Miles Moretti Novels & Stories

I had been in love with Damian Moretti for two full years. I knew how pathetic that sounded. Falling for your boss was already a bad idea. Falling for a man like Damian was practically a warning label in human form. He was the heir to the Moretti family, the CEO of Moretti Holdings, and the kind of man Upper East Side socialites watched the way people watched a loaded gun: with fear, curiosity, and terrible judgment. The Moretti name came with rumors. Private docks. Black Bentleys. Men in dark suits who appeared before trouble and disappeared before police did. None of that had anything to do with me.

"Make the preparations. Double the guards at the mill. Dante wants a war? He'll get a funeral." ********* Miles away, Dante Moretti lounged in his study, the room a sanctuary of dark leather and gleaming weapons racks. The adrenaline from the warehouse raid still thrummed in his veins, his knuckles raw from the fight, coat singed from the flames. Liam stood nearby, coordinating with the crew via radio, his face etched with the weariness of endless operations. The phone buzzed on the desk, an anonymous number, but Dante knew. He snatched it up, opening the message: a photo of Alessia, her wrists raw from ropes, face pale but unbroken, with GPS coordinates pinned to an old mill on the city's f

Each one more determined. "Fine," I said. "Send me the information. I'll interview whoever you think is best." "I'm not giving you options to interview. I'm sending you the best. His name is Dante Moretti. Former Special Forces, now runs his own private security firm. He specializes in high-risk protection. He's expensive, he's intense, and he doesn't take no for an answer. He'll be at your apartment in two hours." "Marcus, wait—" "Two hours, Adrian. Be ready."

A second later, the screen lit up. A photograph appeared. A man in his early fifties, sharp eyes, expression unreadable. The kind of face that blended into crowds and vanished just as easily. “This is Lorenzo Moretti,” the lead investigator said. Sophia’s breath caught. “He’s Italian,” the man continued. “A professional assassin. Old-school. Known in underground circles for one thing, clean jobs. No witnesses. No loose ends. No emotional involvement.” He paused, letting the weight of that sink in.

And then I saw him… He stood by the window, shirtless, glass of bourbon in hand, watching the skyline like a god surveying his domain. And he didn’t even flinch when he spoke. “You’re late.” I froze. Did he know that I was coming? My finger tightened on the trigger. “Turn around.” He did. Slowly. Like he had all the time in the world. My heart raced. Damian Moretti wasn’t just beautiful. He was unholy. His black hair was a mess, it seemed deliberately disheveled. Ink wound down his arms in brutal, elegant patterns, muscles shifting beneath them like coiled wire. A scar slashed across his collarbone and his eyes were like storm clouds, cold, unreadable, and dangerous.

**Meanwhile – Unknown Location** Moretti sat in a dimly lit room, his face still swollen, his ribs aching from the beating he had taken. But he was alive. And that was all that mattered. A man stood in the shadows across from him, arms crossed, eyes cold. “You should be dead,” the man said flatly. Moretti smirked, wincing at the pain in his jaw. “And yet, here I am.” The man didn’t look impressed. “You failed.” Moretti’s smile faded. Because he had failed. And now, he needed a new plan. A better plan. One that would destroy Damien Carter for good.

His hand was calloused and warm—a total contrary to her cold, delicate, and trembling ones. "Shan Moretti," he introduced himself, his voice deep and clear, his eyes locking onto hers. She couldn't help but to check him out. Shan Moretti possessed a commanding presence, standing tall with an air of confidence. His dark, tousled hair framed a chiseled jawline and defined features. His intense blue eyes held a depth that seemed to captivate anyone who met his gaze. His tailored suit accentuated his powerful build, exuding both intimidation and an intriguing allure.

"Bring Aaron in. Every man who touched the transfer, the safe house order, the conservatory. No excuses. No delays." The secretary answered quickly "Sir, one more thing. The court confirmed the divorce is clean. Miss Moretti's flight went to St. Clair Harbor." St. Clair Harbor. Moretti ground. The place I had left for him. Lucian lowered the phone and stood there for a long moment. At last, he remembered the way I had looked at him on Raven Street when I handed him those papers. Not angry. Not dramatic. Empty. Alberto watched him. "Regret won't buy you much now. Evelyn is Vito Moretti's daughter. She is not a spoiled little thing you can toss diamonds at until she crawls back into your lap."

With their guns drawn, my team circled the man on the ground. “Who is it?” I was unable to get a good view of the person's face. “It’s Moretti.” Arrow confirmed. Fuck! Lorenzo Moretti was the key to getting to Ricci. “The place was attacked before we got here.” Badger added. “It looks like they didn’t want any loose ends.” Buddha concluded. “No signs of life.” I cursed and ran my hands through my long brown hair. I closed my eyes and tried to calm my racing heart. I’ve been a phantom since as long as I can remember. Always listening, but not being seen. I was a pro at staying quiet and unseen. I've always had a passion for computer programming and hacking. My mothers last words always in the

“I’m fine.” A lie. A big one. Her throat tightened with it. “Good.” He clasped his hands. “Because this is serious. The cops intercepted some chatter. They believe it was a territorial attack involving one of the major mafia families.” Her heartbeat picked up. She didn’t blink. He lowered his voice. “And they believe Dante Moretti was involved.” Her chest tightened. She swallowed. “Why do you think it’s him” “You know why,” Mr. Royce replied. “He has been on everyone’s radar for years. Sooner or later, he was going to slip. It seems last night might have been the moment.”