Viscount Melbourne Novels & Stories

she asked without turning. “Dario Valenti. Ex-special forces. Quiet. Deadly. Loyal… so far.” “He’ll be dead before he blinks. Anyone else?” “There’s a woman—his new consigliere. No one knows her name. Doesn’t speak in public. But when she whispers… men disappear.” Victoria smirked, sipping the whiskey. “I admire women who keep their mouths shut and their knives sharp.” A long silence passed. The only sound was the low hum of the jet engines.

Viso was a respectable man and known for his good works around the world. She was terrified thinking about his reaction if this turned out to be true. But how would she know that she was not married to some respectable billionaire but the mafia royalty? The Boss of Bosses, The Bonkers, Viso D'Angelo!

(Viscount Baxter Anderton) Anger rose up, Viscount Baxter Anderton walks in front of Father Norman and grab his collar, with one hand he lifted the fat priest in the air, whilst his other hand grasp firmly on his large spiky mace. Ready to break the priest head opened ar any moment, in an instance, Jaane Belloc who were seated on the front seat, rush forwards and grab the Viscount mace holding hand, attempted to calmed the city lord from doing rash things.

"Mi' Lady, we have an emergency." The Viscountess straightens her spine and looks towards her men. "Speak" "The Viscount is home." His eyes are wide. "And he is not well. He says he was attacked by a dragon."

He needed to put some distance between them, to restore his equilibrium, to remember his purpose. It was time he visited his uncle. Meanwhile... Melissa had arrived at Raynham manor with little more than the clothes on her back. She'd left that very night. And in her haste to leave, she'd packed the bare minimum. It was still dark when she'd reached. The servants had been shocked by her visit, but they were unfailingly polite, recognising that she was someone important. "I need to see the Viscount. Immediately," she stared at the butler. Melissa knew she had to bully her way into the house.

-------- TO: Mackenzie Marshal FROM: Vincent Valiant I need those Wienhowser copies on my desk in ten. Vincent Valiant CEO of Valiant Industries … My fingers drum lightly on the keys, getting ready to reply, but I'd rather see his face as I drop the stack in front of him. I grab the copies from the corner of my desk, which have been sitting there all morning—I've had the copies done since Wednesday afternoon—and then without looking back cup them in my arm and storm into his office without knocking.

He always wished he would capture the sunrise, but he’d always wake up when the sun is already high in the sky. He passed through the city and drove straight to his house. The city was a reminder of who he was before his quest to become a cowboy. He was Chris Malvins, a billionaire. He stopped right in front of the gateway to his mansion “Sir?” his gateman called. “Which hospital is Valerie in?” Chris asked, urgency in his voice. He had not spared even a second to greet Frank.

Zach and Dexter, among many others, grew exhilarated. A group of tall and strong western-looking men with blonde hair and blue eyes stormed inside. They wore layers and layers of clothing, and some even had fake white hair on. The one leading the group was a middle-aged western man. One look was enough to discern that he had been to war. He carried a powerful aura with him. He was none other than the ambassador of The Empire of the Sun that Never Sets, Viscount Rubert, in the flesh. He had another identity attached to his name, and that was the ex-vice commander of the Knights Templar of the country itself.

Lord Melvin rolled his eyes at Duke Kensington and helped his sister got on the carriage. 'It's just checking out some shops, must I have an entourage? This is so embarrassing.' Melissa groaned inwardly. The carriage carrying Duke Malcom, Lord Melvin and Lady Melissa arrived in the capital where many shops could be seen operating, and the city was bustling with people going about their businesses. The last time Melissa was here, she had gone straight to Dream Arts and had left hurriedly due to the Duke’s presence. Now, standing here and finally had a chance to look around, she was totally amazed.

I had pictured Marquess Montclair to be a black haired devil with a mischievous smile. Moreover, that was exactly how his friend, Viscount of Bart, Viscount Neville looked; his black hair was brushed- or gelled-, to perfection, no single strand out of places, his lips curved in a mischievous tilt as he appeared to listen with rapturous attention to what Abigail was saying to a small group of the crowd around the table, him included. But as I moved around replaying glasses and plates, I noticed that his eyes kept wandering down her cleavage. Despicable, I concluded.