Miles Moretti Novels & Stories

“Very ready.” Just then, a staff member appeared behind him, pulling a suitcase. Bianca’s eyes dropped to it. “You’re traveling?” Mr. Moretti nodded. “I’m heading to Chicago for a week.” His expression softened slightly. “It’s a special memorial service. I want to spend some time at your mother’s grave.” Bianca’s smile faded a little. “I wish I could come too.” Mr. Moretti gently squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I still don’t find any reason to say yes to you. I know nothing about you.” “We can change that right now.” He held his hand toward me. “Hi, I am Dean Moretti. Born and raised in an affluent family in Italy. I am in my family’s business after my father died in a car accident. My ma and two sisters still live in Italy, while I mostly travel back and forth.” “This is not enough," I sighed. “What else do you need? I painted the basic picture of my life.” He pinched his brows together. “You had a file in your office about me. Run multiple background checks on me before approaching my father and only offer the basics to me. That is unfair, Mr. Moretti.” I sighed.

Mark hit the concrete hard. His radio slid several feet away. Its screen flickered once. Then went completely black. He reached for it anyway. Pressed the transmit button. "Mia..." Static. "...I'm coming home." No one heard him. Not even Mia. Across the city, hidden inside a surveillance van, Moretti watched the battlefield through live drone footage. One of his men smiled. "They're completely cut off." Moretti nodded. Then looked at another monitor. It showed the Romano mansion. More specifically...

For the rest of the reception,I sat at the head table under looks of pity,curiosity,and careful silence.Not one Moretti elder spoke.We did not fight in front of outsiders.But I knew that by morning,Adrian Vale would be crossed off several important lists. Not because he lacked money,but because he had made a Moretti daughter look like a joke.

And standing in front of them, calm as death, was the most dangerously beautiful man I’d ever seen. He was tall — at least 6’4” — dressed in a tailored black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing powerful forearms covered in dark ink. His black hair was slicked back, and a sharp jawline framed a face that looked like it was carved for sin. Cold gray eyes scanned the scene with zero emotion. Luciano Moretti. Even I knew that name. The Don of the Moretti family. The man who supposedly ran half this city from the shadows. One of the kneeling men was sobbing. “Please, Don Moretti… it was just business—”

“Miss Bradford, Mr. Moretti Senior’s condition is deteriorating,” the doctor said over the phone. “He told us… If he doesn’t get to see you one last time, he won’t be able to die in peace.” I froze for a moment, stunned by the weight of the words. Renato Moretti—stern, powerful, commanding. A man who once held Stonehaven’s underground economy in the palm of his hand. Ruthless and resolute in the eyes of the world, yet in my darkest hour, he had quietly draped a coat over my shoulders.

IMPORTANT PHONE NUMBERS, it says. Goosebumps rise on my hands. It’s so laughable it’s almost like he planted this here for me. What was he doing with celebrity numbers this early in the morning, and is it possible that Moretti’s number is in here? I flip through the book carefully, reading through the “M” section, fully convinced I wouldn’t see his name. But sure enough, there he is, Nicco Moretti, right under Darnell Moresa, the famous dancer who now owns a string of popular restaurants.

My face is blank, refusing to let anything pass through. “What do you mean?” Mia asks, her eyebrows furrowing together. “Yes Mr Antonio, how may I help you? We were having a good time.” Alex fucking Morrettie says, his voice sounding like a rabbit speaking. “We have work to do, let's go.” I growl because God forbid I accept the reason for me being here is from anything else. “But I came here alo–” “Let's go.” My voice deepens more than usual as I press my jaw together refusing to lose my shit from the way Moretti lets his palm glide over her ass before he lets go.

“The Morettis, Mr. Jameson?” “Yes, Amelia. Mr. Alessandro Ethan Moretti and his brother, Giovanni Aidan Moretti.” Suddenly, Millie’s mind spun. “Holy shit,” she muttered, barely aware she’d said it out loud.