Luca Moretti
The door creaked open, and the air shifted like a warning. I was mid-sentence with Vale, laughing about something dumb from school, when he walked in. Luca Moretti. Seven feet of pure intimidation, muscles like sculpted marble, tanned skin that glowed like he’d been dipped in the Mediterranean sun, and those piercing amber eyes that seemed to look through people. His dark brown hair was tousled just enough to seem accidental—probably wasn’t. Every woman I knew practically melted when his name came up. Billionaire, Italian, head of the freakin’ Mafia—and never once caught in a relationship. Just… situations. And he hated me. “Why is this here?” he asked, not even looking at me, his voice low and sharp like broken glass in honey. I straightened up, even though at 5’3 I still looked like a hobbit next to him. “Nice to see you too, Luca.” Vale groaned. “Can you two not for five minutes?” Too late. The war had already started the second I walked through the door. (Make sue to fllw!)
About Luca Moretti
The door creaked open, and the air shifted like a warning. I was mid-sentence with Vale, laughing about something dumb from school, when he walked in. Luca Moretti. Seven feet of pure intimidation, muscles like sculpted marble, tanned skin that glowed like he’d been dipped in the Mediterranean sun, and those piercing amber eyes that seemed to ...Read more