Gravestone Stories Novels & Stories

She clung to my pillow all day—sometimes she would laugh, and sometimes she would cry. Father's hair turned gray overnight. He drank heavily every day and became an utterly useless person. Clyde had also lost his mind. He often ran alone to my grave and kneeled there for an entire day. Yves was stripped of his position as the gang's consigliere. Every day, he stood before my tombstone, caressing the face in the photo over and over again. Endless remorse would accompany him for the rest of his life. … Many years later, the once-prestigious Shaw family had long been forgotten by others.

Through The Graveyard’s encrypted site, she dealt with: assassination contracts, secret document leaks, laundering operations, political deals, and selling information. And Dante was getting sick of the fear The Graveyard was planting in the underworld. After every completed operation, one message was left behind—written by Celestina: “Every empire has a grave. I just dig faster.” …………… At the Vallenis estate. Bang. Bang. A knock sounded on the door. No response came. Ten seconds of silence followed. “Come in,” Dante responded, his voice low and cold. A man in a black silk, expensive tailored suit walked in. He gulped down a breath and stood still, gaze down, hands glued together behind him.

Then it was gone, and I was myself again, gasping for breath, my arm burning with the effort of processing what had just happened. "Jack!" Katherine's voice. Concerned. "What happened?" "The stones," I managed. "They're... they're storing something. Memories. Lives. When you touch them, you experience—" "We experience the lives of the dead," Dad finished. His face was pale. "These are memorial stones. Markers for souls that have passed through the Maw. Every one of these slabs represents a person who was... consumed." I looked at the path ahead. Hundreds of stones. Maybe thousands. Each one a life. Each one a trap.

I had four days left before the poison consumed my organs entirely. All I wanted was to spend whatever time I had left with the woman I loved, but I could not reach her. The next day, I learned that Enzo Marchetti, the first love she had never forgotten, had returned from overseas. "Let's get divorced. The love of my life is back." I clutched my chest as a searing pain tore through it. "I'm at the family hospital. I've been poisoned. The doctors won't let me leave.” Her voice turned sharp and cruel. "I don't care if you're poisoned or dying. Even if you drop dead the next second, you need to come back and sign the papers." The last trace of warmth inside me went cold. I answered calmly,