Lorenzo Berkshire Novels & Stories

Andrew steps in, hijacking the conversation and giving me a moment to breathe. I turn away as he continues talking with Lorenzo, stepping quietly out the door. I inhale sharply as the door closes softly behind me, gulping in air with my hand to my chest. What was that? Lorenzo Black isn’t Lucien Moretti. I would’ve recognized those green eyes from a mile away. The thin white scar on his face looks old too and his hair…too brown to be the black my fingers ran through that night in Barcelona. Then it hits me.

She bowed with a smiling face at the woman in her front as she checked her dress out. Well yeah, Lord Lorenzo got her the dress some days ago and with some set of jewelry. He has been extra caring but still with his grumpy attitude and would hardly bring up conversations except princess Carlotta doing the talkings while he only gave short replies at times but then Princess Carlotta wasn't expecting a present from him. "Wow! Is that not the newest silk clothings from Japan." One of the ladies in the room exclaimed, looking at princess Carlotta while the others gasped.

To Lorenzo, it was a bad joke, an anachronism that threatened the empire he had been expanding with iron hands. Lorenzo walked down the marble corridor, the sound of his bespoke shoes echoing like the ticks of a metronome. Upon entering the meeting room, the air seemed to cool. Vincenzo Moretti, a man whose indulgence and lack of vision had nearly bankrupted the company a decade ago, smiled with a satisfaction that Lorenzo felt an urge to erase with a single blow.

When Tony heard Lorenzo reveal this, his face became solemn. "What is he trying to achieve?" Tony mumbled, looking confused. Lorenzo's expression grew colder as he sneered, "Of course, he has already found out that Ben isn't Lewis's son but mine. He didn't want his daughter to hate him, so he is using me to get rid of Ben. But..." A cold smile appeared on Lorenzo's lips as he muttered, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, filled with murderous intent, "I have a big surprise for him. I want to beat him at his own game."

She took a sip of water, composing herself before responding. "No, my dear son, you never had a brother," she replied firmly, her voice carrying a mix of reassurance and caution. I pressed further, a glimmer of concern seeping into my voice. "Then who is Lorenzo?" Madame Beatrice's hands trembled slightly, her gaze momentarily distant as memories resurfaced. With a deep breath, she mustered the courage to share the truth. "Lorenzo... that snake," she began, her voice tinged with a mixture of anger and fear.

“But you’ll like him. He’s charming. Smart. Strong.” “I’m not interested,” I muttered under my breath. “Men are childish, boring, and crude.” Lorenzo snorted. “You might rethink that tonight.” I wanted to roll my eyes, but instead, I focused on finishing my dinner. Lorenzo’s words still echoed in my head, though. “Take his place in the family.” Did that mean Dante was the heir to all this? Would Lorenzo really entrust his empire to someone who’d walked away? My thoughts were interrupted when Lorenzo threw a sleek black card onto the table in front of me.

Six b​ill‍i​on dollars. We weren't just⁠ billionaires ag‌ain. We were untouchable. Lo⁠renz‍o stared at the flash drive. The key to his em​pire. The return of his crown. ​He‍ d‌idn't lo‍ok happy‍. He looked exhausted. "Get out,​" Lorenzo said to Gi​ova​nni. Giovanni f‍linc⁠hed. "Bo⁠s‍s—"

Bianca, now nine, ensured the house never became too solemn. The occasion was the Centennial Foundation Gala, a formal event held in the mansion’s restored Great Hall. It was Lorenzo’s official introduction to the families, the architects, and the builders who made up the Valenti world. ​Lorenzo stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his first charcoal-grey suit. He looked every bit the heir to an empire, but his pockets were still stuffed with a few smooth Amalfi pebbles—a tether to his younger self.

Lorenzo cannot marry this traitorous snake! A tall, tanned, green-eyed young man appeared at the entrance to the makeshift hallway. He gasped a little. — Holy Mother! — Carina whispered as she recognized Brandon Phillips, Lorenzo's best friend. — The irony of life. — She laughed softly. — At least the cuckold has good taste. Smart as she was, Carina had noticed. — What are you doing here, Brandon? — Lorenzo asked, startled, and walked down the two steps to the altar, meeting his best friend. — Veronica! — he shouted, horrified and perplexed, while I laughed.

And Alessia needed a friend who wasn't neck-deep in the family war. Lorenzo… Lorenzo was changing. The initial cold fury had burned down to a steady, simmering ember. He was focused, but the light in his eyes was different. Harder. Colder. He spent hours on the phone with Anton, not just about security, but about other things. Things he didn't share with me. I’d hear snippets. "The shipping routes in the nineties…" "The holding company in Cyprus…" "The fire at the warehouse in Genoa…"