What Does A Whispering Devil Tattoo Symbolize?

"A woman like you? No fucking way you're a virgin." "Who said virgins can't be filthy, Rocco?" DIANA SANTORO: Five years locked inside a convent. Not because I was holy. Because the family I was born into is dangerous. My name is Diana Santoro. Mafia blood. And in this world, daughters like me get hidden away until the war is over. Now my brother’s the Don. And he wants me back. The man he sent to collect me? Rocco Moretti. The most feared monster in Italy. The devil of Cosa Nostra. They say he pulls confessions out of men with his bare hands—then sleeps like a baby afterward. Three days on the road. Just us. He’s expecting some scared little nun-in-training, ready to be escorted quietly back to my gilded cage. He has no idea that the only innocent thing about me is this face. **** ROCCO MORETTI: Forty-seven men. That's how many I've killed. Tortured more than double that. Never lost a minute of sleep over any of them. So why does this girl—with her innocent eyes and that smart mouth—make me feel like I'm losing my goddamn mind around every bend of this road? Last night, at some roadside motel, she walked into my room. Ran her fingers over my tattoos, looked up at me with this smirk, and told me she wasn't wearing underwear. What the hell does she want? To destroy me? To see how far she can push before I snap? She's a virgin. Untouched. Off-limits. The one thing a man like me can never have. But when she looks at me like that—wearing that short dress, lips parted just enough—I forget who I am. I forget I'm the monster. And I start wanting, with everything in me, to be the one who ruins her. Even if it costs me my life. Even if it costs me everything.

I made a deal with the Devil. My soul, in exchange for seven days on earth after I died. The eleventh hour after my death happened to fall on our third wedding anniversary. The moment I walked through the door, he had just come home from another woman's place. He had an anniversary gift waiting for me. A set of sapphires. But the card tucked beside them bore another woman's name. I spotted a pale lavender hair tie in his hand. Once, I would have fought him over a hair tie like that, all the way from the front hall to the study. This time, I said nothing. It was him who froze instead, staring at me like I was a stranger. "You didn't used to be like this. I almost miss the way you used to fall apart over everything." He was right. The old me would have thrown a fit over something as small as him forgetting to cut my steak. But ever since the miscarriage, my heart had been dying by slow degrees. When I found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. I wanted him to be the first to know. But I couldn't reach him, no matter how many times I called. I lost the baby. I hemorrhaged. That very afternoon, while I lay on the operating table, a photo of him and that woman hit the entertainment headlines. He never even knew I had carried a child. Now there was only one last thing I wanted from him. To drive me up to the northern coast, and bury me with his own hands. But when he realized I had truly vanished from this world, he came undone.

Late at night, when I think I'm alone, I feel his breath on the side of my face, and I know--he's watching me. Ever since I moved into this ancient mansion to take care of my sick aunt, I've been experiencing strange things. When I discover she has a boarder, a mysterious, sexy artist who lives on the third floor, I think some of that is explained. The bumps in the night. The whispers from the shadows. But once Dalton and I are properly introduced, the strange occurrences don't stop. If anything, they are amplified. When I close my eyes at night, it's his face I see. It's his hands I feel. It's his lips I taste. The more I get to know him, the more I realize I don't know him at all. Dalton's not the kind of man that buys a woman flowers and makes her feel all warm and fuzzy. No, he's the kind of man your mama would tell you to run from. Cold. Dangerous. Complex. And now that he wants me, I learn he is more than that. Possessive. Controlling. Diabolical. I should leave this place before it's too late, but I know I can't. Whatever it is that's sunk it's fangs into him, it has me, too. He has me, too. For better or worse. 'Til death... Whispers of the Devil is a dark romance which some readers may find disturbing. Proceed with caution.

***WARNING*** This book has a mature content, and it's dedicated for audience above the age of 18 years old. ************** After her heart broke into a thousand pieces came an unexpected change of luck. She decided to change her life, forget about romance and focus on writing a criminal novel. While doing research for her book, she started gazing at the darkness slowly uncovering dangerous secrets. Since she couldn't see the risk, while sitting in her apartment she became more and more daring. Little did she know, that the most dangerous creature was right beside her, an irresistible and incredibly handsome Devil…

𝐹𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦, 𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. Azzurra Amalia Romano, an omega, bites more than she can chew when she gets herself entangled with someone she should never have messed with, by taking what doesn't belong to her but the devil. Alpha Adriano Rion Giordano was a devil in human form, a ruthless Italian werewolf mafia boss whom people tremble at the mention of his name. A man with no interest in redemption, a face like that of a Greek god but a temper like that of a raging fire, who was only driven by two things, money and power. Merciless to those standing in his way and wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet through their skull to prove a point or rip them to shreds. He doesn't give second chances and he just became Azzurra's worst nightmare. It all became painfully clear when it dawned on her that there was no way out of the Alpha's clutches. A messy entanglement that disrupted her already chaotic life, tossing her into a web of a dangerous attraction that came hand in hand with obsession, lies, revenge, heart-wrenching betrayals and death. And maybe, just maybe, the devil has feelings too, an emotion which comes with pain, making the hardest sacrifices, all at a very costly price

I fell in love with a cold, taciturn tattoo artist named Henry Kane. So I deliberately damaged my tattoo again and again, picking at the skin and reworking the design, just to see him a few more times. By the third visit for touch-ups, scrolling comments suddenly appeared before my eyes: “I’m dying of laughter. This desperate female lead literally destroyed her freshly tattooed skin just to see the male lead again, and she still didn’t dare confess her feelings.” “Henry Kane is actually the embodiment of an ancient ferocious beast who sat on mountains of gold and silver but refused to spend them, choosing instead to open a tattoo studio to experience mortal life.” “He looks icy and distant, but his possessiveness has long since maxed out.” “He was just afraid his violent nature would scare his woman away.” I looked at the man in front of me, who was lowering his head as he wiped down the tattoo machine, and he did indeed give off an unmistakable keep-your-distance aura. But the comments claimed that he wanted to possess me? “Um… Excuse me?” The man tilted his head slightly, and under the weight of his deep gaze, the confession lodged in my throat. My mind short-circuited, and I blurted out, “I… I wanted to tattoo it on my lower back this time.” In an instant, the comments exploded in joy. “Woohoo! We’re taking off!” “Lower back, you say? That’s a sensitive spot! Can this pure-hearted ferocious beast really hold back?” “Good grief, straight to the undressing scene! This cunning move by the female lead is operating on a whole other level!” The man’s hand gripping the tattoo machine jerked to a sudden stop, and the air seemed to freeze for a few seconds. Then he answered, his voice slightly hoarse and unreadable, “Alright.”