Lorenzo - Prince
The estate feels suffocating tonight. The chandeliers hang heavy with their false brilliance, illuminating a world of polished wood and expensive lies. My father’s men move like shadows along the edges of the room, their presence more of a threat than a comfort.
When I hear the roar of tires on wet cobblestone, my chest tightens. Mac is late. He’s never late.
The car screeches to a halt outside, and I move to the window, watching as Mac stumbles out. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands shake as he adjusts his jacket. Something’s wrong.
“You’re empty-handed?” My father’s voice cuts through the room like a blade, sharp and full of accusation. He’s already standing by the door, the commanding presence that has ruled this family for decades.
“I’ll handle this,” I say, raising a hand to stop him. There’s no use in letting him go off now—not until I know what’s going on. I step out onto the front steps, my shoes echoing against the stone.
Mac looks up as I approach, his face pale, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
“You don’t have the case of money or the shipment,” I say, my voice measured but laced with irritation. “What the hell happened?”
“It… it was Ghost,” Mac stammers, his words tripping over each other. “He showed up at the docks. He knew about the shipment. He… he took everything.”
The name hits me like a slap. Valenti Moretti. Ghost. Of course it’s him. Always him.
“He took it?” I repeat, my voice dropping dangerously low.
Mac nods frantically. “Said it was his docks, that we crossed a line by moving the shipment there. He left a message—carved it into one of the crates. ‘A gift from Ghost.’”
My jaw tightens, fury bubbling just beneath the surface. Ghost doesn’t just steal. He taunts. He wants me to come after him, to play his little games.
My father steps out behind me, his heavy footsteps halting at my side. “Moretti,” he spits, his tone dripping with disdain. “That bastard thinks he can undermine us?”
“He doesn’t think,” I say sharply, turning to face him. “He knows. And he’s daring us to respond.”
My father narrows his eyes, his face a mask of controlled rage. “Then show him what happens when someone dares to cross us. Teach him a lesson he won’t forget.”
I nod once, my mind already racing. If Ghost wants a fight, he’ll get one. But this won’t be some reckless display of violence. It will be calculated, precise—just like him.
“Where’s the shipment now?” I ask Mac.
“They… they were loading it onto their trucks when I left,” he says hesitantly. “It’s probably gone by now.”
“Of course it is,” I mutter, turning away from him. The shipment doesn’t matter. What matters is the message Ghost is trying to send—and the one I’m about to send back.
I grab my jacket from the hall and head for the garage, ignoring the voices calling after me. This is personal now.
The mist hangs heavy over the water as I step onto the docks, my boots sinking slightly into the damp wood. The place is deserted, save for the faint sound of waves lapping against the pylons. But I know he’s here. Ghost never runs.
“Moretti!” I shout, my voice cutting through the night. “Show yourself! Or are you wanting to live up to the name Ghost?”
Silence.
Then, a figure emerges from the shadows, his stride slow and deliberate. He’s dressed in black, his movements casual, but his eyes are anything but.
“Lorenzo,” he says smoothly, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. “You came.”
“You made sure I would,” I snap, stepping closer. “Taking the shipment? Leaving your little message? What do you want, Ghost?”
He shrugs, as if the answer is obvious. “What I always want. To remind you that you’re not untouchable.”
My fists clench at my sides. “You think this is a game?”
He laughs softly, the sound low and dangerous. “It’s always a game, Lorenzo. The difference is, I’m better at it than you are.”
I take another step forward, the space between us charged with tension. “You’ve crossed the line this time, Ghost. And you’re going to pay for it.”
His smirk fades slightly, and for a moment, something flickers in his eyes. It’s not fear, not anger—something else entirely. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual arrogance.
“Then take your best shot, Princess,” he says, spreading his arms as if daring me to strike.
And for a moment, I consider it.
“I have to say,” Ghost drawls, his voice laced with mockery as he steps closer, “beautiful picture in the news today. Your little friend—does she know the truth about you, Prince?”
He takes a step closer, his grin feral, and I shove him back hard.
“Back the fuck up!” I snap, my voice sharp enough to cut through the humid air.
His smirk widens, a deranged glint in his eye. “Why? Will you hit me, Princess?” His tone is syrupy and mocking, each word dripping with condescension.
“Stop calling me that,” I snarl, the words ripping out of me like a growl.
“But why? I think it suits you.” He tilts his head, the light catching his face in a way that makes his grin look even more unhinged. “The Prince—ugh, so overdone. So predictable. You could be my princess, though. Don’t you like that better?”
His words taunt, slithering under my skin, and my control snaps. My hand flies out, clamping around his throat as I slam him into the wall.
“This game ends now, Moretti,” I hiss, my fury pounding in my veins. “You leave our shit alone, or I guarantee there will be a body on your doorstep. And it’ll be yours.”
He doesn’t flinch. No, the bastard laughs. It’s not a nervous laugh—it’s full, deranged, and completely at odds with the threat I just leveled. Then, in one smooth motion, he twists us, slamming me against the wall, his body pressing into mine like he owns the damn space.
“Now, now, Princess,” he murmurs, his tone low and maddeningly amused, “no need for all the dramatics. Or are you trying to get a rise out of me? Want me to make a move?”
His breath is hot against my ear, and I swing without thinking. My fist connects with his face, hard enough to feel the crunch, but instead of recoiling, he grins wider, blood trickling from his lip.
“So fucking predictable, Princess.”
“Leave our shipments alone,” I snarl, swinging again. My knuckles slam into his jaw this time, but he doesn’t even try to block it. He takes the hit like it’s foreplay, like he’s enjoying every second.
“Why would I do that?” he laughs, the sound wild and sharp. “You think I’m going to give up the only thing that gets you this close to me? Come on, Lorenzo, we both know you love this.”
“You’re out of your goddamn mind,” I seethe, and his smirk only deepens.
“Maybe. But then again, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you … Princess?”
He pushes closer, his body radiating heat, and I shove him back with all the force I can muster. I need distance—space from whatever the hell he’s doing to my head.
“This is your last warning, Moretti,” I spit, my voice razor-sharp. “You mess with my shipments again, and I’ll make sure the message is loud and clear—with someone’s severed fucking head in your lap.”
He claps, slow and mocking, before giving me a theatrical bow. “My sincerest apologies, Princess. I must’ve been confused. You see, this is Moretti territory. And those docks? They don’t have your name on them. So maybe next time you should think twice before stepping on my turf.”
I step forward again, rage boiling over. “Next time, I’ll collect my shipment myself. And if you even think about laying a finger on it, I’ll slice each one off and make you eat them.”
Instead of fear, that twisted, delighted grin spreads across his face like a virus. He looks like I’ve just told him his birthday came early.
I turn on my heel, done with this psychotic dance, but as I pass a crate of cigars stacked near the docks, I pause.
“Nice stash,” I call over my shoulder, pulling out a match. Ghost doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch, as I strike it and toss it into the crate. Flames roar to life, devouring the contents, the heat licking at my skin as I step back.
When I turn to look at him, he’s leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching the inferno like it’s some cozy little bonfire. His grin doesn’t falter—not even once.
“You’ve got serious fucking issues,” I mutter, my voice full of disgust.
“And you’re just now figuring that out?” he shoots back, laughing like a maniac as the fire burns.
I’m done. He got the message, hopefully.
GhostI watch him walk away, his shoulders tight with anger, every step radiating tension. Perfect. I can feel the satisfaction curling in my chest. He likes to act untouchable, doesn’t he? The perfect son. The golden boy. The heir who’ll one day run his family like a king on a throne. But he’s not perfect. Far from it. He’s hiding things—dark, ugly secrets that claw at him from the inside. And I’ll be the one to rip him apart. I’ll drag the truth out of him, piece by piece, and make him see the man he really is. The man I already see.Kicking off the wall, I take slow, deliberate steps toward the burning crate. The flames crackle and spit, the smell of scorched wood and tobacco filling the air. Smoke rises in curling tendrils, like ghosts reaching for the night sky. Sure, we lost a lot tonight, but what I gained? That’s worth more than every dollar that just went up in flames.His reaction—oh, it was fucking perfect. The way his voice snapped, the way his fists clenched like he was o
GhostYeah, he’s not so fucking innocent, for months we were seeing each other, spending time together. That night we kissed, and it was fucking epic. Then…Everything shattered.**Years before**The air is thick with tension, every step toward the De Luca estate tightening the knot in my chest. My father walks ahead, his posture rigid, his hand never far from the gun holstered under his coat. The damp night air feels suffocating, and I can see the looming figure of Giovanni De Luca waiting for us, arms crossed, his frown carved deep into his face like stone.“Giovanni,” my father says, his voice even but sharp as a blade. “We’re here.”“Salvatore,” Giovanni growls back, his tone dripping with disdain. “A pleasure to have you here. But don’t think this is any sign of an alliance. We’re still at war.”My father smirks coldly. “Like I’d have it any other way. We’re here to pick up our dead, nothing more.”Giovanni nods, his lips curling in a sneer. “Fine. My son, the future heir, will sh
LorenzoThe ride back to the estate feels longer than usual. The air inside the car is heavy with unspoken words, the tension thick enough to choke on. My fists rest on my thighs, the knuckles raw and stinging, a reminder of the punches I threw at Ghost. He’d laughed—laughed—while I was bleeding rage all over him. The image of his smug grin burns in my mind, stoking the fire in my chest.He’s out of control. Unhinged. A walking disaster who lives to taunt and provoke, pushing me to the brink. And the worst part? He’s winning.By the time we pull up to the estate, the sky has darkened, the soft glow of lanterns casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The driver opens my door, and I step out, the cool night air doing little to calm the heat in my veins.Inside, the estate is as pristine and imposing as ever. Everything is too polished, too perfect—a stark contrast to the chaos I just left at the docks. Men move silently through the halls, their eyes lowered, their loyalty absolute
GhostBoredom is a dangerous thing for me. It creeps in like a shadow, curling around my mind, whispering temptations I’m too eager to entertain. And when I get bored, I do stupid, reckless shit—shit that usually comes back to bite me the next day.I should probably reign it in tonight. Probably.If only probably was a year, it's not which means tonight is going to be as wild as the other nights when I'm bored out of my damn mind.But as I sit here, nursing a drink I’m not even enjoying, a thought slips in—one I can’t shake. I’ve got a guy lined up for the night, sure, but that’s predictable, isn’t it? I’ve already fucked him twice—Jake, Josh, John… something with a J. And predictable is boring. He's here, already giving me the eye, so I at least have something to do tonight, or should I say someone?No, I need something different. Something thrilling. And then it hits me.The Prince. Lorenzo.Did he think I’d forget? He once told me about a secret entrance to the De Luca estate, hidd
Ghost POVMy feet halt mid-step as my eyes lock onto a window in the main house. And there he is, Lorenzo, my Princess, oblivious to my presence. He’s in front of the glass, his body moving with purpose, her wrapped around him like a fucking ribbon. Serena Castelli, his perfect little fiancée.Fuck the pool house. I have a better idea.I grab Chase, spinning him to face me, and kiss him hard, my lips bruising against his. He grunts into my mouth, startled but pliant. Releasing him, I shove him against a nearby tree, his hands automatically bracing against the rough bark. He doesn’t resist. He never does.Good.My eyes flick back to the window. Lorenzo hasn’t noticed me yet, too wrapped up in his perfect life, his perfect fiancée. It’s maddening. Watching him, knowing he’s touching her the way I want to touch him, makes my blood boil and my body burn.My hands move quickly, unfastening my trousers with practiced ease. Chase is already pulling his down, eager and compliant. I grab the c
The PrinceI’ve always known Ghost sneaks into the estate. It’s his thing—his twisted way of taunting me, pushing my buttons, trying to provoke a reaction. He’s relentless, like a shadow that refuses to stay where it belongs. But tonight? Tonight, the thought of him being here didn’t even cross my mind. It wasn’t even a consideration.That was my first mistake.I should have known better. Normally, I’m careful. I keep my time with Serena private, calculated, even rehearsed. I know where we can be seen, where we can’t. I’m meticulous because I have to be.So when I looked up—when I happened to glance at the window while I was buried in Serena—and saw him outside with some guy? That wasn’t just a shock. It was a gut punch. Dumbfounded doesn’t even begin to cover it. I felt… frozen. Confused. Lost.He was watching me. Watching us. He knew I was there, knew exactly what I was doing, and yet he didn’t flinch. He didn’t hide. He didn’t stop.And that guy he was with? I don’t know who he is,
The PrinceMy mind drifts to Ghost as the cars roll through the quiet streets. He thrives on chaos, on bending the rules to his will. But this? This is the consequence of his games. He needs to understand that every action has a price, and tonight, he’s going to pay it.The estate grows smaller in the distance, but the weight of my decision grows heavier. I’ve always been careful, always tried to walk the line between loyalty to my family and the tangled mess of emotions Ghost has stirred in me. But tonight, there’s no line.Tonight, I’ll do what has to be done. And if Ghost doesn’t see the message this time, he never will.We stop outside the massive gates of Marcello’s villa—a place not only his home but also a key storage site for the Moretti family’s operations. As we step out of the vehicles, the cold night air feels suffocating as I look over my shoulder.“Remember,” I say, my voice low and steady, “everyone dies except Marcello. He’s mine.”They nod silently, the tension around
The PrinceI sit in the car, staring out at the passing darkness, and wonder if this is the point where we’ve gone too far. Ghost’s antics have been a thorn in our side for months—he’s sabotaged our business again and again—but this feels like a line we shouldn’t cross. Kidnapping Marcello Moretti isn’t just retaliation; it’s a declaration of war.Sure, Marcello’s not the son of the Moretti boss, just his nephew, but that doesn’t make it any less significant. He’s family, blood, and we’re about to use him as a pawn in a game that could spiral out of control. Then again, maybe the blame doesn’t rest entirely on Ghost. There’s no way the Moretti family doesn’t know what he’s been up to. The docks weren’t an isolated incident—it’s become a weekly fucking ritual at this point. If his father had stepped in and reined him in, none of this would be happening.When we pull up to the estate, the cool night air does little to settle the churn in my stomach. I step out, watching as my men haul M
Ghost’s POVThe estate hums with a quiet, controlled energy. It’s not like before, not the constant shifting of power, the tension of men waiting for orders, unsure of where their loyalty should fall. No, this is different. This is stability, control. The kind of power that comes when every loose end has been tied, every move made with precision.Six months ago, the chaos of merging two families under one name seemed impossible, but here we are. There was bloodshed, betrayal, battles fought in the dark, but in the end, the Moretti name swallowed everything whole.And Lorenzo stands at the center of it all, like he was always meant to.It still feels strange sometimes, calling him that. For so long, he was Prince—an untouchable force of nature that crashed through my life and ruined me in the best fucking way. But he doesn’t go by that anymore. He stripped that name from himself the same way he burned away everything tied to his past.Prince was the name his father put on him, and it t
Prince POVThe hum of the jet is steady, almost soothing, and for the first time in a long time, my body doesn’t feel weighed down by expectation or responsibility. I should be thinking about everything we left behind, the work waiting for us when we return, but all I can focus on is Ghost’s warmth pressed against my side.I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the soft lighting. My head is clearer than it’s been in weeks, and maybe it’s the altitude or the silence between us, but I know this is the moment to say what’s been lingering in my mind.“I forgive you.”Ghost stills beside me. His arm, draped lazily over my shoulders, tenses. He doesn’t speak right away, just tilts his head slightly to look at me.“You forgive me,” he repeats, as if testing the words, trying to make sense of them.I nod, setting my glass down. “Yeah. For the kidnapping, for everything. I hated you for it, Ghost. I wanted to fucking kill you for it, and I won’t pretend I didn’t. But
Ghost POVThe past few weeks have been hell. Chaos, tension, and the never-ending grind of fixing what was broken. Prince has spent every second of the last week since we married solidifying his hold, making sure his men follow him, and reclaiming what was his. At the same time, my father has been preparing to hand everything over to me.There’s one thing we haven’t spoken about, though. Something I’ve already discussed with my father. Even though I’ll be taking over soon, his opinion still holds weight.Running two separate families, keeping our business dealings apart like we’re enemies, seems fucking stupid. We’re married, we live together, and our men are already working alongside each other. Keeping it divided is like clinging to something outdated, something that doesn’t fit the reality of what we are now.It’s a conversation I need to have with Prince, and now, with the meal winding down and everyone moving into the other room to drink, it’s time.I place a hand on his arm, sto
Prince POVIf I’m going to lead, if I’m going to secure my place, I need to make sure there’s no doubt about where I stand. And I need to make damn sure everyone else knows it too.The man shifts in his seat, trying to keep his posture straight despite the way his arms are bound behind the chair. His lip is swollen, blood smeared across his jaw, but his eyes—they’re what piss me off the most. He isn’t scared. He should be.I exhale slowly, my fingers flexing at my sides. “Let’s skip the bullshit. You don’t like me. I get it. You wanted someone else to take over, and now you’re sitting here bleeding while I stand in front of you.” I tilt my head. “Tell me, how do you think this ends?”His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer.Ghost leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching. He’s letting me handle this, letting me take the lead. I can feel his gaze on me, assessing, waiting to see what I’ll do.I crouch down in front of the man, resting my elbows on my knees. “Loyalty,” I say, watch
Prince POVA week has passed since the meeting where the men accepted me as their boss. The tension that had been thick in the air that day has finally settled, and everything seems to be running smoothly. No one is openly challenging my authority anymore, and while there are still some lingering doubts in certain circles, no one dares to act on them. Not yet, at least.Ash has been on top of things, making sure operations are running like clockwork. The businesses are stable, the money is flowing, and the ports are secure. The men who had hesitated before have either fallen in line or disappeared quietly, knowing that their loyalty isn’t up for debate.I should feel accomplished. I should feel like I’ve won. But the truth is, I don’t feel much of anything.My mind is still scattered, still tangled in everything that’s happened. I haven’t touched alcohol since the poisoning, though the urge is there. Not because I need it to function, but because I need something to dull the thoughts
Ghost POVPrince stands at the head of the table, his face unreadable, his hands resting lightly against the dark wood. He’s composed, but I can see the way his fingers tighten slightly, the only sign of the exhaustion clinging to him. This isn’t about cigars. It’s about control. Power. The future of his leadership.I stay just behind him, watching, listening. This is his moment. I won’t interfere unless I have to.“You all know why we’re here,” Prince starts, his voice steady, controlled. “Giovanni is dead. I’ve taken over, and I have no interest in forcing anyone to stay who doesn’t want to. But if you do stay, things will be different.”Some of them exchange glances, but no one speaks yet. They’re waiting, listening.“I’m offering each of you more than you had under Giovanni. Five percent of the profits from the territories you oversee. It’s not just a paycheck—it’s a direct stake in what you build, a reason to keep this family strong. That is what I’m offering.”His words settle o
Ghost POVPrince is useless right now, as bad as it sounds. He stuck around, tried to help, but every time he spoke, he made things worse. His Capo kept looking at him like he had lost his damn mind, caught between respecting him as their boss and questioning if he was in any state to be leading them.So now, he’s asleep again. And honestly, it’s for the best. He needs to be sharp when he meets with the men later. I’m trying not to overstep, just handling the basics and making sure everything runs smoothly. Any requests for meetings, deals, or negotiations have been pushed back a few days.His men were standing around like they had no fucking clue what to do. It makes me wonder how Giovanni handled them. If this happened on my side, my Capo would have been quick to clean up the mess, eliminate any threats, and get everything back in order before anyone even had a chance to notice.The De Luca Capo, on the other hand, just stood there dumbfounded. It took me outright ordering them to g
Prince POVMind is useless as I scramble for an answer.“The arms dealer,” I continue, my voice flat. “He’s got direct supply lines to some of the best weapons in the country. Losing him doesn’t just mean weaker defenses, it means weaker offense. If a war starts and he’s not backing me, I’m going in blind while the other side is stocked.”Ghost nods again, like he already expected that answer.“Then the street boss,” I mutter, rubbing my forehead. “He manages all the foot soldiers. If he doesn’t pledge to me, I lose bodies. Numbers. Without him, I’ll have the higher-ups but no one left to actually enforce my rule.”I exhale, my fingers pressing against my temples. “And then there’s the club owner. He’s the one who controls the places where all these deals go down. The meetings, the payments, the contracts. If he refuses to align with me, I lose neutral ground. I lose the space to negotiate, to work things out before they turn bloody.”Ghost watches me, waiting for more, but my mind is
Prince POVWaking up feels disorienting, my body lighter than before, but my mind sluggish, struggling to piece together how I even got here. The last thing I remember was leaning into Ghost, his warmth steady against mine. Did I really fall asleep on him? That doesn’t feel like something I’d let myself do, not after everything. Yet, here I am, lying in bed with no memory of moving.Sitting up, I drag a hand down my face, trying to shake off the remnants of exhaustion. My limbs feel less like dead weight, but there’s still a heaviness in my chest, an ache deep in my muscles that refuses to fade completely. The poison may be wearing off, but the effects still linger beneath my skin.I push the blankets back and move to the bathroom, needing something to ground me. The hot water pelts against my skin, steam curling around me as I let the shower rinse away the last dregs of weakness. By the time I step out and dress, the fog in my mind has lifted slightly, but the weight of everything st