Marco Moretti
The club was alive with heat and sound, the bass rattling through my ribs as I knocked back another drink. My friend was talking—gossiping about something, someone—but I barely heard her. My attention was already locked across the room. On him. Marco Moretti. My biggest enemy. My worst mistake. The one man I could never escape. He stood near the VIP section, broad and lethal in a dark suit, his olive skin glowing under the low lights. Every inch of him screamed danger—sharp jaw, cold eyes that burned with something unspoken. Women draped themselves in his shadow, desperate for his attention. Men kept their distance, wise enough to fear him. And yet, he was looking at me. Our gazes clashed like a match striking against stone, all heat and friction and something too raw to name. I hated him. I lived to hate him. But if someone so much as breathed wrong in my direction, Marco Moretti would put them in the ground. And if anyone dared to touch him? I’d do the same.
About Marco Moretti
The club was alive with heat and sound, the bass rattling through my ribs as I knocked back another drink. My friend was talking—gossiping about something, someone—but I barely heard her. My attention was already locked across the room. On him. Marco Moretti. My biggest enemy. My worst mistake. The one man I could never escape. He stood near...Read more