215 Lexington Ave Novels & Stories

The address Jessica provided wasn't a warehouse in Red Hook. That had been misdirection in case I showed the letter to authorities. The real location came via text at 8:45 AM: "Change of plans. Penthouse suite, 432 Park Avenue. Top floor. Come alone. The doorman is expecting you." 432 Park Avenue. One of the most expensive residential buildings in Manhattan. Luxury apartments with panoramic city views. Security cameras everywhere. The last place I expected for a confrontation with a fugitive.

There’s also a place for curtains to hang subtly whenever I don’t want the light streaming in. The apartment itself has 70 linear feet of views looking over Central Park. You don’t have to be a New Yorker to appreciate the address 220 Central Park South which of course is on the southern end of the city’s iconic park so the penthouse looks over the entire 2.5 miles of green to the north with Manhattan stretching out to the south

“Do you need me to prepare lunch for you or something?” “No Liam, I'm fine. I’ll grab something on my way home.” I picked up my bag and keys, gave myself one final look in the mirror. My lipstick was flawless, my strawberry blonde curls tucked behind one ear and then walked out before he could say another word. ••••• The drive to Hart & Rowe’s headquarters was short and peaceful. I parked and got out, staring open-mouthed at the building in front of me. It was like a glass-and-steel fortress in the heart of New York.The kind of building that practically screamed power and wealth.

The silence inside the car felt expensive. “Is this really necessary?” I muttered. The men up front didn’t turn. “Mr. De Castello’s instructions, ma’am.” I exhaled sharply. Outside the window, Manhattan moved like a film reel. People walking fast, clutching coffee, clutching problems. I pulled out my phone and searched the address Catalina had sent earlier. West 27th Street. Three-story building. Former photo studio, she’d said. Owner still holding the deed, willing to sell fast.

Slow and shaky, she was able to dial the number and in less than a minute, the call connected. “911 what's your emergency?” She heard a feminine voice on the other end of the line. A slight glance at Emily's cold, lifeless body was enough to burst into tears and panic set in as she tried to gather the words. Firstly, it was her phone, now she could not even find the right words. “7- 789, Lexington Avenue,” she stammered, wiping off the catarrh that she could feel rolling into her mouth. “Apartment 48, 10065.”

"We're a traditional family." "I need to think about this." "No, you don't." Sophia nodded toward the window. "We're here." The Escalade had stopped in front of an imposing Art Deco building in Manhattan's Financial District, the kind of place where hedge fund managers and tech moguls kept offices with views worth more than most people's lifetime earnings.

he chuckled. “Aren’t you overreacting now? Why would I be in love with you?” I scoffed, although I wasn’t so sure now. Was this love? No, I didn’t think so. He smiled, loving my reaction. “Just joking, Daniella.” He drove through the gates of an iconic architectural masterpiece in Manhattan's most sought-after residential neighborhood. The name engraved on the entranceway of the luxurious condominium read Elysium Hudson Towers! With a private porte-cochère and a landscaped garden complex spanning five towers, this place was grander than the one he took me to a few days back.

Vivian I pulled up my silver Audi at the parking lot, took a few deep breaths, and checked my make-up in the rear mirror. Thank heavens, I didn’t put mascaras on, otherwise my face would be mottled. I got off the car and blend in the sea of business men and women in formal attire or trendy designer dress. DanLes was located in Barnet, one of the tallest buildings downtown, occupying ten floors from the sixtieth to the top. I wiggled my way through the crowd and slipped through the turnstile with my pass. People in the lobby were piling themselves into the elevators like sardines in a can; no one wanted to be late.

We pull into the basement parking of Sofia's apartment complex, the concrete walls enclosing us in a dimly lit cavern. Following her lead, we ascend to the second floor, traversing a corridor adorned with nondescript doors until we reach the one at the far end. Nestled in the upper echelons of London's East Side, the apartment complex exudes an air of sophistication and exclusivity.

The lobby had a marble floor and a doorman who greeted her by name, which meant Caiden's assistant had called ahead, which meant this was actually happening. The apartment was on the twenty-second floor. The assistant, Ji-yeon, met her at the elevator — small, precise, with the organized energy of someone who managed multiple impossible things simultaneously and had made peace with it. She gave Lena a brief tour in ten efficient minutes: kitchen stocked, wardrobe partly filled with items in her approximate size pending proper measurements, gym on the floor below, house rules in a folder on the counter. "House rules," Lena said.