Astoria Greengrass House Novels & Stories

I said with an eye roll. He leaned forward as the officiant declared ‘sold’. “When my wife wants it, she's getting it” I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Just consider it charity funds” he said with a smile. The last item for the night was a mansion at Staten Island going for 150 million dollars. A 12 acres mansion with vast green manicured lawn, European style mansion powered by modern tech. It is built on the hill’s slope, and it offers panoramic views of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, Manhattan’s skyline, and the Atlantic horizon.

“I need another room.” “I’m sorry, miss, but the housekeepers were just doing what they were told,” the woman responded. “No, you don’t understand. Mr. Astor left late last night to go back to New York. If someone was in my room and excused the housekeepers, it wasn’t Mr. Astor. Whoever it was, wasn’t in there with my permission. Do you have another bungalow? I can’t stay in that room,” I said, feeling my chest rising and falling faster than I could control.

The script had been entirely erased. "Let's go," she whispered. The Safehouse. Astoria, Queens. Wednesday. 3:45 PM. The neighborhood did not look like a place where international secrets went to hide. It was a quiet, working-class block of red-brick two-family homes, lined with small front gardens where the early spring hydrangeas were just beginning to bud beneath the steady downpour. The scent of asphalt, wet earth, and industrial exhaust from the nearby Triborough Bridge hung heavy in the air.

Ashton crawled before my feet, "Please, sir, please spare me this time, I will give him punishment on my own, Please boss." I pressed his feet over his fingers, asked again "Place.."- Ashton closed his eyes in pure panic, as he didn't have any lie to feed us, "Secret Garden Estates, one of my guest houses." My heartbeat synchronized with the relentless tick of the clock, my foot pressed firmly on the accelerator, the need to reach to my Lia was beyond anything, I stopped my car and we prepared our guns, and got out from car.

Anastasia’s POV: The house was smaller than I expected. Lucas had built an empire out of glass towers and seventy floor headquarters, and somehow I had absorbed the assumption that everything connected to him would carry that same scale, but the house on Linden Street was a modest two story brick building with a small front garden gone wild from years of neglect, the kind of house a successful but not yet wealthy man bought for his young family before the world decided he was going to be something larger.

Everything hurt. I ended the call before she could say more and turned my phone face down in my lap. The drive stretched longer than I expected. We left the city behind, skyscrapers for tree-lined streets and iron gates. When the car finally stopped, I looked up at a mansion that made Ronan's look modest by comparison. Three stories of pale stone and tall windows, with columns framing the entrance. Gregory opened my door and gestured toward the entrance. "Welcome to the Ashford estate."

Fenella’s POV Repeatedly, I asked Laird about our destination, but he refused to tell me. It seemed he wanted to surprise me, so I eventually just went along with him. As we drove further towards the edge of Astoria Heights, I could only imagine why he would bother to drive here. He parked the car in front of what appeared to be an old house. The house was nestled among rows of other houses with red brick walls. The garage and front yard looked neglected, and I almost thought the house was vacant.

She didn't care where she was going to, she just needed to get away from Ian. She stood on the manicured lawn, her eyes tracing the impressive facade of the mansion. Towering columns framed the entrance, exuding an air of regality. Ivy-clad walls hinted at the passage of time, adding a touch of mystery to the estate. The sprawling grounds embraced the mansion, with well-tended gardens boasting vibrant blooms. A winding driveway, lined with majestic trees, led to the entrance, creating a sense of anticipation. Ashley marveled at the architectural finesse, the mansion standing as a timeless masterpiece against the backdrop of the surrounding landscape.

Now, my main reason for bringing you here is: To begin with, do you know where you are? "I won’t mind if you tell me." "In my house," "Which of them?" Her brows furrowed higher. "Watson Grimes Villa—you’ve heard of it, right?" "You must be joking!" Ashely burst into a hefty laugh, clutching to the bedside and to her stomach to ease the pain in her limbs. Her face was filled with humor, even though she had not observed his tremendous change in attitude. "Nathan, I know you are nothing more than a psycho, but I didn’t think you’d be this good at lying. For a minute there, I almost believed you. There is no way that you are from the almighty late Greene’s lineage."

Then another. Leaf let out a long breath. Without apologizing. Without saying anything. He started the car again. And the silence returned. Only now it felt colder. Crueler. By the time they arrived at his property in West Village, Manhattan, neither of them had spoken another word. Sahara stepped out of the car and froze. The estate was breathtaking. Elegant. Timeless. Like something hidden away from the rest of New York. The bungalow-style home blended stone and rich hardwood, surrounded by perfectly manicured gardens bursting with roses of every color imaginable.