Lorenzo Berkshire Novels & Stories

Cold gray eyes swept over the scene like a storm calculating landfall. He looked first at her bleeding lip. Then at Victor. The air changed. “Was this part of the bridal preparation?” Lorenzo asked, voice so smooth it could slice skin. “Because I don’t recall violence being listed in the dowry.” Victor straightened instantly, like a soldier caught slacking by his general. “I wasn’t expecting you.” Lorenzo ignored him. His attention shifted to Aria. His gaze was sharp, penetrating, like he was dissecting her from the inside out.

“I do not want to have to call on the pack’s aid if we were to go to war with the Castello family, just because you chose this one time not to do your homework before a job.” Lorenzo growled with frustration, and jumped to his feet again as if he were going to defend himself before he thought better of it. “Well there is a simple solution,” he said with a smirk, coming to stand behind my hair and placing his hands on my shoulders. “We kill her and leave her body for the sharks to deal with.” His hands slowly ran up my shoulders until they wrapped around my neck, just resting there none too gently while I felt my eyes widen and my breathing hitched in my throat.

The axis upon which everything else turned? Lorenzo’s mind drifted backward, unbidden. The pageant. The bombshell Indian girl he’d noticed immediately, the one with the waist-length raven hair and luminous brown skin. He’d been drawn to her without thinking, without effort. There had been something mesmerizing about her poise, her beauty, her quiet confidence. What was her name again? Pia? Pooja? Prisha? Lorenzo couldn’t remember. Nonno had dismissed her with a single glance. Too soft, he’d said. Too accustomed to ease.

Lorenzo smiling at whatever she said. One look at her you will know she’s from the rich. Everything in her screams luxury. She is the type that men will rush on. I have to say she's a beautiful lady. The meeting was going on but my mind wasn't together with it. One side was at the event that transpires between me and Damon and the other side at how the lady was staring at Damon. I could swear I saw him smile at her. I felt a pang in my chest at that gesture. He didn't even spare me a glance once talk less of a smile. I felt unwanted. The meeting finally ended after a hour with some minutes. Mr. Lorenzo said some few words. The investors were satisfied with the outcome of the explanations.

"They're reopening bids for the port contracts. The construction deals are terminated. Yesterday, their men blocked our land acquisition in the South District." Every word was a hammer blow. "I'm sorry, Father." "Sorry?" Lorenzo sneered. "Do you know what this means, Isabella? This war between our families is a sign of weakness. The other players will see an opportunity. They'll start testing us." "I know," I whispered. "And that Dante boy is treating Clara like a damn queen." Lorenzo got up and paced to the window. "He took her to Bulgari yesterday and ordered a half-million-dollar jewelry set. Today they're in Milan, getting her fitted for a wedding dress."

Lorenzo's eyes twitched, trying to understand what she meant by three inches. "Of course I knew it, always those with a three fucking inches dick that violate young ladies" Lorenzo's eyes turned sore. She didn't just call his emperor, three inches. Wondering right. Yeah, Lorenzo is one of those deranged men that names their dick. And his was known as emperor. By this time, Adriana's back had hit the wall, nowhere to go again, she was stuck. A smirk appeared on Lorenzo's lip. "I see you are interested in seeing Emperor" Lorenzo spoke for the first time his voice sending shivers down the spine of Adriana. He reached out for her jaw and ran his hands on it while his other hand hung on the ho

he commented under his breath and lay on his bed with his hand at the back of his head. ‘At least she isn’t crazy like the last one’ he thought with a smirk. ... Dimitri Lorenzo is the second and now the only son of a Spanish business mogul, Donald Lorenzo, and a former British hairstylist turned businesswoman, Patricia Lorenzo. He is New York City's most eligible bachelor/playboy as the media displays him. The Lorenzos' have a wide chain of businesses from hotels to restaurants to beauty salons, clothing lines, shipping, and many more running back home in Spain, here in New York, in other states in the US, and in many countries in other parts of the world.

Not here. Lorenzo looked exactly as he always did, devastatingly handsome in an expensive charcoal suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His dark hair was slightly mussed, as if he had been running his hands through it, and his jaw was set in that determined way that I had come to recognize meant he wasn't going to back down from whatever he wanted. And right now, what he wanted was clearly answers. Behind him, I could see Eric Blackwell hovering in the hallway, looking uncomfortable but resigned. So Lorenzo had brought backup. Or maybe Eric had come to try to keep his cousin under control. Either way, it didn't matter.

he declared sharply, his words dripping with a quiet intensity. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Gerald lurks around for a minute, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for potential listeners. Then, his voice low and laced with a hint of caution, he dropped the bombshell. "I think the hit bears the mark of the Lorenzos," he spoke sternly, his tone a mixture of conviction and trepidation. The Lorenzos have been my worst nightmare ever since I became the richest billionaire in London Dockland and owned many manufacturing companies in London and California.

14 LORENZO “I allowed her to see the finer things in life."