Casablanca: The Book Novels & Stories

The cottage was quiet. For the first time in what felt like forever, Elena wasn't running. Not from the estate. Not from Francesco. Not from the necklace. Not even from grief. Rain tapped softly against the windows while a small fire crackled in the hearth. Across from her, Roberto's mother sat calmly in a wooden chair. A book rested on her lap. Ancient. Worn. Its pages filled with symbols Elena couldn't understand. "You are forcing it." Elena frowned.

Her cognac-dyed eyes widened and her lips were parted from the sequel, unable to close again. What is this? Remy you rascal, what the fuck have you been reading? The first title that jumped up was that of a bright red-covered book with the words "Conversation Casanova" written over it in capitals. And that was the most decent title... or book. The other ones had titles that shall not be said with contents that shall not be mentioned. Is this... this is how he got Jasmine? No way. These... W*****d books were better than these. Ryder couldn't look away from the books on her laptop's screen, her lips twitching, reconsidering some decisions she had taken lately.

Peaceful. Vespera Hale walked along the mahogany shelves, trailing her fingers over the spines of the books. Philosophy. Strategy. History. She stopped. On a shelf at eye level, nestled between The Art of War and a first edition of The Count of Monte Cristo, was a book she didn't recognize. It had no dust jacket. The binding was matte black, textured like volcanic rock. The lettering on the spine was silver, sharp and angular. SAVAGE REBORN.

Eliza had told her no one uses it anyway and might be a little dusty. After asking Rosa, soon Lola was standing in it. The library was all floor-to-ceiling shelves of mothballed mahogany. Lola curled in a wingback chair, a biography of Pancho Villa cracked open but unread. A click sound and then footsteps. Lola knew who it would be and didn’t bother to look up. “You’re in my seat.” “Your name’s not on it.” He prowled closer, snatching the book. “‘Revolutionary Tactics.’ Cute.”

God, he's beautiful, she thought to herself. The day went by quickly and Ivan was beginning to feel bored in the house, he went outside the cabin to take in some fresh air, moving away from the cabin in sight, he took the narrow path leading to where he'd get lost, the path that was different from the one that led to the lake. His mind was wandering around, standing afar off, he stood watching the cabin, nothing seems unusual, he waited for some minutes hoping something would happen, but nothing happened. He remembered he read in a book that "when a person is waiting expectedly for something to happen, nothing ever happens," he heaved a sigh. His hands-on his waist, he started walking farthe

I left the house and rode straight to Triumph Hotel. I booked a room directly across from 701. We had plenty of cameras at home. I brought a small one with me. I was going to catch them together. Ten o'clock. No one. Eleven. Midnight. Nothing was going the way I expected. I stayed up until dawn, my eyes burning. The door across the hall never opened. Chloe never showed up. Had I been wrong? Did she really not betray me? Were those messages and photos all in my head?

Her heels clicked across the concrete floor as she hovered her finger over the map, tracing a path from the docks to the supply lines, then to the casinos. “When the time is right,” she continued, her tone colder, “we’ll take it all. The docks control the flow of goods. The supply lines choke their resources. The casinos?” She smirked. “That’s where the real money is. While they’re scrambling to protect their little empires, we’ll already have the city in our grip.” Her men hung on her every word, their unease now tempered by the seductive lure of her vision. "And then what?" another lieutenant, Marco, asked, his brow furrowed. "Once we have the city, how do we hold it against them?"

I'm afraid I'll have to stop here Princess or else I might wet my own paper after working so hard on writing. I promise I'll be back soon Lia. Don't forget me okay? Love you. Your Little Prince, Zale Felix Cohen. " - You remember how your heart had slowly ripped inside your chest as you read every written word. You recalled the faint drops mingling with the letters written on that piece of paper. Those tears didn't come from you though. They were already there when you got the letter. They were his tears. You remember noticing the messy penmanship, grudged in a way than usual. Your heart snapped when you realize he was writing it with a trembling hand.

she hissed. Camila chuckled lightly and earned a glare from Joan “Oh please, it’s too funny to let it pass without laughing,” she shook her head then stopped laughing and gave a serious look “It is an inviting offer but weird, what if you were some serial killer who kills rich handsome men for a living?” Joan looked at her in disbelief and shook her head at her assumptions. “What exactly are you reading that is giving you these ideas?” “It’s a crime documentary darling, and it gives you a sense of security somehow” she shrugged.

Arian's pov I never thought a book club meeting could feel like a battlefield. Today, we are reading The Art of Forbidden by Linda Lively, and from the very moment I flipped through its pages, my face had been hot. The story is about a powerful president who was secretly in love with his male secretary, and if that wasn’t bold enough, the prose was filled with intimacy, longing, and heat. Naturally, everyone thought it would be for people to take turns reading aloud. But I wasn't really in the mood to read, not after what the police said to me.