You Belong To Your Father The Devil Novels & Stories

“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.

She wouldn’t belong to anyone. Not even the devil.

After a long moment, he stammered, "Y-you… you're a messenger of the Devil! Brothers and sisters, this one represents the Devil! Attack! We must kill this messenger—or the Devil will find us and kill us all!" He had always controlled people with his Devil theory. Hearing him speak now, the crowd stiffened, their eyes burning with murderous intent again. Ray smiled faintly. "Wrong… wrong… wrong. I am not the Devil's messenger. I am the Devil."

"No!" I roared, my hands gripping the edges of my ruined desk. "You're wrong! It was a weak, pathetic runt! Just like you fucking are!!" My father didn't argue. He didn't need to. He simply let his aura off its leash. The air pressure in the room violently compressed. A heavy, suffocating wave of pure, unfiltered Alpha dominance slammed into my chest. Before I could stop it, before my rational mind could even process what was happening, my knees buckled. I flinched. My chin dropped toward my chest, my inner wolf instinctively submitting to its sire.

And despite me knowing this lunatic for less than a day… I believed him. The voice rang out again, proud, sure of itself. “Your father owes some very dangerous people. No hard feelings. It’s just business.”

I wasn't expecting to see Matteo again so soon The black SUV pulled into our driveway just after noon, and my father didn't even bother asking if I wanted to go. He simply looked at me and said, "Get in the car." No explanation. No choice. Just another order. I should've been used to it by now, but every command still felt like another chain wrapped around my wrists. I grabbed my bag and walked out without another word. The driver opened the back door for me, and I slid inside.

"Yes, no one will ever become your boyfriend because you’re a devil." "One more time, you call me devil then I’ll bite you like devil." I scared him. Grabbing his collar while bring him close and ready to bite his neck. "Ahh! Stay away." He pushed me back while touching my forehead. "Then tell me if you are not stalker then how does my family know you." "Idiot your dad and my dad are childhood friends." "Oh really." His jaw dropped. "Don't you know this small thing what kind of son you’re."

And it's ironic because that day was the first day he ever truly called my name with compassion. Blinking away the memory, I bend over the sink and splash water on my face, a devilish grin on. Maybe Papa was right when he said I was from the devil. Else, which child would tie her father to his favorite wooden chair and set him on fire? I felt nothing that day, even though I had a beating heart. I didn't pity him, even though I had a soul that was meant to be kind. Then again, maybe I was once an angel, a mockingbird killed by the wickedness of the ones I loved the most. Maybe it was Papa that turned me into the devil I became today.