Klein Moretti Wiki Novels & Stories

“I will, James.” James was about to close the door of my room when I called him. “James…” “Yes, Miss Clarkson?” I bit my bottom lip. “Uhm… Is Moretti home?” “I believe your scope of responsibility only includes the young master’s business. I have explained that to you clearly.” I nodded. “Yes, but I’m just curious.” “Well…” He faced me completely. “Mr. Moretti is out of town. He has a business trip.” “Oh!” I nodded, and smiled again. “Thank you.”

“Sure, sure. And what did you learn, oh wise one?” Mia grinned, grabbing her phone. “Well, I stumbled across something interesting. You know Alexander’s business partner?” I paused at the doorway to my room. “Which one?” Mia rolled her eyes. “Lorenzo Moretti.” I frowned. “Who?” Mia groaned. “Oh my God, Elena. Lorenzo Moretti! He owns Moretti Fashion Academy the one I go to. He’s a billionaire, super influential, and apparently a close associate of Alexander’s.”

He noticed that the way he noticed everything else. Catalogued it. Filed it away. Rich girl. The kind of wealth that never needed to announce itself because it was stitched into every detail. He kept those observations exactly where they belonged. Away from his face. One of Tiziana's assistants placed a folder on the table. "The flight is on me," Tiziana said. "You don't need to repay it." Nico opened the folder. The first page contained a summary. Celeste Moretti. Age twenty six. Researcher at Vitale Group International's R&D.

Tight, fast, like he was in a rush. I flipped through more pages and found it again, this time in the margin of an article about a shipping company shut down for smuggling weapons through the Jo’burg port. Moretti Imports. That wasn’t local. That was organized. The kind of name that doesn’t appear in press statements but moves things behind them. I didn’t know who this Moretti was yet, but the way Kaden had marked it—once with a question mark, the second time underlined three times—it meant something.

Seeing the Moretti brand on him could skyrocket my sales. “A perfect plan,” I muttered, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I drafted an email. *** Email to Chris Bruno Mars Dear Fashionista Chris Bruno Mars, I hope this message finds you well. My name is Gabriel Moretti, and I am the founder of Moretti Shoes, a brand dedicated to combining elegance, comfort, and innovation in footwear. Your impeccable style and influence in the fashion industry have inspired countless individuals. I believe your unique presence aligns perfectly with the vision and ethos of our brand. It would be an honor to collaborate with you as a brand ambassador, showcasing our latest collections and embodying the es

"He added a personal note. He wants to speak with the designer directly. I told Léa to decline." "Why?" Elena said. I had expected agreement. The single word stopped me. "Because I cannot have K. Monroe's identity connected to anything that reaches Alex's network," I said. "Moretti has connections across the entire sector." "Yes," Elena said. "He does." A pause. "He also has connections that Alex Hayes has never been able to access and never will. The two networks are not the same network." She paused again. "Do you know why Dante Moretti built his company the way he did? The sustainable sourcing, the independent retail structure, the deliberate distance from the legacy luxury conglomerates?

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?

I have to kill him soon to spare me from all this crazy shit. "Food's ready!" A deep voice bellows and an older version of Alessandro enters the kitchen. I think Alessandro may have been right. Moretti men only give seed to other Moretti men. The media pictures don't do Antonio Moretti justice. I know he's already in his sixties, but he still sports a fit physique with his hair sprinkled with salt and pepper. If this is what Alessandro will look like in his sixties, then where do I sign up?

A man I didn't recognize, well dressed, mid fifties, photographed in what appeared to be an airport arrivals area. "Leo Moretti," Luca said. "Vincenzo's nephew. He landed in New Orleans this morning." I studied the photograph. Leo Moretti. The name had appeared in Nadia's documents twice, not Vincenzo's nephew specifically but a younger Moretti who had been present at two of the documented meetings and had been noted as behaving differently from the others, with what my mother had described as visible discomfort. "He was at the meetings my mother documented," I said.

Chapter forty-one— drunk ☆Micaiah's POV☆ "Moretti's here." Kieran's voice cut through the noise. I followed his gaze to the VIP section across the club where Vincent Moretti held court, surrounded by his usual entourage of yes-men and women who cost more per hour than most people made in a week. "Wonderful," I muttered. "We should say hello. Politics and all that." "I'd rather drink battery acid." "Come on. Five minutes. We need to know where he stands with this newcomer situation."