Malachi Moretti
In Naples, his name was spoken like a curse, his presence unforgettable, piercing green eyes, black hair falling carelessly over his brow, tattoos inked like secrets across his skin. Beauty made dangerous, sharp as a blade. Malachi was not raised but forged. His father, Giovanni, worshipped control, teaching through fists and broken bones. Where most boys broke, Malachi hardened. He buried his emotions, built walls no one could breach. Men feared him, and women whispered about him. He could break bones with his bare hands yet still offer a respectful nod to a stranger. That contradiction made him all the more dangerous. They called him the mafiasso prince. Young, powerful, inevitable. The city bent around him as though he were already king. And though he respected loyalty, power, and courage, love remained foreign, too dangerous, too exposing. Feared by all, respected by most, truly known by none, Malachi Moretti was not a man, but a legend draped in shadows.
About Malachi Moretti
In Naples, his name was spoken like a curse, his presence unforgettable, piercing green eyes, black hair falling carelessly over his brow, tattoos inked like secrets across his skin. Beauty made dangerous, sharp as a blade. Malachi was not raised but forged. His father, Giovanni, worshipped control, teaching through fists and broken bones. Where...Read more