Santet Novels & Stories

Zainy bow his head in defeat and pays his respect to the one and only Maximo Santino. " Iris Saint is all yours Maximo " He said softly.

Santigo paced around Kuro, his leather boots thudding against the cold, damp concrete floor. The dim overhead light flickered sporadically, casting ominous shadows across the room. The sharp edges of Santigo's features seemed exaggerated in the erratic glow, giving him an almost predatory appearance. "Ah, cousin," Santigo drawled, his tone mockingly sweet as he circled Kuro. You look so pitifully tied up like this. I must say, it suits you—a star brought down to earth, groveling in the dirt."

Damiano Leone Fabrino De Santis, the 34-year-old supreme head of the great and vast De Santis banking empire also called Dami by his very close friends. A tense little quiver made a sudden strike down Charley’s front, and in pure self-defense, she snatched up a silvery silk crocheted snug from the bed and hurriedly tied it across her front while wishing to goodness that she didn’t experience that same crazy tense quiver every time she let herself think about him.

We understand each other without speaking: "Fucking, who is this song?" The guy stops in front of us, hands in our pockets, and lets go in a calm but sharp voice: - I’m calling the jackal. And you, what are you crazy in front of my portal? Santino advances with a step, without looking down. His voice slap, posed but firm: - Santino. We have an appointment with the one who runs the port. The jackal sketches a smile ... the kind of smile that tells you that you are not ready for what happens.

Or Santino has sent her behind me? * #TBC

How arrogant. “Stai zitta! Sofia (Quiet! Sofia!),” It was a deep, husky voice that snapped velvet blondie. Everyone stopped chewing and using their hands. They looked at the old man—that I considered Luciano’s father. Suddenly, I heard a heavy breath beside me, I turned around to find Luciano painted in furious red, it was like smoke would emit out of his ears. Maybe, blondie triggered something in him that I wished to know but cursed my existence for not speaking Italian.

The room was filled with the scent of aged whiskey and imported cigars, almost suffocating. Seth Robinson lounged at the far end of the table, legs crossed, brandy swirling in his glass, a smirk playing on his lips. Opposite him sat Gerard Santon, stiff-backed and unsmiling, fingers steepled with the kind of tension only secrets could forge. Between them stood Madam Almay Santon, clad in deep sapphire silk, diamond earrings catching the light like tiny, dangerous stars. Elegance, laced with venom. “She’s pregnant. And she still thinks you’re the father?” Madam Santon’s voice sliced the air like a blade across silk. Her arched brows showed no emotion, only calculation.

They knew those words were parting words. “Please, do not trouble yourselves. The gods singled me out for this mission, and not you. I am certain that there are disciples ahead, chosen by the gods, to assist me. Your destiny lies with you. Goodbye till we meet again. I must travel to the kingdom of Fallahi to meet Banabella, my sibling, whose beauty has brought upon us, this evil of death and destruction. May the gods be with you till we meet to part no more.” He took up a bladder of water, stared at them one last time, and strutted off, as the men stared at him in bewilderment.

Inside was an intricate rose gold necklace. “It’s very beautiful. Thank you,” I said, admiring it. The light hit it in a unique way. It was like the light reflected off each pore of it. It felt like there was an undercurrent passing through it, but I was probably just imagining it. “How did you get your hands on a Delzet?” Bellamy asked his father curiously. “What’s a Delzet?” I asked, looking at the necklace carefully. There was no denying its beauty, but Bellamy’s curiosity gave me pause. I looked up at Bellamy whose eyes were fixed on the necklace.