Stacy Moretti Novels & Stories

On the day of the crash, I called Enzo Vitale ninety-nine times on the emergency channel. On the hundredth call, his Consigliere finally picked up. "Don Enzo has already used family resources to escort Miss Moretti to a private hospital," he said. "Her condition…isn’t good. Don asked me to tell you not to disturb him again." But that was not the worst part. When I woke up, my baby was gone. The doctor said the accident was too severe and they could not save the child. Then I heard the truth. “Chiara is carrying my child,” Enzo said. “Her last wish is to have a child before she goes. I gave her that. But this must stay between us. Alessia cannot know.” “We had no choice,” my mother Rosalina said, her voice flat. “Chiara doesn't have long. We want her last days to be peaceful.” “Alessia will understand,” my father Alberto said. “She's always been reasonable. She'll see this is about giving a dying woman her final wish.” They were comforting a dying woman. My child was dead. But all they cared about was Chiara's baby. I stumbled away. Chiara stood at the end of the hallway and smiled at me. “I am not dying,” she whispered. “I just want everything you have.” I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “Professor Luciano,” I said quietly. “I've changed my mind. I am ready to join your closed medical research program.” The woman who once begged for love had died with her child.

04:00 AM. JFK International Airport. I switched off airplane mode, and my phone lit up. The first notification was an Instagram story from my husband, Donovan Valentino, Don of the Valentino family, posted at 3:30 AM: a photo of Seraphina Moretti’s back, captioned, “Run 50 completed. Package delivered safe.” An hour before that, my flight had hit catastrophic clear-air turbulence, dropping two thousand feet in seconds. I’d clung to my seatbelt until my knuckles turned white, the crumpled threat letter from a rival crew pressed like a blade against my ribs. In those blind, falling seconds, one thought burned through the panic: If I live through this—if Donovan is waiting at arrivals—I’ll tear up my transfer papers to Dubai and stay. But there were no missed calls. No messages. He’d been too busy collecting Seraphina. He knew my flight details. He just didn’t care. Four years of marriage. 50 fully armed security details for Seraphina. For my 112 long-haul flights over those same four years? The most I ever got was a driver in an unmarked sedan. Even the night Gambino’s crew tailed me from Manhattan, and I spent six hours locked in a diner bathroom. He didn’t pick up until dawn, after the twelfth try. My transfer to Dubai was confirmed. The signed divorce settlement was in my bag. This was the last time I’d ever come back for him.

They couldn't be my mates. Not them. Not my stepbrothers. "Welcome to your official hell, Anna." Lorenzo's smile was cruel as he stepped closer. I stepped back — and hit a wall of solid chest. I spun around. Alexander's dark eyes met mine. His hand shot up, gripping my jaw with bruising force."Time to pay, Princess." *** Anastasia's life has been nothing but survival. An abusive father. A pack that treated her like nothing more than a servant. And just when she thought it couldn't get worse... fate delivered its cruelest blow. The Moretti brothers—her stepbrothers—returned for revenge. With vengeance in their veins and hatred in their hearts. Her father escaped but she remained trapped. Now... They had her. And they swore to make her pay for what her father had done to their family, they wanted repayment. From her. Not knowing she, too, was a victim of the same despicable man. Their only goal was to make her life a living hell. They hated her. Craved revenge. They tortured her, broke her, made her suffer every second of the day... But then came her first shift—the night that turned her life upside down all over again. Because she learned the truth. They were her mates. Alexander and Lorenzo—the very men who had sworn to destroy her—were bound to her by fate. Now trapped in a deadly game of hatred and destiny... What will happen to Anastasia? Will she survive them? Or will they succeed in destroying her—just like her father destroyed their mother?

The only reckless thing I ever did in my last life was fall in love with Luca Moretti. For five years, I called him my brother by day and lay in his arms by night. Then half a month ago, outside the Moretti Club, I heard him talking to his men. "Luca, what are you going to do about the little girl Grace brought in? Weren't you supposed to play with her and dump her? How has this gone on for five years?" "You got with her to get back at your stepmother, right? Sophia dumped you back then, so you turned around and went after Grace's precious daughter. Don't tell me you actually fell for her." Then Luca's cold, cruel voice slipped through the crack in the door. "Love her? Come on. I just haven't decided how to end it yet. Maybe I'll let her stand alone in the church on our engagement day. That could be fun." Laughter burst from the private room. I stood outside the door, my hands and feet turning ice-cold. So my five years of love were just his pastime, a knife meant to cut my mother. I ran from the club in a panic, drove straight into the storm, and died in a pileup on Chicago's South Side. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the year before anyone knew about me and Luca. This time, I wasn't going to wait for him to throw me away. I would leave first.

A bought marriage. An uncontrollable desire. An empire at stake. Lorenzo Moretti doesn’t seduce. He dominates. A billionaire CEO feared across Europe, Lorenzo rules Milan like a modern king: cold, ruthless, untouchable. Until his grandfather’s will traps him with a single humiliating condition, to keep the empire, he must take a wife. No love. No romance. Just strategy. Sofia Duarte is broken. Her family’s studio is drowning in debt, her father is destroyed, and the legacy she swore to protect is about to be erased. When Lorenzo offers an obscene deal, marriage in exchange for salvation, she hates every word… and accepts. A contract. Twelve months. One house. One bed. A perfect image. What Lorenzo buys is a wife. What he gets is a woman who refuses to bow. Between explosive arguments, forced proximity, and power games that turn into seduction, hatred starts to burn. The looks last too long. The touches cross forbidden lines. Breathing changes. And when the tension finally breaks, it isn’t gentle. It’s fire. Because Lorenzo doesn’t know how to love, he knows how to possess. And Sofia doesn’t know how to obey, she challenges, provokes, and ignites him. While enemies close in on the empire and the media hunts for cracks in their perfect lie, the contract becomes a golden cage where desire turns into weapon, weakness, and addiction. He bought her to save his throne. She married him to save her family. Neither of them was ready for what happens when Milan’s most dangerous CEO loses control… in bed, in power, and in his heart. Luxury. Domination. Forced proximity. Contract marriage. Obsessive CEO. Strong heroine. Sexual tension that turns into wildfire. She was an agreement.

I fell in love with my Cognato, the man who had adopted me. To outsiders, I was merely his adopted principessa from the Moretti family. No one knew about this forbidden relationship. Right on the eve of making our relationship public and announcing our engagement, I took three bullets for him and fell into a coma. But when I finally opened my eyes, Marco announced that his new bride would be Liliana. "Serana, Her parents gave their lives for me. Marrying her now is simply to help her gain a firm foothold." I loved him with my life. He thought I would cause a massive scene at the engagement party, threatening him into marrying me, or else I'd blow the bride's head off with my little BodyGuard. Instead, I elegantly attended his engagement party, called her Cognata, and affectionately kissed her cheek. Because only I knew that in my previous life, I had actually done just that. He was forced to marry me. But on the night of our wedding, Liliana jumped into the sea. After that, he became a hollow shell, never speaking a single word to me again. I finally suffered a complete mental breakdown. In a moment of delirium, I fell down the stairs. When Marco heard the news, he closed his eyes in sheer agony, two silent tears tracing down his jawline: "If it weren't for you, Liliana wouldn't have died. In the next life... stay away from me." When I opened my eyes again, I had actually been reborn. In this life, I let him go. I didn't want that ending anymore. But Cognato... why are you regretting it now?

“Fuck, Princess, you’re driving me wild,” Silas growled, his voice thick, almost desperate. His hand tightened in my hair, urging me on, but his words steadied me. “Don’t stop, just like that.” “Imogen,” he rasped, my name a warning and a plea But his hand stayed steady in my hair, not forcing but grounding me. “Easy, Princess,” he murmured, voice rough but soothing, even as his body shook with his release. “You’ve got this.” “Fuck, Imogen,” he said, voice low and warm, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re incredible.” ************** When love turns toxic, desperation takes over. Imogen's marriage to wealthy Perry was supposed to be a fairytale, but behind the glamour, she's suffocating. Caught in a web of lies and infidelity, Imogen's last hope is a romantic trip to Rome. But when she catches Perry cheating, her world crashes down. Enter Silas Moretti - mysterious, charming, and passionate. As Imogen's secret affair with Silas ignites, she finds herself trapped between two worlds: one of luxury and lies, the other of forbidden desire and danger. When murder entwines their lives, Perry becomes the prime suspect. Imogen's dark secrets surface, and Silas promises to help. But as their romance intensifies, Imogen realizes she may have traded one cage for another. Will she escape the deadly trap of her own making, or will her quest for revenge consume her? Dive into this twisted game of love, lies, and betrayal, where nothing is as it seems, and the line between freedom and captivity blurs. Can Imogen break free, or will she become the next victim?

Imran Khan’s life falls apart the day his father disappears, leaving him drowning in debt and hunted by dangerous men. With no way out, he makes a desperate choice, selling one night of his life to a stranger. But that stranger turns out to be Rafaelle Moretti, a powerful and dangerous man who doesn’t just want one night… he wants control. What starts as a deal quickly turns into something darker. Possession. Power. Desire. Imran wants freedom. Rafaelle doesn’t let go. “Say my name, Gattino.” His voice came out low, smooth, and controlled, the kind that didn’t need to be loud to make your body react. It wrapped around me, heavy and dangerous, as his body pressed mine deeper into the mattress. I could feel the weight of him, solid and unyielding, hovering just enough to remind me that I wasn’t going anywhere unless he allowed it. I swallowed, my throat dry, my chest rising and falling too fast. Even thinking his name felt like stepping into something I couldn’t come back from. His hand pinned my wrist above my head, not rough, not painful, just firm enough to remind me who was in control. The other slid slowly along my side, fingers dragging in a way that made my skin heat up against my will. Every touch was deliberate, like he was studying me, learning how I reacted without me saying a word. “Say it,” he murmured again, his face closer now, his breath warm against my lips.

Tate flirts with danger the same way he flirts with men. Recklessly. So when his father’s debts land him in the hands of Enzo Moretti, a cold-blooded mafia boss with a smile as sharp as his threats, Tate should be terrified. Instead, he flirts harder, hiding sharp eyes behind thick glasses like he doesn’t see the monster watching him. But he does. He always did. Enzo is no ordinary criminal. He’s a werewolf with a body built to break, a past soaked in blood, and a temper barely kept in check. Tate is supposed to be collateral—silent, obedient, forgotten. But Tate? He’s loud, shameless, stubborn enough to make Enzo feel. For months, they circle each other—clashing, teasing, burning. Enzo should’ve killed him, but instead, he steals him. Holds him. Breaks him open until their craving for each other twists between punishment and pleasure, until need feels like worship, and pain starts to taste like love. Then, when Tate thinks he’s escaped, when he thinks he’s free—Enzo lets him go. When someone else tries to take what’s already his, Enzo doesn’t hesitate. He drags Tate back, and now the boy wears his name, carries his ring, and sleeps in his bed. Maybe Tate should hate him. But he doesn’t. Because he never wanted gentle. He never wanted safe. He wanted this—blinding, consuming desire. And Enzo? He doesn’t let go. Not when he’s tasted him. Marked him. Owned him. Because monsters like him don’t share. Not even with their own blood.

My husband, Cesare Ferrante, the most feared Don of the Ferrante family, had always hated children. Yet everything changed the moment my stepsister, Bianca Moretti, moved in next door with her six-month-old baby. Suddenly, my husband became obsessed with that child. He personally fed the baby formula, sang lullabies, and carried the baby everywhere he went. Every day, he came home exhausted at dawn, yet his face glowed with joy, as if that baby occupied his entire soul. I became invisible to him. Three days ago, someone forced my car off the road, and I crashed into the median. Blood streamed down my forehead, and my vision swam. I called Cesare 55 times. He did not answer a single call. Instead, he posted a photo of the baby on his social media. [My little angel smiled today!] I had had enough. Tonight at the family banquet, every member of the famiglia was seated around the table. I raised my final toast, then set down my glass. "I want a divorce." They all froze. "Are you insane?" My parents' voices rose in unison. Cesare grabbed my wrist, disbelief written across his face. "Giulia, you want to divorce me just because I was busy taking care of the baby and didn't answer your calls? You're actually jealous of a six-month-old child?" I did not meet his eyes. Instead, I stared at the glaring kiss mark behind his ear. "Since you love that child so much," I said calmly, "I'll make it easy for you. Go be that child's father."