Books Set In Rome Novels & Stories

The dining room table is covered in baby name books. Spadino bought them. He bought all of them. 1001 Names for Boys. The Book of Saints. Ancient Roman Heroes. They are stacked in teetering piles next to the bread basket. "Maximum," Spadino says. He is holding a book open, pointing to a page with a breadstick. "No," Aureliano says. He is cutting his steak with surgical precision. "It sounds like a gladiator."

Wow. I was drooling. It wasn't just a room with books. It was a sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with hardcovers, a rolling ladder, a massive fireplace that looked like it hadn't been used in decades. The scent of old paper and leather hit me, comforting and familiar. I ran my finger along the spines. ‘The Art of War’, ‘Sun Tzu’. ‘Histories of the Roman Empire’. Biographies of kings and conquerors. Heavy stuff. Interspersed with them were fiction classics. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Dumas.

Things had been put in place and in a few years’ time, when Gian took over, he would be free to enjoy his life and live as a normal man, on his rose farm. Lorenzo thought of his home in Chicago, deep in the middle of nowhere, a mansion surrounded by nothing but woods and roses. He missed it, his other home. New York was the thoroughbred of life, the blood veins of businesses, but Chicago was where he felt the most at peace.

"If you burn that book—you end the Morano line. You kill our chance of saving my son. You destroy everything Donato built." Romeo shrugged. "That's the idea." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter—small, silver, deadly. The flame flicked alive. The book glowed brighter—like it sensed danger. Red shadows crawled along the floor, rising from the cracks, as if the very air was reacting to the threat. Luca felt his entire bloodstream ice over. "DON'T YOU DARE—" he roared, lunging forward even though the ropes tore deeper into his wrists.

he said. "Thank you, this is our haven from the hands of the enemy," I replied. "You're right. So, I'll let you know if there's a message from Claire," he said and left me. When Heath was gone, I opened my suitcase and took the only book I brought with me. The Name of a Rose, written by the Italian author Umberto Eco. I haven't even finished from the prime. I couldn't face reading it because of too many works in Paris. I turned to the page where I placed the bookmark.

I needed to know that I would be okay in a strange environment, and I could hold my own against anything. Adrian set the tablet down, leaning forward as his eyes caught mine, and he said, "You'll love Rome, babe. It's chaotic and beautiful, just like you." He grinned, and I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks warmed. “How many times have you been?” I asked.

My fingers brushed along the cracked leather as I ran through the lot, stopping at one in particular. It had a jet-black cover. No title. Just the silver crest pressed into the leather, a wolf enveloped by thirteen daggers. I cautiously pulled the book from its place. A cloud of dust billowed up into the air. The weight of it alone reminded me why De Luca only touched this book when no other option remained. I stared at the black cover for a moment. I hated this book. Hated what it represented. The De Lucas of the previous generation ruled in suspicion. Through fear. Through blood. I would never turn into that.

"Knock! Knock! Anybody home? I am the new transfer student here. I was asked to visit the director's office for some reason, and so here I am, I announced. I entered the room and almost let out a gasp. Wait, I don't recall the office being this classy. Did I accidentally get the wrong room? The interior was quite gorgeous, so much so that it was hard to tell if it was an office or a resting lounge. There was furniture made of expensive rosewood and two luxury couches, which looked quite comfy. Two shelves filled with school records, many other books, and a bonfire. I was still in the midst of admiring the office when a voice chuckled behind me, "Beautiful, isn't it? "

Some books had a symbol depicting the name. A strange thought crept into his chest. As he set his thoughts on vacating into motion, a book caught his attention. It had both a name and an author's name. At least it appeared better than the others. He made his way out and closed the door after picking up the book. The wind emerged absent all of a sudden. The cold shivers that steered through his spine each night after locking the bookstore were also mislaid. Roman felt a twinge in his upper arm as he sauntered further into a cemetery. He could hear downward incantations, muffled whines, and snarling insects. The torchlight squeezed around his fingers shone steadily across the footpath.

Then Roman took himself a seat next to the front door, in order to see Lucas face to face. It took Roman a second to stand again. He sat on a stack of book, he shook his head, this must be his daughter laziness everytime she was in hurry. He put the glass in his hand on the table next to him then pulled the book from the armchair and moved it to the table in middle of the living room. While Roman busy with the book, Lucas eyes followed his moving hand. His eyes widened seeing the book on the top of the stack. “That’s the Prophecy Book.” Lucas surprised.