Motherless Brooklyn Novels & Stories

The three of them always seem to know when someone’s hurting. I give her a sad smile and press a kiss to her forehead. “Hi, Natty-cat.” “Papa cry,” she says, touching my face. It’s only then I realize my cheeks are wet. I nod and wipe the tears away. “Yeah, baby girl. Papa’s sad. Nyx is gone. I’m gonna miss her.” She doesn’t understand—not really. How could she? But then she leans in and says, “Natty love Papa.” It’s a simple sentence. Just four words. But it punches through the pain like nothing else could.

The words underneath were scribbled but written with determination. [Mommy, I learned to play the Moonlight Piece, but there's nobody to listen to it. I eat broccoli every day now, but there's nobody to say they're proud of me. My teacher says admitting your mistakes makes you a good person, but some mistakes don't undo the damage even after you say sorry. [When I grow up, I want to study art restoration, just like you. I want to save things that can not speak for themselves. I'm sorry, Mommy, and... Goodbye.]

Then 40. Lights. Bridges. The East River black and silver. The whole city spread out like someone spilled diamonds. Lila’s eyes opened. She didn’t cry. She looked up. Up. Up. And then she smiled. Big. Gummy. Wondering. It was the first real smile she’d given me all night. Kael saw it. I saw his jaw unclench. Just a fraction.

Volume/Book 1: The Stylish Mafia Girl & Her Muse Mafia men have been the trend of town for ages; their dominance over the world resembles a ghost ruling the graveyard—driven by that statement when exceptionally beautiful female Simone Thompson—the ruling Mafia of Austria vows to change the belief, then destruction is accompanied by terror, action, and the everlasting love to kill for adventure.

I loved the name Stella, so I decided to keep using it. Mom came to apologize, holding the keys to the car she had originally bought for Annie. "Stella, I've prepared a big room for you. You love reading, right? I've bought so many books for you. When will you come home?" I only answered her after leaving the library, "Don't look for me. I won't come back." Mom rushed to put the keys into my hands. "Take this. Think of it as compensation." I tossed the keys back at her. "It's useless. Do you think these things can undo the pain I've been through?"

When Momma’s voice was shaky, answering my mind link I jumped up and wanted to shift and run home. My baby sister Brooklyn isn’t at home, and they can’t find her, she was there at dinner, and they were out in the garden playing, but when Momma called them to come in, she was missing. Brooklyn is only 6 and she is the only one of us that had a bad birth, Momma’s umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck, and she died, they brought her back but she’s weak and frail and prone to getting sick, colds and such. The terror in Momma’s voice made my skin crawl and I’m driving as fast as this Jeep will go, without killing us. Gabe and I both scan cars as we drive bye, just in case the most horrif

"How's the job? How's the terrifying billionaire?" "The building has an indoor waterfall," Nathalia said. "He told me to fix it and move forward when I made a mistake today." Her mum was quiet for a moment. "That's actually good advice." "I know," Nathalia said. "That's the annoying part." Her mum laughed. Nathalia smiled at her own reflection in the dark subway window. Outside, New York kept moving, indifferent and electric and completely full of itself, the way it always was. She was starting to like it anyway. ​

“Then I must be a hundred years old, because I am definitely not doing that.” “Your loss.” Right then, my phone vibrates. I look down and see my mother’s name on the screen, and right away, a sick feeling forms in my stomach. This cannot be good. I pull in a deep breath, already preparing for whatever new problem she is about to drop on me. “What is it now?” I answer, not bothering with a hello. “Come out of the house,” my mother says. “Meet me at the Brooklyn Bridge.” “The Brooklyn Bridge?” I repeat. “It is eight o’clock at night, Mom.”

She put the compass back in her pocket. Took his hand. They stood on the corner of Atlantic and 4th in Brooklyn and watched the ground open and something begin. The Thomas Emmanuel Brooks Library. Three names on a door that had not been built yet. Three generations arriving at one corner. And a woman standing in the middle of it all. Her father's daughter. All the way through. Still. And always.

Instead, she was his unforgettable first love. Although Yohan and I were married, there was a saying that rang true—the one who was unloved was the actual third wheel. It was my first time seeing him fall head over heels for someone when he was 18—right during the height of his youth. The Walkers went bankrupt just a month ago, and Emily was forced to return from overseas. She used up all her savings to cover the Walkers' debt, yet it was hard for her to find a high-paying job with her music background.