Vended To Don Damon Novels & Stories

Damon was at the Cortese gates, knees banging the stone, voice shot from begging. "Vanessa, I was wrong. I was completely wrong!" Three days without food had gutted him. Hollow cheeks. Wild beard. Not even a shadow of the man he used to be. "Please, just give me one more chance!" He sounded like a cracked record. "I'll do anything. I swear!" The guards didn't flinch. They knew this circus wasn't for them—it was for me.

I further glared at him as he spoke. Such a heartless pig this one. “And I don’t suppose that’s how you got rid of all your other conquests when they denied you of your sick fantasies?” I raised a query. Leaning down to my ear Dimitri softly spoke, making sure to brush against my skin, “On the contrary Rena, all of my previous conquests begged me to fuck them and whenever I did, they’d always beg me for mercy.” He was so close to my flesh that I could practically feel him smirking.

“I withdraw.” The auctioneer turned to Cassian. “Sold,” Cassian said lazily, “to Lord Veyra.” He leaned forward as the attendants carried the sword away. “And deliver it to Lady Serina.” Gasps swept the room. Damien’s expression didn’t change, but the muscle in his jaw jumped. When the break came, he crossed the floor to me with the slow, deliberate stride of a man trying to keep from raising his voice in public. “That was reckless,” he said.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Midnight — East Dock The warehouse was a skeleton of rusted beams and broken windows, looming over the black waters like a dead god. Damon arrived alone, just as they’d demanded. He wore black from head to toe, every step measured. In one hand - a briefcase. In the other, a drive with encrypted ghosts. The moment he stepped inside, masked figures surrounded him. Guns raised. Tension thickens. Then Marcus Voss emerged from the shadows, a grin tugging at his lips. “You really came. Father of the year.” “Where’s my son?” “First the drive.” Damon tossed it.

Cesare delivered my dinner through the small window in the door right on schedule. Just as he was about to leave, I called out softly, "Cesare!" He seemed to know what I was going to say and answered without hesitation. "Signorina Diamante, Don Ricci is not at the manor today." "It seems Gianna has given you plenty of incentive, but if I die, do you think Fiorenzo won't take his anger out on you?" Then I broke the porcelain plate and slashed at my wrist. Blood poured out, dripping onto the expensive handwoven wool carpet.

"Once the process begins, the name Elena Moretti ceases to exist. You’ll lose all protection from the Moretti family. You won’t even have a legal ID to your name." "I’m certain." As I stepped out of the bar, the massive LED screens in Times Square were tirelessly looping a proposal montage that had every woman in America swooning. The man in the video was the current Don of the Moretti family: Dante Moretti. Dressed in a bespoke suit, those hands—the same ones that had pulled triggers countless times and held the power of life and death over the East Coast—were now trembling slightly as they held a massive pink diamond.

Wondering how he had already burrowed his way so far into her soul. "A couple of days ago, this matter was brought to our attention," Damon said, deciding not to tell them about Swanson, as much as he hated keeping anything from his mate, that story was not his to tell and he wanted to respect Swanson's privacy. He hoped they would be able to make a change so that people like Chris didn't have to run away. He genuinely liked the guy and if he could help him be with his mate then maybe he could make up for all the ones he hadn't been able to help. "I sent Mony on a mission to the Gard, to retrieve a list of names, of the originals that were possibly meant to be mated to mixed blood. Mony, wou

he whispered to Donovan in the ear, slowly rubbing the belt above his shoulder. “Just go on and ask the question already,” Donovan said to him, fighting hard to remain composed. “Firstly,” the man paused, raising Donovan's chin so their eyes could meet. “I'd love to ask, how long have you known this woman that joined you?” On hearing that Donovan swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and he began to blink rapidly. “What did you just say?” ¶¶¶ Damon picked up his phone, staring at the only unique number among the endless list before he let out a sigh, it was the only number that was saved with an emoji. At first he turned it off, falling to his chair with his hand beneath hi

"Damon, don't push your luck! Double the market price—how can you even ask for that?" "I'm just talking business. You're free to decline," Damon replied. "There's no way I'll agree to that! Market price, not a penny more!" Richard growled. Damon nodded. "Then, I'm afraid I have to say no deal. I'm not selling." Before Richard could respond, Damon was already out the door. Cyrus wanted to chase after him, but Richard stopped him. "Come back! Even if you catch up to him, he won't sell to you. We were wrong from the start."

Then Damon stepped forward, jaw clenched, eyes sharp as knives. “I’m guessing this is all about money, right?” he said. “So talk business. Tell me what you want—then release Sadie and Daven.” “Only Sadie and Daven?” the man asked, raising a brow. “What about your father? Your ex-wife? This friend of yours?” Damon let out a short, humorless scoff. “You’re my father’s trusted man, aren’t you? Silas Aldo.” His tone sharpened, like he was pulling back flesh to reveal the truth underneath.