Miles Moretti Novels & Stories

Dante Moretti, the ruthless Billionaire CEO, hungers for power and control. Cold, calculated, he sends shivers down his rivals' spines with his cold, calculated way into any business deal that might pop up in his way. But inside the steely exterior of this man, a traumatic past torments him to have left him detached and numb as regards love. His goal is simple: solidify his control and paramountcy and build on an empire. Lyra Caine grew up privileged in a family that had disintegrated; the fortune of her father, Richard Caine, once a strong king of finance, had shrunk due to a number of bad investments. She needed to be married off to Dante Moretti, a man rumored never to have shied away from getting ruthless in whatever business dealings he had, so that their name would not be utterly ruined. Lyra had lived her whole life by what this great shadow of a father expected from her: fragile, with this inner fire barely apparent in herself. But here is the kicker that makes it even more twisted: Dante isn't marrying Lyra out of love or even because of business needs. He has an ulterior motive linked to her father's long-buried secrets, one that could totally unravel her family should it come to light.

Clive Hawkins, who had been giving me the cold shoulder, posted on X. [First 100 likes get a breakup cash giveaway.] In no time, it had 99 likes and reposts. I knew he was waiting for me to give in, just like how I begged him to delete it during the ten times we fought before. But this time, I reposted it myself and wrote, [Count me in.] Then, I blocked him on every platform. Three days later, his sister messaged me. [Clive saved you a front row seat. Stop hiding and come back. As long as you show up, he's willing to forgive you.] I glanced at the plane ticket on my desk and replied. [I'm busy.] I really was busy. I’d been admitted to graduate school at Redstone University, and my flight was leaving that night for orientation. From then on, we would be separated by thousands of miles, never to see each other again.

Three months since my husband, Julian Moretti, disappeared. I walked into his favorite den, the grief so deep it stole the air from my lungs. I just wanted to breathe him in, to find any trace of him that was left. Then I heard it. A familiar laugh. And the soft moan of a woman. Through a crack in the door, I saw him. My husband, the man "missing" for three months, had his hand tangled in another woman's hair. "Baby, just a little longer," he said. "Soon as I siphon enough cash from the family's books, we're gone. You and me." In his arms was Bianca, from the Rosso family. "What about your wife?" she purred. "Let her play the grieving widow. She's nothing without me anyway." My fists clenched. The world went quiet, my blood turning to ice. The next day, I put the word out to the entire Family. "I'm holding a memorial mass for my husband." At the service, he stormed in, a ghost returned from the grave, roaring that he was alive and there to take back what was his. But I was standing next to his uncle, Dante Moretti, and all I did was stare him down. "Then explain," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "Explain the woman. Explain the money. Explain your betrayal... to the Family. And to me."

Five years into my marriage to the Don, Ives Moretti, he left me for dead during a shootout to get his mistress, Isabella, to safety. I woke up three days later in a private hospital room. No apology. Ives was cold. “You’re my wife. You knew the risks. Stop being so dramatic.” Then, he added, “Isabella’s different. She’s fragile. She needed me.” That was followed by three months of the silent treatment. Like always, he expected me to be the one to break, to come crawling back begging for forgiveness. Three months later, I handed the Irish deal to Isabella on a silver platter. The big one I’d spent half a year building myself. Ives thought it was a peace offering. He smiled, a rare, genuine thing these days. “I knew you’d come around. As a reward, we’ll go to Vegas. I know you’ve always wanted to go.” The next day, Isabella whined about being bored, and he broke his promise. He took her to Vegas instead. Told me it was “urgent family business.” This time, I didn’t cry. Didn’t make a scene. Ives was pleased I was being so understanding. He had no idea I was already cutting all ties to the Moretti family. That he’d already signed the divorce papers. I was free.

This is a story of two perfect strangers entangled in the bond of marriage. After marriage, they both believed they are not meant for each other until one day they were touched by the divine love, Rithu a 23-year old girl, she is a smart, sweet and lovely person with a kind heart, and Vikram a 31-year old guy, he is a handsome, hardworking businessman with an aloof and rude nature. They're arranged to get married by their parents, though they lived under the same roof they are miles apart. Vikram decided not to open his heart to her and Rithu hated his introverted nature. But love has its own way on them. Which made their hearts come closer and understand each other and unknowingly they developed a strong bond between them. As the time moves, will they realize that they're in love.......... To know that let's travel in this sweet, romantic, and heartwarming journey of a couple who found unconditional love after Marriage. This story is unedited and you may find mistakes.

They say distance means so little when the person means so much… But when you mean nothing to that person then, the little distance will definitely mean so much… They say distance is a test of how far love can go but what if there is no love in the first place… They say the worst thing about distance is we don’t know whether they miss you or forget you, but what if they don’t even give a sign that they feel your presence even after looking at you every day… Distance doesn’t just refer to the miles between two persons. Because we are not living in different places far away from each other, but still, there is a distance between us. Is it going to be just there forever? Or will there be any way to reduce it... You may have become my husband, but you made yourself as a stranger to me by forming this distance between us, and I am losing the little hope which I formed in the beginning slowly…

I'm the daughter of Don Falcone. After I got back from studying abroad, my family threw a welcome-home banquet, conveniently setting me up to meet the fiancé my father had handpicked for me—Santino Moretti. My father praised the guy to the skies in his letters: he was the heir to the Moretti family, elegant, ruthless, drop-dead gorgeous, and holding half the city’s underground operations in the palm of his hand. I arrived at the Elysium Hotel right on the dot. Just as I was about to take a seat, a hand shoved me hard. A woman's shrill voice pierced my ear. "Livia, what's a Sicilian peasant like you doing here? This is the Imperial Suite. Do you think you even deserve to breathe the air in a place like this?" I recognized the woman. It was Bella, a bitch who had always had it out for me back in college. She was clearly trying to humiliate me. Instead of getting mad, I smirked. "Whether I deserve to be here or not—is that for you to decide?" Bella sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm Mr. Santino's personal assistant. Today, Mr. Santino is hosting the eldest daughter of the Falcone family here. This isn't an occasion for bottom-feeding trash like you." "Be smart and crawl back to your slum." I pulled out my phone and dialed my so-called fiancé. I wanted to ask him if it was a tradition in the Moretti family to let their dogs bark at the front door.

Winter thought she was finally safe. She was wrong. After escaping a violently obsessive ex who controlled, isolated, and hunted her for two years, Winter moves into the fortified Moretti estate with her mother, hoping a new city and a powerful stepfamily will keep her hidden. But safety is an illusion—and predators always recognize their own. From the moment she steps through the iron gates, Winter becomes the focus of three dangerous men: Dante, the cold, controlling eldest who rules through dominance and precision. Kai, the volatile enforcer whose violence is as effortless as his desire. Luca, the gentle-faced strategist whose protection feels disturbingly intimate. When Marcus—Winter’s abusive ex—reappears within hours of her arrival, stalking the mansion and threatening bloodshed, the brothers respond with brutal certainty: Winter is theirs now, and no one touches what belongs to them. As Marcus escalates from messages to violence, Winter finds herself caught between two nightmares—one man who wants to reclaim her through fear, and three men who protect her with possession, control, and force. The Moretti brothers promise safety, but their protection comes at a cost: her freedom, her choices, and possibly her heart. With danger closing in and the line between rescue and captivity blurring, Winter must decide whether the wolves guarding her are saving her life—or simply replacing one cage with another.

She sold him out. Now, he’s coming to collect. Maya Serrano was the ultimate honey trap. Her job was to dismantle the Moretti empire from the inside, but she made a fatal mistake: she fell for the monster she was sent to cage. She traded her mission for his touch, losing herself in a haze of rough hands and whispered sins—until the law finally tore them apart. Lucien Moretti spent five years in a cage, fueled by the memory of Maya’s betrayal and the lingering scent of her skin. Now he’s out, he’s reclaimed his throne with blood, and his first order of business is hunting down the traitor who vanished into the night. He didn't just want her head; he wanted her back in his bed, stripped of her secrets and her pride. But when he finally corners her, the interrogation turns into an explosion of starved, primal lust. And in the wreckage of their reunion, he discovers a truth that changes everything: a four-year-old girl with his eyes and his ruthless streak. The rules of the game have changed. Lucien doesn’t forgive, and he definitely doesn't share. Maya thought she could outrun her past, but Lucien is about to prove that she belongs to him—body, heart, and soul. She cost him his freedom. Now, he’s going to take hers.

The Clan Healer told me that without the vial of Progenitor's Blood, the Blood Blight afflicting me meant I had only seventy-two hours to live. But my husband, Miles, the new Duke of our world, gave the only vial of the precious cure to my adopted sister, Vivienne, the woman I had turned three years ago. "She's in agony from the rejection, Isolde. It's a pain you can't possibly understand." His tone was self-righteous, devoid of any concern for the patch of skin on my collarbone already turning to stone. I nodded, watching as the life-saving, dark red liquid slid down another woman's throat. I accomplished a great deal in the time I had left. As I signed the documents, the lawyer's hand trembled. "Are you certain you want to transfer everything, Your Grace? The territorial rights of a thousand-year-old clan..." I didn't hesitate. "Yes. To Vivienne." My adopted daughter, Lily, the girl I had risked everything to save, who was now forever frozen at the age of eight, cowered in Vivienne's arms, pointing at me and screaming, "Aunt Vivienne is my real mommy! You're the witch who turned us into monsters!" I offered no defense. "Yes, that's right. Be a good girl and listen to your new mother now." The Progenitor's Ring, the symbol of the clan's supreme authority, now rested on Vivienne's hand. "Oh, sister, you're too kind," she sobbed, her sobs a practiced performance. "I'll be sure to protect the family in your stead." I nodded. "You'll run things better than I ever did." I even signed away my control over the Elder Council, a council sustained by my own blood. For the first time in a century, a shadow of complex emotion crossed Miles's face. He stared at me,"Isolde, stop fighting. It's better this way. You need to rest." Yes. On my deathbed, I had finally become the perfect, submissive Isolde they always wanted. An Isolde who was about to turn to dust. The seventy-two-hour countdown had begun. I wondered, when I finally turned to ash,