Novels by Nightingale

Ezra learned the rhythm of Matteo Antonov’s house the way prisoners learn time.By footsteps.Matteo rose before dawn and the estate stirred with him. Guards shifted posts, doors slid open and in the depths of the house, machines hummed to life.Ezra woke to that hum.It crept into his bones. His first morning began with a knock that was not a request.“Up.”Ezra rolled onto his back, blinking at the ceiling. “It’s barely light.”“It’s five.”“So?”“So Matteo Antonov doesn’t wait for the sun.”Ezra swung his legs off the bed. He opened the door to find a man he hadn’t seen before.“I’m Mikhail,” the man said. “You answer to me when he’s busy.”Ezra rubbed his face. “Does he ever not look busy?”Mikhail’s mouth twitched. “You have ten minutes.”“For what?”“Breakfast service.”Ezra stared. “You’re joking.”Mikhail didn’t move.Ezra exhaled through his nose. “Fine. Lead the way, General Doom.”Mikhail turned without comment.The kitchen was already awake.Steel counters gleamed. Chefs m

The Antonov EstateEzra had expected extreme luxury. Gold railings, oversized crystal chandeliers, something theatrical that flaunted money in every direction.What he found instead was the exact opposite.The Antonov estate rose in slabs of pale stone and glass, driveway stretched like a private road into a world that did not belong to him. No fountains or statues the crème de la crème of society usually had littered around their estates. Instead it was endless space, security personnel and the overwhelming stench of control.It felt less like a home and more like a sovereign state.A man in a dark suit led him inside without speaking.Ezra’s footsteps echoed across marble floors. The air smelled faintly of pine and steel and every surface gleamed with not a speck of dust in sight. Everything here seemed designed to remind visitors that they were temporary.They passed armed men in black, watching as they walked past.Ezra straightened his spine as the guide stopped before a pair of

Six Years LaterMatteo Antonov did not watch basketball. He watched men, he watched exits and he watched hands.The VIP box hovered above the arena like a glass throne, insulated from the roar below. Dimitri lounged beside him with a beer, one boot propped on the railing.“You haven’t blinked,” Dimitri said. “It’s a game, not a hostage situation.”Matteo’s gaze never left the court. “Men reveal themselves under pressure.”“Sure,” Dimitri replied. “But these ones reveal themselves by missing free throws.”A wave of noise thundered through the stadium as the Thunder Titans stole possession. Sneakers squealed and the scoreboard ticked.Matteo had agreed to this outing under duress. Dimitri had insisted he needed “something normal” after closing an arms deal that had netted them seven figures and a headache.“Breathe,” Dimitri had said. “Touch grass. Watch boys throw balls.”Matteo had nearly shot him.Now he sat, bored, half-listening to the crowd chant.“Number thirteen is good,” Dimitr

It was another visiting day and this time, they sat across from each other on different ends of the hall. Until…“Get down!” someone yelled.The riot began with that scream. Metal clanged, military boots thundered and the visiting hall erupted into chaos.Matteo was on his feet before the guard finished speaking.Smoke bloomed near the far corridor and inmates surged like a black tide. Alarms wailed with red lights flashing.Ezra stood frozen looking at his father that had just entered the room across from him, eyes wide.“Ezra!” Nickolai shouted, pounding on the glass.Matteo’s heart slammed against his ribs.A guard grabbed Matteo’s arm as he moved. “Back to your seat so evacuation will be easier!”Matteo wrenched free. “My father!”“Everyone’s father is in here!”Across the hall, Ezra was being shoved toward the exit. He twisted, searching.Their eyes met.For a second, the noise fell away. Ezra mouthed something but Matteo couldn’t hear it.Then a wave of bodies crashed between th

Saint Petersburg, RussiaThe boy across from him stared at the floor like it might crack open and swallow him.“Look up,” Matteo said.The other boy didn’t. His hands tightened around the edge of the plastic table instead, knuckles pale against brown skin.Matteo leaned back in his chair, metal legs scraping softly across the concrete. The visiting hall smelled like disinfectant and boiled cabbage. A hundred voices layered over each other, families pretending they weren’t in a cage with their loved ones, laughter that tried too hard to be real and crying that was swallowed by the noise.“Do you always ignore people,” Matteo went on, bored and sharp, “or is that just for strangers in prison?”The boy finally lifted his head.He had dark lashes, the kind that made people think you were gentle even when you weren’t. A thin scar cut through one eyebrow, still pink. His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back with a nervous tap.“I’m not ignoring you,” he said. “I just… I didn’