177a Bleecker Street Novels & Stories

The bite on his shoulder was already bruising. “Deeper than last night,” she said. “Yes.” “Next time I want it inside four walls. No more public concrete.” She met his eyes. “You know the building with the blacked-out third floor on Agnes Street. The side entrance code is 4419. If you show up tomorrow night I am going to assume you want it worse than this.”

“It is high time that you need to know that people change. It is not too late.” His sister just pouted to what he has to say to make her change her mind. Hesther threw a piece of parchment on the floor and all the gazes fell on it. It was an address. Quentin recognized the address. It was not too far from the villa and from what he recalls, it is right smack in a little community in Haven. Blecker street is a developing part of Haven. As abrupt as they came, they left that fast too. Hesther even blew kisses to them.

I’m not sure I’m ready. But I’m going anyway. The plane lands at JFK at 6:47 AM. I didn’t sleep at all. Just sat there, touching my necklace, remembering. Derek’s address is in Manhattan. Upper West Side. A neighborhood I’ve never been to but my GPS knows the way. The Uber driver tries to make small talk. I give one-word answers until he gives up. We pull up to a beautiful brownstone. Old money. The kind of building that whispers Moore legacy even without a sign.

I asked. She pointed. “This one in Hell’s Kitchen. The building’s too clean—lease sits under a shell corp that ties back to Vittorio through two laundering arms. The second’s in East Harlem. Less likely—too noisy. Third one’s in the Brooklyn waterfront district, old warehouse retrofitted last year. No paper trail, but I picked up a faint signal spike yesterday that matches the same burner tower used to send the ‘stay away from her’ text.” My jaw locked.

Amber's POV The address on the back of Wolfe's card led me to a building in the Financial District that had no signage. Not unusual in Manhattan. Plenty of serious money operated behind unmarked doors. But this building had a particular quality of invisibility that felt intentional rather than incidental. Twelve stories of dark glass and clean lines, wedged between two older limestone buildings on a narrow street that most GPS systems routed around rather than through. I sat in the back of a cab for thirty seconds after it stopped, looking at the entrance.

The brownstone was beautiful. Prue stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the four-story building in Brooklyn Heights. Red brick, black trim, black iron railings on the front steps. Trees lined the street. It was the kind of neighborhood she’d loved seeing in movies, but she had never been in this area before. She had thought they were going to his apartment. “This is it,” Nate said beside her, his hand at the small of her back. “Home.” She blinked at him. “You bought this?”

Then I called my assistant. "Clear my schedule for the rest of the week," I said. "And get me Nadia's address in Brooklyn." Two hours later, I was standing outside a walk-up apartment in Park Slope, staring at a building that probably cost less than my monthly parking space. The door buzzed open—broken security, apparently—and I climbed three flights of stairs that smelled like cooking oil and old carpet. Apartment 3B. I knocked. Footsteps. The door opened a crack, security chain still attached.

245 West 163rd Street, Apt 4B New York, NY 10032. For a woman who loves to go after the rich and mighty she lives in the middle-class side of the city, how fun, guess she knows how to cover her tracks better than I thought. Well Sienna, time to pay you a little visit, you don’t get to go silent on me and not expect a reaction.

“ Can you give me the address of this building, please?” She replied as she let go of my hand for a brief second and then held it back. “The Whitmore Residences, 1120 Park Avenue.” I repeated the address over the phone and I heard Julie sigh.“ It's actually late Ma'am. And it's a two hour drive back home,are you sure you want to do this?” I gritted my teeth.“ Come pick me up Julie!” I can't breathe knowing Holly is with him. The cool night breeze hit me as the door opened.“ Thank you so much.”

"Home. I need to think." He watched me go without arguing, though I could tell he did not believe me. The brownstone sat on a quiet street in Brooklyn Heights, ivy climbing one side of the brick, warm light glowing behind curtains on the second floor. I stood across the street for a long time before I found the nerve to cross it. Before I could knock, the door swung open. "You shouldn't be here." A woman appeared in the doorway, dark hair pulled back, tired eyes that sharpened the moment they landed on me.