A Confederacy Of Dunces Novels & Stories

But when he reached his desk later, opening his notebook, he didn’t write about vitals, symptoms, or medical observations. He wrote one line: “I lit her candle.” He stared at the sentence. It wasn’t clinical. It wasn’t part of any report. It was confession. He closed the notebook quickly as if someone might walk in and read his thoughts. His hand lingered on the cover, jaw tight. A whisper from the Vigil brushed his memory: You’re alright. He had meant it as comfort. But it hadn’t felt like a doctor comforting a patient. It had felt like Daniel speaking to Clara, not Dr. Hale to Candidate.

A cruet, normally holding communion wine, now contained a clear, amber liquid that glinted in the candlelight. Father Michael stood waiting, bathed in the soft, intimate glow. He had shed his cassock, revealing a simple white tunic and dark trousers, though even in this casual attire, his presence was commanding. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes, dark and piercing, held a raw hunger that made her breath catch. He was no longer the detached confessor; he was a predator in waiting.

11.45 pm, 30th July. The calendar alert on my iPad beeped as I lay on my bed, engrossed in my favourite Fanfiction on Harry Potter. Fifteen more minutes, and I will be Twenty One! What's the point? Just like every year, at 12 AM sharp, my childhood bestie cum neighbour Vic aka Victor will climb the ladder next to my bedroom and enter my room as if it was his own. He would then wish me and make me cut the same flavourless dairy free cake (I'm allergic to dairy) sprinkled with even more tasteless jokes, as he once again makes fun of everything about me.

The development was a ghost town, and hopeful buyers were stuck in limbo. Kenneth once bragged that they wouldn't finish it, even if they could afford to. The money? Stuffed into the Wadzinski family's bank accounts to fund their designer wardrobes and private jets. His $5,000 shirts, his $20,000 watches—yeah, Kenneth didn't care about regular people. And he definitely didn't care about me. To him, I was just another shiny toy. So, I made my move. I sent an anonymous recording of his confession to some top-tier journalists. It blew up.

Third Person's POV After returning to Newmont, Lorenzo did something he should have done a long time ago. He went to see a psychologist. It wasn't because he was depressed, but because he wanted to figure out one thing—how had he become like that? How could one person be so cruel to another? The psychologist was an old man in his 60s, with gray hair and gold-rimmed glasses. He spoke slowly and deliberately. "Do you think you ever loved Sofia?" the psychologist asked.

I just nodded softly while tears streamed down my face. The next day, as soon as we sat down in the auction hall, I spotted Nina dressed as a server, carefully weaving through the crowd with a tray of drinks. I glanced at Dante, but he kept looking straight ahead, not sparing her a single glance. Soon enough, there was a commotion from Nina's direction. Several rich brats had cornered Nina, taunting her with crude jokes. "Well, if it isn't our dear Ms. Nina Lace. You stabbed Dante in the back back then, but now that he's become the mafia Don living in glory. Someone must be feeling pretty regretful, right?”

Watching the people have fun gave me the idea on where to go to clear my head. And so, here I was in my room putting on a red gown that stopped my mid thigh. It was one hand off and the other hand, sleeveless. The gown had a cut by the two sides, showing a small section of my sides too. Taking my heels in my hand, I walked out barefooted. One last look at Matteo and I was gone. --- I entered the building and immediately, the familiar stench of alcohol and weed hit my nose. The more I walked into this building, the more I re-thought my decision.

"I have all the cards here, while you have none. Dante looked at him steadily without any hint of fear in his eyes. I could see clearly that he was not backing down. I had no idea where his insane confidence came from, and from the look in the man's eyes, I could tell he didn't have any ideas either. Honestly, I was starting to think that he was taking too much time to make his decision. He seemed to be enjoying it, smoking now and then like his decision did not affect my life and death. I didn't see what he had to lose. He would get the document either way, so what was he stalling for? Was he that desperate to take my life?

Chapter 31: The Final Confrontation The abandoned warehouse loomed before them, its rusted metal exterior a fitting backdrop for the showdown to come. Sofia felt her heart racing as she and Luca approached, their footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. "Are you sure about this?" Sofia whispered, her hand tightening on the gun Luca had insisted she carry. Luca's jaw was set, his eyes focused on the building ahead. "It's the only way, cara. We end this tonight."

I would be pissed if she turned into an escort for fun or indulged in any activity she shouldn’t. When my legs resumed working, I left the cubicle, washed my face, and joined Odessa. Axel brightened at the sight of me and dragged me with him in into Lucian’s office. The congressman remained in the room. I got comfortable in the seat across from Lucian’s. Ryder made no attempts to leave. I began, grateful for the company. “I read the contract and found no flaws.” “No questions?” Ryder arched an orange brow. “No, no questions.”