Santa Muerte Prayer Book Novels & Stories

Zeke held him under for a few seconds longer than necessary, watching Eli's face turn red from the cold and panic, before hauling him out, water dripping everywhere. He grabbed a towel and roughly dried Eli off, the fabric scraping against his chilled skin, not caring about gentleness. Eli shivered uncontrollably, his body still buzzing from the alcohol and now the cold, but Zeke's anger was palpable as he gripped Eli's arm hard enough to leave bruises and pulled him toward the dungeon door. The walk was short, the penthouse's layout making it easy, and once inside the dimly lit room, Zeke shoved Eli against the Saint Andrew's Cross—a large wooden X bolted to the wall.

For declaration. Her dagger sat beside a leather-bound ledger. Empty pages stared back like promises waiting to be carved. She dipped the pen. At the top of the first page, she wrote the title in Latin: LIBER CINERUM. The Book of Ashes. Her commandments would be etched here. Not rules. Not omertà. Commandments. The old mafia code — silence, tradition, obedience — had died the night she carved Santino Albero’s throat like a hymn. This was her gospel now. Built on blood and flames.

Ramon said, his voice cracking with emotion. Both Lucas and I exchange glances and then direct our gaze toward the book in Ramon’s hand, the book that we have only heard about in legends and myths but never considered real. The book of Eklepō is said to have the power to resurrect the dead, a dark magic that could potentially change everything we thought we knew about life and death.

"It's the holidays, and just seeing her standing there makes me mad!" At that moment, the man I had brought back began to stir and open his eyes. My sister stared at his wrist and said, "I saved you, so you have to pay me back. I want your bracelet." The man's eyes swept the room and barely lingered on me. Then, he took the bracelet off without hesitation and slipped it onto my sister's pale wrist. "My name is Zayne White. I was on vacation with some friends and had an accident. Thank you for saving my life."

Sophia had come to pick me up as promised, and with her and a team of bodyguards, I left the Wildfire Pack, the place I’d called home for over 20 years. Since I’d been unconscious for days, my phone had died. When I finally charged it and turned it on, my inbox was flooded with messages. “Emma Klein, I’m still waiting for your apology to Alina and her mother. But out of respect for my dying mother’s wish for us to bond, I’ll reluctantly attend the ceremony.” “Why aren’t you responding? Tomorrow is our marking day. The chapel is booked, all the guests are invited. Don’t be late.” “Emma Klein, where the hell are you? I’m at the chapel

Rios placed his palm on the book, and one by one, the bosses rose from their high-backed chairs, their footsteps echoing as they moved to perform the ritual before formally going into session. Kenji Takahashi bowed stiffly before placing his hand on the cover. Rika followed quickly. Next to her was Vittorino Mancini, who muttered something in Italian under his breath and kissed two fingers before pressing them to the spine of the book. Luca Bellanti grunted and followed suit. Then Gabriel Fonseca approached slowly, crossed himself, and whispered a blessing that sounded more like a curse because of his language. Meanwhile, Catalina Cabrerra didn't speak.

Ariana looked around the room for her one of her best friend's since childhood and the man who had nagged her to reopen her company. As if hearing her question, the door opened and young man walked in with a mug of coffee in one hand and a black book in the other. He was quite tall and lanky with sandy brown hair and hazel green eyes. Taking a sip from his mug, he walked over to Ariana and handed her the hardcover book. It was twelve by ten inches and two inches thick. Engraved in red print on the cover was the word, 'Mala Santa'. "These are the designs for this month." Raiden explained as he walked to his seat which was on the left of Ariana's.

In the central hall, there is a small altar adorned with white candles, white flowers, and a photo of the deceased family member, Adam Hart. The atmosphere in the room feels sacred as if the spirits of the departed family members are present among them. Shaky voices and sobbing are no longer heard, but the silence still lingers, not allowing feelings to rise too quickly from the sorrow. "Let us begin to pray." The priest opens the prayer book they have been using for the past seven days. With a melodious voice, the priest starts reciting prayers full of gratitude, loyalty, and respect for the spirit of Adam Hart. His voice resonates beautifully as if invoking the spirit of Adam to join them

She had been saving herself for him, but why was this bothering me? “You’ll regret this evening when you wake up tomorrow,” I mumbled, pacing toward her. Hell, I did not want her to regret meeting me. Her body loosened. “I won’t.” “You will.” She parted her legs, and I wedged between them. Looking down at her, I whispered, “You’re only saying that now because you’re drunk.” “Not enough to not know what I’m doing, De Luca,” she said, her eyes falling on my naked chest—at the Omerta tattoo, a branding of my own. “If you’re so worried, leave me nothing to regret.”

He handed me a piece of cloth that had 'EK' engraved on it. My hands folded into fists, ripping the piece of cloth in the process. Lord knows, if I get my hands on Ezekiel, I'll rip him into shreds. He thinks this is still when I was a weak and feeble mafia prince who couldn't do anything. No, not anymore, I'll destroy him or anyone who as much as tries to challenge me.