Burned Out Of The Moretti Name Novels & Stories

And yet the devil didn’t look back. Because this time— He was truly hurt. And Dante Moretti’s devastation wasn’t something the world could survive. He was going for Scott's family... He was going to ruin them until there's nothing left of them.

“But if it’s true….. this isn’t just business anymore.” “Who is Moretti? And why do people sound bothered about his presence?” Beth asked and apparently i wasn’t the only one that had been listening to the passive conversation. “No clue, but I know Stefano hates him, literally all the made men hate him” I responded. I had heard Stefano on calls cursing out the person Moretti, I have never seen anyone that makes his blood boil like Moretti. To be honest it made me happy to think that there was actually someone that scared my husband.

It was also the seventeenth time he'd promised to take me to City Hall after the party ended. The banquet hall was thick with smoke. Expensive cigar fumes mixed with the smell of bourbon everywhere. I sat next to Dominic. My body was burning up. I had a fever. 103 degrees. My head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. "Dominic, I can't hold on much longer." I leaned over to him, my breath coming out hot. "Just hang in there, Elena." He casually patted the back of my hand, his tone completely flat. "You need to be here today. All the Moretti family's books are in your head. Those old foxes need to see you sitting here to feel confident this deal is solid."

The older man ignored Marco’s hostility entirely and looked back at Lorenzo. “You’ve been quite difficult to reach,” he said calmly.. “And who are you?” Lorenzo’s voice came out cold enough to slice through stone “Fair question.” The man smiled slightly. “I’m Adrian Moretti.” The name settled heavily into the tunnel and Ricci’s expression hardened, Marco looked furious. And Isabella…saw the exact second Lorenzo recognized it. Because Moretti was not an unknown name inside the De Luca world. He was a ghost. A man who had been whispered about in fragments after disappearing years ago during the violent restructuring of old alliances across Italy’s underground networks.

Then Marcus's phone buzzed, the office phone on the table also started ringing. I picked up my phone. A news alert. BREAKING: Leaked medical records confirm Adrian Moretti has terminal cardiomyopathy. Doctors give him less than six months. Stock free-falling. Moretti Industries on the brink of collapse. My chest gave a sharp, violent squeeze. For real this time. I grabbed the doorframe. My vision tunneled. Marcus caught me before I hit the ground. "Boss! Boss, stay with me!"

He finally wants to go through the right procedures after making me waste my strength. " And the name is Rain Moretti." Rain Moretti. My breath became unsteady. I knew that name. Everyone knew that name. As in the Moretti family offspring, I hear that a million times per month, the strongest mafia family–no one else claims that last name. Stay away from anyone with that last name everyone advises. They collect debts in blood. It's always a bad news with them, they never spare the prey. I’d heard the stories in gossip tones at lunch. Seen the news clips. People who crossed them vanished. Or even worse.

But curiosity had always been my biggest weakness. I moved closer to the door. “Please, Don Moretti. Give me another chance.” Moretti? My eyes widened. Even someone like me knew that name. Dante Moretti. The notorious mafia boss whose name appeared in whispered conversations and newspaper reports about organized crime. Nobody knew exactly how many businesses he controlled. Nobody knew how many people had disappeared after crossing him. But everybody knew one thing. You did not mess with Dante Moretti. My fingers tightened around the whiskey bottle. Oh, hell no.

Cesare gave a silent order, and his men moved around the side. I circled from the other direction and took out the shooter on the high point. Gunfire cracked across the docks for nearly fifteen minutes. When it ended, Moretti was on one knee, no longer able to stand. He reached for me. I stepped away. "Take Mr. Valtieri to the doctor." His hand froze in midair. Mr. Valtieri. Not Moretti. Not the name I had once whispered when there was no one else in the room. Just his surname, clean and distant enough to put every old thing back where it belonged.

“Anyways, it looks like you guys are holding down things over there. Before Dimitri returns to the shadows, tell him to visit the pack house and give me an update." I ended the call. …………………………… The restaurant was all polished marble and silent bodyguards. Antonio Moretti rose from his seat, his gold watch glinting under the chandeliers. Antonio Moretti, he was a man in his late thirties, older than me by far but not nearly as rich or as accomplished. He had at least a decade to carry his family empire and he had ruined half of it. The Morettis used to be respectable partners and businessmen in our world, but with their oldest Antonio at the head of affairs, things only kept going downhill.

I had just sat down when another message came through. It was from Bianca. The time. The address for Christie’s. And one line beneath it. Dare to come, Mrs. Moretti? Lorenzo says tonight he’ll buy the final lot at any cost for me. That evening, I arrived at the auction exactly on time. I had not planned to go. By midnight, the arrangements my mother had made would already be in motion. Soon, Sofia Moretti would be dead. What did it matter if a younger woman wanted to provoke me one last time?