safety to manipulate me. The charming young man had become the very essence of the Devil. “Why?” I asked. “Why marry me? Why marry a woman you hate? How can you marry a woman you said you would never love?” Luca placed his drink down and moved towards me. He stopped right in front of me and lifted my hand so that he could examine the ring which I was now forced to wear.

“You talk a lot.” “You’re so mean.” I pouted before a genius idea popped into my mind. “You know what? We should be best friends because you’re marrying my best friend. We should all be best friends together!” I couldn't contain my excitement and hugged him tightly with a big smile on my face. “Althaia.” The familiar voice of the Devil spoke, making me turn around to look at him. “Oh, look who came over, Tank Man. It’s il Diavolo.” I giggled.

The devil whispers coldly, with his eyes full of desire. I looked him in the eyes, thinking if there was any way to come out of this, but none. I knew this would drag me to hell but after knowing he was a Mafia; a ruthless one at that, I needed to stand up for my father, My family. “Yes!" I uttered surprisedly, after a long pause. And everyone's eyes whooped in my direction, including the devil. Though I was trembling and the threatening tears began to fall, I didn't want to back down. I was determined no matter what, and looking at him up close, I could see a playful smirk on his lips.

He turns the stairs wondering if Christian will run down to sit beside his now awake sister but after a few seconds he reclines more to the thought that he might be sleeping. He turns to them again and then nods to acknowledge Laurel as she gulps, nodding back…soft but acknowledging. He opts to sit beside Gabriel, now facing the family with a questionary eye. The devil and the healer. Feels like judgment day. “Hi, Laurel, do you know who I am?” he leans forward after getting a reassuring nod from Gabriel. Laurel nods.

He pleaded incoherently, apologizing over and over to the cold, dead phone. In that moment, Dante Moretti snapped. He was no longer the elegant Don. He was a devil who had lost his soul, wanting nothing more than to drag the whole world down into the grave with him.

I growled. Chief Robert smiled with a satisfied look on his face. "Good. We knew you would be. This is his file." He pushed a folder across the desk. "Dante Giordano. He’s like a ghost. Never photographed and always in the shadows. He's called the devil by those in their circle.” He mused. “The eldest out of the three Giordano brothers and he's extremely ruthless."

“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.