Novel & Cerita Natasha Romanoff The Black Widow

I watch the woman my brothers tell me I loved. The One. That’s what my journal tells me. Lillian Blackwood is my one. The problem is I can’t remember her. Not a single thing. All the descriptions I wrote about her don’t do her justice. Even while I watch her breakdown. While I watch my brother comforts her, over a dog named Benny. She’s still incredibly beautiful. “Are you willing to let that go?” Dylan asks as he watches the commotion in front of us.

She twists her fingers in her lap, "The blue prints are not the only weaponry I have against Romanov. I have a mole in his mansion. Someone that gives me valid information on most of his plans." I brace my elbows on the table and Ricardo shifts to the edge of his seat. "Who is this mole?" I ask "Yulia, the girl I told you about. Yulia Austin." I sit back in my chair. Ricardo just stares at her, the surprise on his face slowly morphing into anger. What was up with him and this Yulia girl anyways? "Isn't that Skylar Romanov's personal maid?" My question is not directed at anyone in particular but Yulia answers anyways.

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.

Hours later, Hayes watched from the side as Cassian made a single encrypted call. The screen showed static at first. Then cleared. A woman’s face appeared. Sharp cheekbones. Silver eyes. A name came with her: Irena Volkov. Russian intelligence-turned-mercenary. A shadow broker. A woman whose network extended into oil, media, and governments. Cassian leaned in. “I have a target,” he said. “Name?” He smiled. “Nova Blackthorne.” The woman paused. “The phoenix.” He didn’t correct her. “Alive or dead?” she asked.

, She said looking at me. "Do his—" "No. He's kind of immune to this, you are not. Sit.", She said as I immediately did as told. She immediately took the first aid box kept on the table and started treating the wound. "Alright, now for the introductions.", Neil said as if that was the most important thing at that moment. I wondered if he actually did not feel any pain. "That is Sarah Basu. I told you about her. We lovingly call her Natasha Romanoff.", He said as Sarah smirked.

In fact, with the way her temper was rising, she couldn’t promise to let the others go scot-free, but the day hadn’t ended just yet. “Speaking of women,” one of them slurred, pouring himself another glass. “Did you hear about that story on the news? Some guy in our business… poisoned in his own bed. They’re saying a woman did it.” The oldest one chuckled darkly. “Not just any woman, folks. They’re calling her the Black Widow. A ghost. No one knows her face. There are just whispers of her. Apparently, she charms men, and once they give in to her, none of them make it out of her web. Poison Guy’s story is not the only case.”

If I left within the next 24 hours, I would have a good chance of getting away and finding a new place to call home for the next few weeks. "I'm not the first lady, Zoe," I whispered and continued packing the remainder of my things, trying to forget about the problems I have and trying to get rid of the thought of the unidentified shadow I saw earlier. "Yes, you are," Zoe said as she walked up to me hesitantly. "You are the Lord's true mate, and therefore, you are the kingdom's first lady. And I will treat you as such. You are no ordinary lone wolf, Natasha. You are a Queen, the First Lady of the mighty White Vampire Kingdom. You were born to be a Queen."

Moments later, Ethan Brooks suddenly felt a weak wave of information emanating from the black widow. Ethan Brooks tried to understand. Her general message was, "Is there more?"

She dressed in black, lifted her chin, and continued walking as though the weight on her shoulders belonged to someone else. She did not mourn the man who had built a secret life with Sophia Marino, nor the husband who had fathered a secret heir behind her back. She mourned the years she had blindly sacrificed, and the security that had vanished the moment Anthony’s car exploded into a ball of fire. The world thought she was a grieving widow breaking under the loss. They did not know that beneath her veil, her eyes were completely dry, hardened by a cold desire for vengeance.