Metro Man Novels & Stories

I don’t know whether I am doing right or wrong and the only way to find the answer is going there. I got the job for a personal assistant position in Stone corporations, and they interviewed me online. I felt weird about that. And also weird name and I hope there will be no weird people. So Mumbai, wait for me. *Mr.Stone Pov* I woke up with a slight knock on my door. I am completely a light sleeper. I think sleeping is always a waste of time, and we can do some productive work at that time. “Come in. ” I said.

She was lucky they weren’t running down to the other coffee shop because of the bad wifi they had. “You motherfucker! Fuckkk” Roman gritted as he fired, trying his best not to yell “You realized that you murdered my mother and my brother!” he yelled, the waitress took a sharp glance at them again

Impressed by the unexpected aid, Adrian called out to the unidentified helper, "Thank you for your help. Can you show yourself so that I can thank you personally?" "I'm Cameron Winward of the Nautica Faction. Who are you and why are you trespassing in this place? Don't you know that something happened to this city and this is no place for ordinary people to enter?" The others then arrived by Adrian's side, and Lamar pointed a finger at the city entrance and said, "Look, over there!" Following Lamar's finger, Adrian spotted a figure standing atop the city gates. With a graceful leap, the man landed before Adrian and the others. He appeared to be in his thirties and possessed handsome features

"You leave tomorrow morning at seven, that'll put you in New York at about roughly ten o'clock. An agent Peter Sarkozy will be there to meet you and debrief you on the subject's latest movements. You've been given his portfolio and should've already studied him and become very well acquainted with the way he works. Hank Mancini is an enigma; no one knows the real man and we barely understand his public persona. He comes from one of the wealthiest families in the country, went to the best schools and had the opportunity to be anything he wanted to be in this life; he chose instead to be a criminal. In almost ten years we've not been able to pin any one thing on him, but where there's smoke th

And then there was Scott. Scott Mancini, the Underboss of New York, sat there looking like he was personally offended by the existence of the salad in front of him. He was wearing a suit that cost a fortune, his beautiful green eyes constantly darting to the door as if he were deciding who he’d have to kill first if things went south.

Their attention was on the one they called the little m*nster. “Damn, bro. The atmosphere’s so tense,” one whispered, his voice shaking. “Shut up, idiot,” another hissed back, unable to hide his own nerves. After a few minutes of waiting, the restroom door opened again. The little m*nster stepped out, wearing his favorite Iron Man shirt, fixing his messy hair. The camera angle was a bit far, so they couldn’t make out his expression. He walked with his hands in his pockets, and what they saw made them blink in disbelief. The way he moved, the confidence in his steps, it was eerily similar to their boss, Dark. Some of them blinked repeatedly, as if refusing to believe it.

We were driving straight into the black heart of the "Origin." Luciano was slumped heavily in the passenger seat, his olive skin faded to the color of wet, stained parchment. Every single time the heavy tires hit a pothole on the cracked, neglected asphalt of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, his entire frame winced, his hand reflexively clutching his right side where his broken ribs were grinding brutally against his lungs. Yet, he did not utter a single complaint. A Moretti did not bleed out loud; they simply grew colder, their dark eyes turning into twin chips of unyielding flint.

And standing in front of them, calm as death, was the most dangerously beautiful man I’d ever seen. He was tall — at least 6’4” — dressed in a tailored black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing powerful forearms covered in dark ink. His black hair was slicked back, and a sharp jawline framed a face that looked like it was carved for sin. Cold gray eyes scanned the scene with zero emotion. Luciano Moretti. Even I knew that name. The Don of the Moretti family. The man who supposedly ran half this city from the shadows. One of the kneeling men was sobbing. “Please, Don Moretti… it was just business—”

"Alistair and the Mannings were mere variables, tools to test the limits of the Quinton-Mack alliance. They provided valuable data, but their time has passed. Now, the real work begins." She tapped a specific sequence on her console, and the massive holographic display in front of her shifted to show a detailed map of Metro City’s primary infrastructure. It wasn't just a map; it was a living, breathing digital organism, showing the flow of data, power, and capital across the city.

Then came the lucid dream his brother had, the moon goddess persuading him to return to his hometown, and there is where he would find his Luna had been waiting for him all along. The dream had been so intense that they packed up in the dead of the night and were on their way back as fast as they could get here. The entire small town of Mansterville was their pack. The Mansterville Lycan Warrior Pack" was among one of the largest packs in the country. The town had grown a bit over the years, but had still maintained that small hometown feel. Humans also resided in their quaint community, most were mated to lycans as rare as it was; it certainly wasn't unheard of.