Novel & Cerita Speak Of The Devil

“Who are you?” “Let’s get you settled before I tell you who I am,” he said. I shook my head. “No.” My voice was hoarse from crying too much as I spoke. “Tell me, now. Please.” He sighed. “Lazzaro Visconti.” My already sore eyes widened, and my body began to tremble as I recoiled. No. Please. No. Lazzaro Visconti. The devil himself. He was said to have killed his wife after she bore twins for him. He was the most ruthless of them all, and above that, the Visconti family had a decade-long beef with my family—the Martelli family.

The way her eyes had gone blank and resigned. And somehow it hurt me. I threw the cigar into the ashtray and watched the ember die. The smoke dissipated into nothing and I stood there in the dimly lit room and I felt something I had not felt in twenty years. Guilt. I crushed the thought immediately. I did not feel guilt. I did not feel anything. I was Alessandro De Vercelli, the Devil of Vercelli, and devils did not feel guilt over words spoken to an auctioned slave.

Beauxdera was not done: “The devils look to Buckingham To shroud the sky, the sun be damned Like proper monsters, they will stand They’ll rise from the abyss The devils deceive and pretend Perhaps you know one as a friend Yes, I say it once again: There are devils in our midst!” “Good God, man!” Father yelled. “Do you know what you’re saying? Do you hear your own words?” Yet still Mr. Beauxdera went on, almost as if in answer: “The devils will put all askew Both in the world and inside you You, my friend, can be one too

It took them a long time to recover from the shock, and they began to wonder if they were delusional. Even the people watching it on television were speechless. Someone gulped and spoke in an astonished voice, “The devil… He’s the devil…” Upon saying that, he turned around and ran like a madman, screaming and hollering wildly about the devil as he dashed away.

“I’m going to bury myself inside of you until you collapse from exhaustion!” Inner Devil: ‘Ahhh! I want! I want!’ Inner Devil 2: ‘What? I guess it’s time to schedule my funeral. I’m dying a happy woman! Someone tell my parents, I lived a fruitful life!’

Who works for the Devil! ___________________________

“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.

It was a message from the devil himself, Shea. 'Devon, do you believe in the supernatural?' I nearly choked on my popcorns when I read the message. I hesitated before typing a reply. 'Yeah I guess' His reply popped up on the screen of my phone, shortly. 'Call me crazy but I've been seeing things. Things that I don't understand' I desperately wanted to ignore his messages but I couldn't. 'What have you been seeing?' 'I have strange dreams. I've been dreaming about you. Can I ask you something?'

He repeated her words highly confused, but had an ounce of knowledge who she was talking about. “You don’t know? That woman cursed by the devil himself and all that voodoo madness. The woman on the TV claiming to be some saint donating to the children hospitals and carrying on. I know a devil when I see one and she is definitely a curse. Our pastor son fell victim to her spell and fell into a depression. Started drinking, but thank ya!...” She lifted her hands in a dramatic pause that caused Antonio to lift an eyebrow. “My God is so worthy. David came back home to us.”

the youngest but loudest of them asked. The old man let out a teethy and disgusting smile. “THE DEVIL…”