In his new thriller “The Doorman,” (MCD, $27) bestselling author Chris Pavone (“The Expats,” “Two Nights in Lisbon”) dives into the dark heart of upper and lower class Manhattan where everyone has secrets, and death is just a kiss — or a bullet — away.

The Bohemia, a legendary, luxurious Central Park West residence, is where a doorman is always on duty. Where bad things may be not around the corner but at the front door.

With its expansive scale, satiric thrusts and insider’s awareness, “The Doorman” is being favorably compared to Tom Wolfe’s landmark “Bonfire of the Vanities.”

“That was fairly deliberate,” Pavone (pronounced Pah-VO-nay), 56, said in a phone interview. “‘Bonfire’ was a spectacular book, very much of its moment — and that moment was four decades ago.

“It addressed a lot of the most important themes about New York, which are also the most important themes about America: Race and racism, class and income inequality, money, ambition and crime.

“I wanted to write a book that addressed all of those very New York (and very American) themes. But from a more contemporary sensibility, situating it at a landmark residence on Central Park West.”

That location makes sense, the Brooklyn-born author explained, “Because I live in one of those buildings. That in fact is what inspired the setting, when we moved into a fancy, full-service building about a half decade ago.

“It was the first time in my life I’d ever lived in this type of environment. I hadn’t really thought about it when we decided to move uptown. Our main considerations were that it was a nice building in a nice part of town that was closer to my kids then-school and my wife’s then-office.

“But I never gave any thought to the service aspect of it and the subservience part of that. It immediately made me uncomfortable that I now lived in a place where the people who work there called me Sir.

“I dealt with that discomfort by spending a lot of time talking to the guys who work there, especially a daytime doorman named Johnny who worked at the building for 37 years. It’s the only job he ever had.

“He had a type of warmth you could feel from across the street; people who moved away from the building would come back just to visit Johnny.

“Then Johnny got sick, and for the next two years, he carried bags and he held cabs while also definitely dying. And he worked until just barely 36 hours before he died.

“Johnny broke my heart. And this relationship broke my heart too. That was the impetus for writing the book. Both the building itself and Johnny.”