Long Island Gloryhole Novels & Stories

“Vincenzo… I don’t handle Gloria. I end her games. And I’ve been preparing for this moment longer than she’s been plotting her next move.” The car accelerated. The streets outside New York flickered past in a streak of amber and white. Isabella’s mind raced through every detail—the security systems, the guards, the hidden passages, the potential threats. She had studied Gloria’s patterns, her habits, the subtle cues that betrayed her movements. Nothing would catch her off guard. As they approached the outskirts of the city, Isabella glanced at Vincenzo. “When we get there,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “we do this my way. No hesitation. No mercy. Gloria won’t know wha

The sun had already set by the time I finished work. Jaime always called this place a remote village. Every minute here felt like torture to her. I thought she would not be able to stand it and would leave. To my surprise, she waited outside my office door. When she saw me, she stood up at once and hurried to my side. “Joseph, you still haven’t told me what happened. Did your mother really die?” I stopped walking and looked at her. A cold laugh escaped me. “My mother died. Isn’t that what you wanted? Your mother’s so‑called killer finally paid the price. Are you satisfied now?”

“Are you sure we are safe?” I nodded. “My friend Glenn, who came along, is dealing with Ivanov permanently. By the time he gets done sorting out the business with those he’s wronged, he’ll be lucky to escape with any of his hide. His empire will crumble, and I doubt he’ll be able to even fund ‘The Island,’ which will hopefully lead to Sid Moreau’s downfall too. We’re the least of Ivanov’s worries.” She let out a deep breath and sagged against me again. “In that case, thank you.” The words were grudging at best.

Isabella's POV The city smelled of wet iron, exhaust, and the salt-tang of the approaching storm. I was standing on a gravel-strewn rooftop in Long Island City, three miles from the Sterling Tower. I was wearing a black windbreaker and heavy jeans I’d lifted from a maintenance locker during my crawl through the HVAC system. My hair was tucked under a dark beanie, my face obscured by the grime of the tunnels. To the world, I was a ghost. To the sensors, I was invisible.

Delila looks at me suspiciously as if she already knows I am up to no good. I confirm her suspicion when my driver pulls up in front of a building that looks like some type of club. From the look on Delilah's face, I could tell she knew it wasn't an ordinary nightclub. Especially after reading the big bright sign displaying the name of the club, "The Glory Hole." "Motherfucker," she murmurs under her breath, but I hear her loud and clear. She doesn't look too excited, but she doesn't look too angry either. Maybe she needed to realize what kind of place it was. Diana, on the other hand, looks excited. It must not be her first rodeo.

I didn't even want to wait for my dad. I leaned on the wall as I slowly got back up, then I went to the manager's office right beside the lobby. The manager noticed my disheveled look, and he frowned. "Who the hell are you, woman? This isn't a place for asylum inmates," he said impatiently. I didn't want to argue, so I tossed a black-gold card over to him. There were only two of its kind in Imperia. He would recognize it. The moment he saw my name on the card, his legs buckled, and he nearly fell from his seat. "M-Ms. Oliviero? But…"

"It is poetic, really." The plane began its descent. Leo looked out the window. Below him, the dark ocean stretched out infinitely, until lights appeared on the horizon. A small island. "That is it," Eleanor said, pointing. "The Black Lily. No laws. No rules. Just transactions." As the wheels touched down on the island runway, a thought struck Leo. The Hole. Silas had mentioned it once, in a fleeting moment of vulnerability. It wasn't just a prison. It was a legend. A place where men went to be remade.

*** Long Island, New York Alessandra "Could the two of you explain to me why the fuck some random asshole is hitting up my phone and begging for a 'copper haired bombshell's' number?! I know you didn't give some random man my phone number, Tori!" Zeno was pissed as he approached us, his words confusing us momentarily before Tori and I shared a knowing look, recalling last night's antics and the love-struck bartender. Chuckles escaped us despite our older brother's glare and threatening step towards the two of us.

However, the intern reporter immediately sensed something was wrong, so she secretly recorded everything. That very night, an article appeared on a local Brookhaven forum with the headline: "The Inspirational Girl Who Claimed Her Cousin Hid Her Admission Ticket Actually Stole Her Cousin's Score". The piece maintained a remarkably level-headed tone, focusing on presenting a clear sequence of facts. Firstly, Naomi Gibson's actual exam score wwasn't the one she'd implied online. Secondly, the real guest of honor at the party should have been Stella Morrow who never showed up at the event.