New York: The Novel Novels & Stories

April's POV It had been a week and a half since I’d arrived in New York, and already, the city felt like it was stitching me back together, piece by piece. My mornings had a rhythm now: a cup of coffee cradled between my hands as I sat on the gallery's front steps, watching the endless stream of people passing by. Each face, each hurried footstep, reminded me of how easy it was to lose yourself in the hum of the city, and in a way, that was exactly what I needed.

Two Weeks Later New York “Welcome to New York, Sara,” Kingsley said softly as they stood on the balcony of her new penthouse, the Manhattan skyline stretching endlessly before them, alive with light and movement. The cool evening breeze brushed gently against Sara’s face, lifting strands of her blonde hair as she stood still, holding a glass of wine in her hand. Her eyes remained fixed on the city, taking in the endless sea of lights that pulsed with life below. Even after two weeks, the view had not lost its impact. It still felt unreal, like something she had stepped into by accident rather than earned through pain and persistence.

The apartment quiet around us. "This is our family," he said. "This is our family." "Grace and Daniel." "Grace and Daniel." He put his arm around me. Both of us looking from one door to the other. Outside the windows, the city moved. November in New York. Cold and clear and loud in the way the city was always loud. Taxis and voices and the ordinary noise of millions of people existing in the same space. Inside: two sleeping children. One husband. One home. Everything that had been taken and everything that had been built from the taking.

Arghhh How many people would die in the meantime? How many more families would Antonio destroy while the commission debated "due process"? I pushed off the expensive sheets silk, probably thousand thread count, the kind of luxury I still wasn't used to and padded barefoot to the window. The city spread out below, New York waking up to another day of commerce and chaos and lives that had nothing to do with mafia politics. Normal people. Normal problems. I'd forgotten what that felt like. "Can't sleep either?"

Why him? I stared at the growing web of connections, the patterns that didn’t make sense. My hand trembled as I pinned up one last word: WHO IS DIEGO? The lantern flickered, shadows crawling across the walls, as though the universe itself didn’t want me to know the answer. And deep inside, I felt my wolf stir—calm, but whispering something I couldn’t quite catch. Then—knock. I froze. Someone was at my bedroom door.

Lily Montgomery The taxi door opens, and the cold New York air hits my face like a punch. I pay the driver and step onto the sidewalk, pulling my coat tighter around my body. Winter in the city has always been cruel, but this time it feels even harsher. Maybe it’s because I’m different. Maybe it’s because, this time, I’m alone. People rush past, some immersed in their phones, others lost in their own worlds. Typical. The city’s frantic pace has never changed, but something inside me has. I feel out of place, as if New York is no longer my home. Or maybe it never was.

I looked back at my menu and tried not to smile. New York was different from Paris. Paris had been romantic by design, but New York didn't care. New York had its own agenda and you either kept up or got out of the way, which was somehow its own kind of magic. I'd always loved it here. Even during the hard years, even when the apartment Enzo and I had shared felt more like a waiting room than a home, there was something about the energy of this city that made you feel like anything was still possible if you moved fast enough. Tonight it felt that way again.

CHAPTER 149 || Anastasia's POV || It had been two months since I left everything behind and moved back to New York City. New York City did not ask questions. It never cared about where someone came from or what it was that someone was running from. That was exactly why I selected New York City. No one just disappeared in New York City. Everyone was just another face, another name, another life that no one bothered to recall. I had another name there. A new identity altogether. A name that stood alone. A past that was separate. I took a small apartment that housed my paintings and painting materials just about.

JERRY New York hits me the second I step out of the cab. First with the noise of busy people going about their business, then the smell of cold breeze, dust, and luxury, then cold air cutting through my jacket. Horns scream, and people move like they have somewhere to be even if most of them don’t. The city doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve survived. It just keeps going. I respect that.

New York 1921 The Brooklyn Bridge remains a torturous nightmare and Eloise would do anything to stay away from it. It has been six years since she left her hometown and moved to the big city. A city that she had heard so much about but still, she has yet to allow herself make sense of how the bridge could be standing. The first that she had heard of New York was from the eldest Wheatley son, Philip, who had gone to college there. She remembers how she listened to him talk about tall buildings, cigars and women in elaborate hats with such keen interest. She remembers how she and Mary Lou had spent the next few days pretending to be women in New York, fanciful and rich. However, when she got i