Lorenzo Zurzolo Height Novels & Stories

They just pulled the whole world on their sleeves and they knew it. Upon realizing my presence, Lorenzo's eyes moved up and landed on me, then a small smile stretched on his lips as he stood up and gestured me to sit on a single couch. For a single-seat, it was sure majestic and glorious. "You look beautiful, Tesoro." He complimented kissing the top of my head and then retreated to his seat. Vernero wore his usual scowl as if he was ready to murder someone in an instant. It was always amusing how he managed to stay angry almost every second of the day.

Or maybe it was more like desperation, but the only person he was looking at is me. My gaze shifted to the guard, severing our connection. The guard drew nearer, every stride exuding strength and control. His black suit barely contained the powerful muscles shifting underneath. His towering figure loomed over me, causing me to strain my neck uncomfortably, like being seated too close to the screen in a theater. “This is Lorenzo,” Luca stated. Lorenzo’s meticulously groomed beard perfectly complemented his chiseled jawline, and it all accentuated his intimidating presence. Lorenzo’s professionalism was evident, as his face remained stoic, his dark brown eyes revealing nothing.

"I don't belong to you, and I sure as hell won't be some twisted form of payment." Zordon let out a low chuckle. "Is that so?" He set his glass down on the table behind him and pushed his body forward. I hadn't truly registered how big he was until now. He must have been around six feet, six inches tall. He moved like a predator, slow and calculated. His soaring, broad frame radiated raw power. He stood in front of me, his cologne making my head spin. I always liked a man that smelt nice and clean and Zordon was all of those things and more. Sexy, addictive, and alluring.

I hobbled to the bathroom, muscles sore and protesting with every movement, but I froze halfway there. “Fuck," His voice. I turned. Lorenzo stood near the dresser, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of loose black slacks that hung low on his hips. His V-lines were carved from stone, leading down to where the fabric barely held on. His abs flexed as he moved, effortlessly chiseled, like he belonged on a magazine cover. I blinked. "You're awake," he said, voice a little husky, like he hadn’t spoken yet this morning. His eyes found mine, lingering.

And mine. I toss another log on the fire, sit down in the armchair opposite her, and take a sip of the delicious wine, feeling so much at peace. *************** Lorenzo puts down his glass and picks up a sandwich. He looks glorious. Rumpled hair, stubble, wicked green eyes that glow with desire and love in the firelight. He’s wearing his bulky cream sweater and his black jeans with a rip at the knee, and she spies his skin beneath....Danica drinks him in.

“Come in.” I opened the door and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit with warm golden lights. It looked like a private study mixed with something darker. A large wooden desk sat near the window. In the center of the room was a sturdy leather chair and, beside it, what looked like a padded bench with leather straps and other tools attached. My stomach tightened. Lorenzo stood near the desk, wearing a black shirt with the top buttons open. His sleeves were rolled up, showing his strong forearms and tattoos. He looked calm, powerful, and completely in control.

Zora's POV I stood on the tarmac of the private airfield, the sea breeze blowing through my long hair. No gunpowder. No bitter whiskey. No cheap, cloying perfume. Just the salty, free air of the Mediterranean. A silver Maserati pulled up, and a man got out. Lorenzo Falcone. I'd seen his picture a hundred times, but seeing him in person was something else. He was taller than Colter. More elegant. And far more dangerous.

This marked the beginning of my journey to win over the pilot and evoke deep feelings for me. I had uncovered some very interesting details about Lorenzo through a quick online search, which only heightened my interest in him. As I had suspected, Lorenzo is extremely wealthy. He's Italian and heir to a renowned winery located in the town of Franciacorta, Italy. Furthermore, he's a Formula One champion and enjoys immense success in the most lucrative category of motorsport. In summary, he's a potential candidate for a serious relationship, something I realized from the start, and I need to seize this unique opportunity that has presented itself so perfectly in my life.

So, I am pacing back and forth in the room figuring out how am I going to do this. Just then, the door clicked open, revealing Lorenzo with his 6 feet 1 inches height. The sight of him while calms the panic in my head also fastens my heart beat at the same time. "Any problem?" He asked as he closed the door behind him. "Actually there is just one bed." I said looking at the one double bed in the room. He turned around facing me with a raised eyebrow, "And?" He asks as if my statement is as senseless as his brain.

A few voices echo around me as Lorenzo sits down next to Aimee and directly opposite me. He locks eyes with me for a long minute as a playful smirk plays on his lips. Damn, he’s fine. He has dark golden skin, jet black hair, a pointed long nose, a toned and well-defined body, a defined jawline, and piercing dark brown eyes. He’s the same height and size as Dominique, with Dominique a lot more sexy and attractive. “Aunt Carlotta.” Lorenzo nods in acknowledgment as he turns to her husband. “Pascal.” “Hello, Lorenzo.” Carlotta smiles at the man.