Motherless Brooklyn Novels & Stories

she asked. “Brooklyn,” I replied evenly. “I grew up there.” There it was. The pause. The almost imperceptible shift. “Oh,” Catherine said. Brooklyn. Not Paris. Not London. Not a Manhattan penthouse. “And your family?” Michael asked. “My mother works a few odd jobs ” I said. “My brother’s in college.” No mention of money. No inherited legacy. No impressive surnames. I could almost hear the unspoken thought forming between them.

I nodded. I did not cry. I walked past him, out of the apartment, down the stairs, into the street, into the van. Brooklyn to Sunnyside is thirty-five minutes at four in the morning. I drove it with one hand. The wrist the Verdict Killer had not been able to fix because he was not in the business of fixing lay in my lap the way it had lain across a whole evening. The radio I did not turn on. The streetlight I watched change twice on empty corners, the whole of Brooklyn asleep around me, and the van moving through it the way the van always moved, easy and invisible, and the pink box in the passenger seat where my handbag usually sat, and the ring I had left on the edge of the sink still proba

She stared at the door for more than a second, then took a deep breath and entered. Her mother was sitting by the window. The afternoon sun hit her face, but it didn't reach her—her profile was still pretty, even in her forties. "Hello, Mom." Her mother turned her head slowly—and instead of maternal warmth, what she found was coldness: "Why are you here? If it's to get me out of here, good. If not… get lost." Camille lowered her gaze and swallowed, gripping the bouquet tighter in her hands. "You can't leave, Mom. You need… help." She approached carefully and showed her the flowers. "Look… I bought these for you…"

They just knew they were going to work. ​We got off at a station in Brooklyn I hadn't visited in twenty years—the neighborhood where my mother had grown up, before she met the 'King of Midtown.' It was a place of brick houses and small gardens, where the trees actually turned orange in the fall. ​"Who lives here?" Isabella asked, looking at the quiet street. ​"No one I know," I said. "And that’s the point." ​We found a small cafe that was just opening its doors. I used the last of the cash in my pocket to buy two coffees and a pastry. We sat at a tiny table by the window, the sun warming our faces.

We spend the entire afternoon looking for unnecessary things. My sister-in-law takes me by my hand as we prepare to enter the property. Six tortuous years caged me in this place, six years under the mandate and orders of Sabrina Schulz. People call me lucky to have the love of the most powerful mobster on the continent. However, I would not call it love. Dad reproaches me because according to him I haven't given Sabrina a chance. He's a good man who loves and adores me, but no. I can't love someone who has broken and tortured me at all the time.

This should be some sort of joke. “I don't think I heard that right. Going to Brooklyn? Mom, you told me to let you see your grandkids and now you are telling me we are moving back to Brooklyn?” This isn't really happening. Brooklyn reminded me of things in the past, of Derrik. “You heard that right. We are going to Brooklyn tomorrow but not for a permanent stay.” “Mom! You should have told me the truth. I left everything to bring the kids to you and is met with this news. Mom!” I stomped up to any of the rooms fuming in anger.

If I didn't have so much pain in my hands, I would clap. A woman dressed in black, frozen in time inside her head, was probably the dead man's mother, but it was clear that the cries and screams of the others... ten? Tem women, it was pure theater for those present to enjoy. I still don't know the story that links Tobias DeLuca to my father, but I was going to find out. Out of the corner of my eye, I look at Sarah. She had covered the redness on her face with makeup, but even though it wasn't a black and aggressive mark, the pink that marked her face was enough to make my insides boil.

Yvonne called out to her, but she said nothing. A few times later, she started tearing up, and her voice cracked, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't do this. Jessica's still brooding. I can't think about the trip." My mother snapped out of it and felt her heart ache seeing her beloved daughter cry. So, she hastily hugged Yvonne and cooed, "This isn't your fault. Jessica is just being a child." "However, I just got a call." Mom said hesitantly, "My colleagues said they found a female corpse in a dumpster about six miles away. They've determined that it's an abduction and murder case. Do you think it could be your sister?"

Victor’s mother was still shrieking on the phone. The Ricci family had spent five generations barely surviving at the edge of obscurity. If Victor hadn’t married me—the only daughter of the Messina family—they would never have tasted the lifestyle they now took for granted. The Messinas didn’t climb society. We built parts of it. Victor’s mother had once been homeless—no better off than the addicts sleeping under bridges. Now, she hurled filth at me over the phone, every word as foul as sewage. I muted my phone and placed it face-down on the desk.

"Don't ever think you know what’s going on in my head. You could never love that old man. He’s even more of a bastard than I am. You’ll regret it if you trust him. And for your information... my love died five years ago in that dingy apartment, Elara. All that’s left now is possession. And I am a very selfish owner." Xavier released her roughly, causing her to stumble slightly. "Go bathe. The water is ready. If you aren't out in thirty minutes, I’ll drag you under the shower myself—and you’ll find out exactly what happens when we're both soaking wet..." Elara stood frozen as Xavier slammed the bathroom door. She took a deep breath, trying to fill her lungs which felt constricted. She knew sh