What Are The Best Mr. Moretti Quotes?

Five years into my marriage to Dante Moretti, the Don of the Chicago Outfit, the entire underworld knew he loved me more than life itself. He’d had a violin—for me—tattooed right next to his family crest, a symbol of loyalty that could never be erased. Until I got the photo from his mistress. A cocktail waitress, sprawled naked in his arms, her skin marred by the dark bruises of rough sex. She had scrawled her name right next to the violin he’d gotten for me. And my husband had let her. "Dante says only being inside me makes him feel like a man anymore. You can’t even get him hard anymore, can you, sweet Alessia? Maybe it’s time to step aside." I didn't reply. I just made a single call. “I need a new identity. And a plane ticket out.”

A Dark Mafia Romance , Dual POV , Forced Marriage , Obsession , Betrayal , Secret Identity Leona Moretti thought she was saving her brother’s life when she agreed to marry New York’s most feared mafia boss. She was wrong. Dante Rizzo didn’t take her out of mercy. He took her because she was promised to him. Sold by her own brother like a piece of flesh, packaged with a smile and a wedding ring. And Leona walked willingly into the trap. Now she wears his name. Sleeps in his bed. Lives in a mansion guarded like a prison. But he doesn’t touch her. Not yet. He watches. He waits. He burns. Dante is cold, cruel, and unreadable...until she disobeys him. Until she presses the wrong button. Until the mask cracks and she sees what he really is: A man obsessed. Possessive. Completely unhinged when it comes to her. But Leona has secrets of her own. Like the fact that she may not be a Moretti at all. And her entire life? A carefully constructed lie hiding a truth soaked in blood and betrayal. She’s not just a pawn in a mafia game. She’s a daughter of the deadliest name the underworld ever buried. And Dante? He’s not planning to let her go. Not when he finally has the one thing he's been denied his entire life. Her.

"I hope you’re hungry, Luca. Because in this dress, I’m the only thing on the menu you can't afford." In the neon-soaked towers of the Voss Crime Syndicate, power is the only currency—and Valeria Devereux is bankrupt. Stripped of her legacy and forced into a demeaning maid’s uniform to serve the very elites who destroyed her family, Valeria is a glitch in a world of billionaire kings and mafia monsters. But behind her submissive gaze lies a lethal mind and a hidden high-tech edge. When Alessandro “Zane” Moretti, the cold-blooded heir to the Moretti Empire, arrives to finalize a merger, he doesn't see a servant. He sees a weapon. He’s the man who could burn her world down—or set her body on fire. In a high-stakes game of enemies-to-lovers and dark obsession, Valeria must choose: stay a pawn in the Voss's cruel games, or surrender to the dangerous billionaire who wants to own her soul. Tags: #MafiaRomance #Billionaire #DarkRomance #EnemiesToLovers #HighTechCrime #ForcedProximity #Vengeance

Everyone in southern Italy knew that Lorenzo Moretti loved me like a madman. And yet he had been keeping a much younger woman in Naples. They said she looked just like I had years ago. He told people she was only a reminder of the woman he had once loved most. He also gave strict orders that no one was to let me hear about her. Until the day I found out I was pregnant. I went to his office to tell him the news myself, only to stop outside the door when I heard a young woman’s voice from inside. “Lorenzo… am I only here because I remind you of her?” The door was slightly ajar. Through the gap, I saw a young woman who looked too much like me, wrapped in his jacket and holding his glass. I stood there, barely breathing. Then I heard him answer. “Don’t compare yourself to her.” “She could never be what you are.” I turned and walked away without making a sound. That night, I called my mother. “Mother, I’ve made up my mind.” She was silent for a moment. “I want a fire,” I said. “Something no one survives. By the time it’s over, Sophia Moretti needs to be dead to the world.”

I gave Adrian Vale eight years of my life. Eight years of waiting,forgiving,and pretending it did not hurt every time he chose his pride,his career,or his childhood friend over me.He always said he loved me.He always said marriage was only a matter of time.But somehow,that time never came. At my best friend’s wedding,when the bouquet finally landed in my arms,I gave him one last chance.One sentence was all I needed. Instead,Adrian took the bouquet from me and handed it to another woman. He thought I would cool down,come back,and wait for him like I always had. But he forgot one thing. I was Elena Moretti,and when a Moretti woman stops waiting,she does not look back.

My sister Sofia and I married into the Moretti family, New York's most feared dynasty, and got pregnant less than a month apart. I married Dante Moretti, the eldest son and youngest trauma surgery chief St. Vincent's had ever appointed. Sofia married his younger brother Luca, a Major Crimes detective with a badge and a Moretti army at his back. One carried a scalpel. The other carried a gun. Behind them stood a family that owned docks, unions, private clubs, and half the secrets in Manhattan. Everyone said we'd won a life women would kill for. On my first anniversary, I left a maternity clinic with our daughter's fetal heart scans. Sofia hopped out at a bakery for a cinnamon-apple tart. That craving saved her life. The black Cadillac carrying me cut through an intersection and drove straight into an armored truck. Metal folded around me. Glass filled my mouth. Beneath the screaming brakes, I felt my baby stop moving. I called Dante with a bloodied hand. He rejected me three times before answering the fourth. "Enough with the loyalty tests, Elena. Valentina's old gunshot wound triggered an arrhythmia, and I'm treating her. You and Sofia don't get to invent emergencies every time we help her." Sofia called Luca in tears. He was at Valentina's townhouse investigating a triggered alarm. "A false report leaves a record," he said. "Stop helping your sister put on a show." In the end, my eight-month-pregnant sister smashed open the warped car door and dragged me through broken glass and leaking gasoline. She commandeered a hotel SUV and drove me to the ER herself. I survived. She went into premature labor and lost her son the same night I lost my daughter. After surgery, we lay in neighboring beds while dawn bled through the windows. "Elena," Sofia whispered, "I'm done with my marriage." I reached across and took her ice-cold hand. "So am I."