Manoir Vendetta Novels & Stories

It stopped right on her knees caps, revealing her long legs. She moved closer and leaned forward to hug him slightly from the back. “ Sit you little cat.” Aiden joked and I watched her giggle then settled right beside him. “ Hi, I’m Camille.” She said and stretched her right hand out for a shake. “ Kira.” I responded and returned her shake. “ Kira? I thought Aiden said you are the Luna of this pack.” She said and I tilt my head to look at Aiden, rolled my eyes at him then looked back at Camille.

Soon. "The beginning of the destruction of the Fernandezs is here," I whispered, my lips stretching into a sinister smile. The reflection staring back at me in the bedroom mirror wasn't the sweet, innocent Julianna. She was completely gone now. Died on the same day her father was killed. Vengeance had taken over, morphing me into a woman called Nicole. The Nicole who would stop at nothing to watch their world crumble. I wouldn't say I liked the image I was seeing, but I had to accept it. It was my new reality.

“The alliance is cemented in the Blood Dividend, Don Romano. We fight for our families. We fight for our names. Give the order. Send the triplets to Paros. This is the final stage.” Domenico’s acceptance was a single, heavy word. “Fatto. It is done. The Vendetta begins at Paros.” I disconnected the line. I stood in the small cabin, looking at the map. The lines of force—Russian steel, Italian fury—were all converging on a single, isolated point in the Aegean. Damon Salvatore had his stage. Now, he would receive his final audience. My family was waiting.

It was impossible to come out of the house in a jiffy. We walked until we finally got to the main gate and his car was already waiting for us. We both settled into the car “To Herpen-abort; The main warehouse” Gladimir said to the driver and he drove straight to the mansion. It wasn't an easy ride at all, but he had no choice, that was among the reasons why he was being paid.

Their numbers never reduced, despite having walked around the borders of the Blue Moon Pack. Morfran could already see it. He would be able to take his Arabella back, and not only that! He could take Gunner and his daughter too, make slaves out of them and a whore out of Lana. But prior to leaving that day, he swore to wreak havoc in the lands of the Port of Valmore, and what better way to do it than to destroy the Valmore ancestral home? He swore to not only burn it down to the ground but kill every werewolf that rested under its roof.

“Alaric, it’s past midnight.” “I’m aware. That’s when doctors and broken-hearted men drink,” Alaric replied. “Which one are you tonight?” “I might be both.” “Even better. Join me. I had a bottle of that aged noir from the southern cellars opened. I’ll be at the manor. Come breathe before you lose yourself in whatever storm is brewing inside that head.” Caveen hesitated only a moment before nodding. “On my way.” — Vaelthorne Manor stood proud and elegant on a mist-wreathed hill, its stained-glass windows glowing like jewels under moonlight. The estate bore the mark of the Vellaria lineage—ancient, noble, and steeped in both human and hidden supernatural bloodlines.

The moonlight over Lake Como was a liquid silver mirror, reflecting the jagged, snow – capped peaks of the Alps. Tucked away in a private cove, accessible only by water or a heavily guarded mountain pass, sat Villa Moretti. It was a sprawling, neo – classical masterpiece of lemon – hued stone and white marble. Its tiered gardens cascaded down to the dark water like a frozen waterfall.

“You’re never going back to that university without me. Never visiting anyone without my men watching. You’re mine to protect. Mine to punish. Mine to fuck until you forget anyone else exists.” I was angry, terrified, and shamefully, addictively intrigued by the intensity rolling off him. Hours later- or what felt like it- the car finally slowed. The door opened onto a world of salt and marble and obscene money. Cold wind whipped off the Mediterranean, sharp enough to cut skin. The Valente estate rose like a fortress carved from nightmares and dreams- three stories of black glass and white stone, terraces dripping with vibrant bougainvillea, armed men stationed at every corner pretending the

One of them eyed her small car like it was a joke. “Name?” the taller one asked in Italian, brows furrowed. She swallowed. “Amara Voss.” They exchanged a glance. The gate opened with a groan that reminded her of coffins. And then she was in. --- The Moretti estate was not a house. It was a fortress. Stone walls surrounded a Roman-style villa that looked like it had survived wars and built empires. The driveway was lined with flame-lit torches, dancing in the wind like warnings. Marble statues stared at her, lifeless eyes watching, judging.

Bouchard Francisca is the next to speak up followed by Mrs Bailey’s; Chloe’s Mother glare. I owe them no explanation, but I dofeign a smile, relishing on the irritation of their faces. After all they are the reason I returned, because one of them seated around this table, killed my father, it was in his last letter before he died. Unfortunately, Ethan is not excluded. "How do we know you're not here to revenge your father?" Bailey, Chole's Mother states. And I smile, despite my fingers are balled to a fist, and I'm about to speak when a hand covers mine, giving it a light stroke.