Novel & Cerita Nico Di Angelo Fanart

“I feel like these tattoos have meanings… do they?” I looked at him while expecting an answer. “Dante Adriano Sol Di Angelo.” He uttered his name slowly. He was stroking his fingers while describing its meanings. “These two are angel wings. Di Angelo. My uncle used to call me Sol. He said the nickname suited me since I will be the head of the family in the future. It means sun. I assume you know how the sun works in the universe.” He jokes.

I say with a smile, and he nods. “I am, but Dante and Nico are in a disagreement. Nico wants nothing to do with Sylvana after we found out what really happened, but Dante is forcing him into this. Nico knows he has no say because his Capo spoke and it is killing him.” Dario says and slowly stands to get up. “I should go get Nico,” he says, then a few minutes later his Bugatti started up and sped after his angry brother.

“Happy Birthday Ahsoka. Now we are complete and everyone will know you are mine. Come let’s shower.” I follow him to the bathroom and Nico turns on the shower, letting it warm up. I look in the mirror at my mark. It’s a crescent moon with a wolf’s head howling in the middle of it. There are also angel wings coming out on either side of the moon. It looks like a tattoo the size of my palm. Nico comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. “All mine,” he whispers, kissing the back of my shoulder.

The sight of him barely conscious, still breathing, only fueled my anger. I stepped closer, towering over him. "Who sent you?" I asked, my voice calm but deadly. He chuckled through cracked lips, spitting out a glob of blood. "Go fuck yourself D’angelo" he muttered, his voice thick with defiance. I could see the scorpion tattoo running on the right side of his neck, he clearly belonged to the Anotti clan, maybe not by blood but he was one of them.

Pity flows through me for him, he has no idea what’s in store for him later. I’m almost hidden by one of the large stone pillars and from here I watch the room. Nico is by Damians side, he looks like one of the angels from the renaissance and I am most certain that he was used as inspiration for the great Italian masters. His face looks serious as he listens to whatever Damian is saying, there is a bright eyed adoring fledgling hanging from Damian’s arm looking at him like he is a god. Foolish girl. Nico’s eyes keep roaming the room and I know he is looking for me but I can not make myself move in their direction.

Nico watched for a moment, then knelt behind her, hands spreading her ass cheeks, teeth sinking into the fleshy curve until she whimpered and arched. Handprints came next. Cole bent her over the vanity edge, palm cracking down—measured, deliberate—until both cheeks glowed hot crimson, the sting radiating deep into her core. She dripped onto the tile before he finished. Nico produced a small pot of edible gold body paint—shimmering, sweet-scented. He pushed her thighs apart on the bed, dipped a fine brush, and wrote in elegant, looping script across her lower stomach just above her mound: Vegas House Toy. The letters gleamed wet under the lights; he blew softly across them to set the pigment,

I kissed Ellison’s forehead and gave him back to my mom, “we’ll be back when we find the next.” As we drove, I looked at Nico’s profile, his strong jaw line littered with black scruff, his perfect straight nose, his thick black curls that lazily fall over his forehead and a smile that could take my breath away. I cleared my throat, “Nico, the next Blood Moon we will conceive our first child, what do you want a boy or a girl?” His chuckle was loud, “we have 150 years to think about that, but I already know what I want, a healthy pup that looks like you, but with my charm.”