Blackwidow Novels & Stories

I stood by the heavy velvet drapes of the mahogany – panelled study, breathing in an atmosphere that was clinical and beautifully cruel. Isabella Moretti, the so – called Black Widow, sat in her own high – backed leather chair, her wrists zip – tied tightly to the arms. Brent sat at her massive desk, his three laptops humming with a frantic, electronic energy that mirrored the dark thrill racing through my own veins.

She asked, growing angry at his accusations. “She is a Vurthron, a black widow and a killer.” He replied. What the heck?

The Widow's Peak alpha was a woman made of ice and iron. She didn't offer us seats. She didn't offer us anything. Her hall was carved from black stone, and the torches burned low and red. The alpha, Ravenna, sat on a throne of twisted iron with her hands gripping the armrests and her pale eyes fixed on me like I was a problem she was trying to solve. She was older than me, maybe forty, with iron-grey hair braided tight against her skull and a mouth that looked like it had never smiled.

By the time I was 16, I had already hacked, stolen, killed, and destroyed a few people’s lives. “This is why he nicknamed me ‘Black Widow’. I could get in, infect, and disappear without anyone knowing until it was too late.” I whisper, avoiding looking at Lia. “Granted, it wasn’t something I was entirely comfortable with, except for a few like Angelo’s father. They deserved it, but ultimately it was all just to so-called ’help’ my uncle, the boss, cover his ass due to his gambling and whatever other bullshit he was doing.” She runs her hands through her head, careful not to mess it up too much or her perfectly made-up face, heaving a heavy sigh.

I lifted my chin even higher. “And I will not let anyone. Annabelle Callahan, her dead mother, Ronan, Miranda Chen, or whatever puppet master stands behind them—take anything from me.” My reflection softened, transforming back into the woman people feared, envied, whispered about. Victoria Blackthorne. Cold. Calculated. Dangerous. I exhaled slowly and crossed the room, retrieving my phone from the floor. The screen was cracked, but functional. Fitting. A war was starting—of course something had to break.

"She acts the grieving widow, but she's been trying to trap me, just because I look like my brother. It's pathetic, really." Hearing the title "Commander," my mother-in-law threw herself to the floor with a fresh wail. "You have to see the truth, Commander! My poor son provided for her, and what did she give him? Just a girl! Now she wants to rob us blind! She's a leech on this family!" Catherine peeked at the commander, then buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with delicate sobs. "Sir, she tried to take my husband and hurt my unborn child... What kind of woman does that?"

"The security droids are idling. The loop is holding, but the core processor is starting to purge the memory. You have three minutes before the house wakes up." "I don't need three minutes," Dante replied. I heard the muffled thud of a flash-bang from the floor above, followed by the rhythmic, clinical pop-pop of his suppressed .45s. He wasn't auditing; he was clearing the ledger. I reached the server vault a chamber of pulsing crimson light that looked like the interior of a heart. And there, sitting in a high-backed chair of spun glass, was the discrepancy I had been hunting. The Widow. She didn't look like a ghost. She looked like a queen in exile. Her hair was a shock of silver, pulled b

But doubt crept in—the night's victories felt fragile, like glass underfoot. Minutes later, the door opened to admit the stranger: a sleek gray wolf shifting to human form mid-stride, revealing a woman in her thirties, athletic build, clad in rain-slicked leathers. Her hair was raven-black, eyes a piercing green that scanned the room like a predator assessing threats. Chains bound her wrists—precautionary—held by two enforcers. She bowed her head slightly, respect tinged with wariness. "Alpha Blackwood. I'm Kira, emissary from the Shadowclaw Pack. We heard the battle—felt the shift in power. Hanlon was our enemy too; he owed us debts, spilled our blood in secret deals."

I decide that my ice blue eyes, shadowed in black kohl is all the make-up I need – aside from some gloss bomb lip luminizer aptly named Cold Heart’d. Such a mood. Pasha was waiting with the car at the back entrance. The safe house was meant to keep enemies out. Not keep someone in. Nobody would bat an eye if they saw me strolling in the garden in my Fenty onesie – even if I’m wearing heels. . I slip into the back seat of the bullet proof SUV, tinted windows hiding me from the world, but not the world from me. I left my phone at home because my brother can trace it, but I left on the gold bracelet containing a tracking device on my wrist.

Time seemed to stand still. She chose a loose dress and some sandals, then headed down to the studio to see Bastien. Inside, Bastien was receiving a report from the hacker they had hired to track down the Black Widow. —Lucca. —Sir. —I need you to trace all the widows left after the fall of the clans. Check if any of them match the description we got. Also, find out if Damiano or Richard had any girlfriends or lovers. —Yes, sir. At that moment, the door opened and Bastien smiled automatically when he saw Kate walk in.