Novel Midtown Novels & Stories

I wanted to meet Roberto at my new club in little Italy, but as neither of us trusted each other the location moved around a few times until we agreed on a place that neither of us knew. The small bar is hidden in the backstreet of Midtown East in Manhattan. The owner seem to be some old smug who wasn't even supposed to be alive anymore. If you can believe anything the search engines says, the man is turning 93 this year. Unfortunately, no photos are available.

Monday morning in New York hit him like a freight train. It was just after eight, and Midtown was already alive with suited commuters hopping over puddles from last night’s drizzle. The air carried the usual mix of exhaust, burnt coffee from street carts, and that sharp, metallic smell that always seemed to hang over the city at the start of a new week.

A car was waiting when we landed. "Where are we going first?" I asked as we drove into the city. "The penthouse. Drop off your bag. Then the office." "You're really taking me to the office tonight?" "You'll see." The house was in Midtown, sleek, modern, impossibly tall. The kind of place that screamed money. "Mr. Wayne," the security greeted him like an old friend. "Welcome back." "Thanks, Marco. This is Elena. My wife."

Today is the day when Aeternum first opened it’s Auction House, or now it was known more as the New City Auction House. I copied the design from the famous Midway Auction House, the arc way and the subtle yet giving our luxurious architectures made it only one of it’s kind in Fantasma. It screams high class even from a miles away, when one laid their eyes on it, the event would take place at the early evening, since the building exterior looked much more beautiful, with all the lighting illuminates the surrounding of the building. Looking at the crowds reactions, it was easy to see that this building has already impressive enough for Fantasma.

My brain hadn’t caught up yet, but my body moved on autopilot. “Main city,” I told the driver, trying to keep my voice steady. He glanced at me through the mirror. “You sure? You don’t exactly look like— “Just drive,” I cut in, tossing a few crumpled bills onto the seat beside him. The cab rolled forward. And as the city shifted around me, so did everything else. I’d never been to the main city. Too expensive, too flashy. Downtown was all I knew—dark alleys, cracked concrete, dusty neon lights flickering over rusted signs. The place where the forgotten lived.

People in New York really never seem to be content with sitting still; they're always running back and forth, I try to avoid looking like a tourist, looking at the buildings, so I have to look at the people around me as we walk further and finally turn around again. We're heading towards a bank, and I'm completely confused. “Where are we?” I start to ask, but then I see a small black sign next to the bench. Johnny Utah's . “Right here,” Creighton replies as he directs me to the door below the small sign. “It might be the only one of its kind in Midtown, and a friend suggested checking it out. We walk in, and in addition to the place already being filled with the happy-hour crowd, there's a m

Don't lose that, son. She'll bring fire with her. Let her. —M. By the time he reached the end, Damian was gripping the page with both hands, jaw tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Nova swallowed against the lump rising in her throat. "He remembered you." Damian nodded once, eyes pinned to the bottom of the letter where a faint imprint marked the page. Something stiff shifted beneath the paper. He turned the envelope over and shook it gently. A slim, brass key slid out. On its tag, a faded embossed number: 127 – Midtown Bank, Atlanta.

Marcus The morning after Sophia and I nearly set her apartment on fire with tension and bad decisions, I met Rodriguez at The Archive. The Archive is a disused reading room buried beneath a landmark building in Midtown. No cameras. No electronic interference. Just dusty shelves, ancient fluorescent lighting, and the quiet creak of history. Rodriguez was already there when I arrived. Standing beneath a rusting sconce, arms crossed over his gray overcoat like he was posing for the Bureau’s most intimidating Christmas card.

In their place was something new, something raw and honest. She was owned by Midnight. And as she looked up at the stars while he drove her back toward the edge, she knew that the dark desire series had only just begun. There was no going back to the light.