Melissa Moretti Novels & Stories

At the awards for the Global Jewelry Design Competition, my stepsister Sandra took the grand prize. She used the designs she stole from me. What she didn’t know was the show’s biggest sponsor: Jude Moretti. Godfather of the Moretti family. A bloodthirsty monster scarred in an explosion, a man they say can never have children. And the grand prize? Becoming the Godfather’s bride. That night, Moretti’s men, all in black, delivered a gold-trimmed marriage contract. They were here for the “genius designer.” My fiancé, Marco, panicked. He whisked Sandra off to Vegas to save her. They got married that night. With the deed done, Sandra strutted back in, wearing my silk robe. She flashed the ring on her finger and the hickies all over her neck. “Marco’s mine now,” she purred. “What are you going to do, Odessa? The Godfather’s only giving you a day. If you don’t marry him, the Family will have to appease him. That means sending you to the red-light district. Selling you to the kind of sicko who gets off on broken things.” She was wrong. I had another choice. I found my father and stepmother, both scrambling to deal with the contract. “I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll marry the Godfather.”

On the night of my engagement party, Luca Moretti walked his childhood sweetheart over to me. "Clara accidentally stained her dress," he said. "Let her borrow yours for a while." He added, "Everyone knows you're the main character tonight. It doesn't matter what you wear." I didn't bother objecting. The gown was already on her. I stood behind the half-closed back door in a borrowed black dress while his men laughed over their whiskey. "Luca, is your real fiancee going to lose it?" someone asked. Luca barely looked up from his glass. "Anna is going to be a Donna. She needs to learn grace." Another man snorted. "Besides, she's an orphan. Where's she gonna go without you?" Luca smiled. "She can't leave me." They didn't know I had never been an orphan. I had buried the Valenti name for five years because I wanted Luca to love me as Anna, not as the Valenti daughter. My father is the Mafia Chairman, the man every family answered to when the highest table met. That night, I took off the Moretti emerald ring, left it beside the guest book, and called home. "Papa, I’m not marrying Luca. Don't come to Chicago."

“I tilted my chin up. “You wouldn’t dare, Dante.” His lips curved. “Then, you don’t know me well enough.” “I never knew you well enough because you watched our child get squashed right in front of your eyes.” WHO ARE WE WHEN STRIPPED OF OUR NAME, FACE AND PAST??? Leila has always been in love with Dante Moretti who happens to be her best friend’s father, a man feared in the underworld and desired by every woman. When his wife dies mysteriously, Leila finally comes face-to-face with the monster himself. But one mistake, one forbidden night, destroys everything. Her best friend, Sienna Moretti, finds out… and ends her in the most brutal way imaginable. Leila dies in a pool of blood, whispering Dante’s name for help as he watches with a smirk on his face. Except fate doesn’t end her story. She wakes up in another woman’s body. A woman with a hidden past, a face tied to Dante’s enemies, and a chance to destroy everyone who destroyed her. Now reborn as Isadora Vale, Leila returns to a world of power, lust, and deception—not to love Dante, not to forgive him, but to make them all pay. However, what will happen when the devil and the demoness lock eyes for the first time?

Dante Moretti, the ruthless Billionaire CEO, hungers for power and control. Cold, calculated, he sends shivers down his rivals' spines with his cold, calculated way into any business deal that might pop up in his way. But inside the steely exterior of this man, a traumatic past torments him to have left him detached and numb as regards love. His goal is simple: solidify his control and paramountcy and build on an empire. Lyra Caine grew up privileged in a family that had disintegrated; the fortune of her father, Richard Caine, once a strong king of finance, had shrunk due to a number of bad investments. She needed to be married off to Dante Moretti, a man rumored never to have shied away from getting ruthless in whatever business dealings he had, so that their name would not be utterly ruined. Lyra had lived her whole life by what this great shadow of a father expected from her: fragile, with this inner fire barely apparent in herself. But here is the kicker that makes it even more twisted: Dante isn't marrying Lyra out of love or even because of business needs. He has an ulterior motive linked to her father's long-buried secrets, one that could totally unravel her family should it come to light.

Her back slammed into the wall, Dante’s hand pinning hers high above her head, his mouth hovering close enough to steal her breath. His voice was a husky growl, low and lethal. “You think you can defy me, Bianca?” She smirked, arching into him, her nails dragging across his chest. “Defy you? I own the game, Dante.” Their lips crashed...violent, hungry, desperate. His grip was bruising, her body pressed against his with ruthless possession. Every kiss tasted of war. Every touch was a betrayal. Every moan, a fight for dominance neither was willing to lose. Bianca Moretti isn’t just a woman; she’s the She Mafia. Beautiful. Deadly. Untouchable. Dante Moretti, the ruthless Mafia King, should be her greatest enemy… yet he’s also the one man who matches her cruelty and consumes her with forbidden desire. But lust is the most dangerous weapon in a world where loyalty is scarce. And enemies wait in the shadows; Betty Mordecai, venomous and relentless, and Andriena, the lover who turned traitor, ready to tear Bianca apart piece by piece. Now Bianca and Dante must decide: join forces to rule or destroy each other in the crossfire. Because in the Mafia, love isn’t romance. It’s war. It’s obsession. And it always comes with blood.

I thought he was a ghost from my past, but he came back with a marriage certificate and a billion‑dollar debt. He says I have to pay with my body—and my voice. “You’re in breach of contract, Mrs. Moretti.” Seven years ago, Dante Moretti was a broken sound engineer who broke my heart and vanished. Today, he’s the ruthless head of a global empire—and he just walked backstage to claim what’s his. Me. He brings a marriage certificate I don’t remember signing and a list of clauses that turn my world‑famous life into a gilded cage. He owns my label. He owns my jet. And he claims he owns my voice. Dragged to a fortress in Sicily, I’m trapped between a secret past I can’t outrun and a “husband” who looks at me with equal parts hunger and hate. Dante swears he’s the only thing standing between me and the monsters who want to buy my soul. But as the line between protection and possession blurs, I have to wonder: Is Dante Moretti saving me from the fire… or is he the one holding the match? He’s my greatest sin. My biggest secret. And now, he might be my only hope. ---

All of Italy knew Kayson Moretti was obsessed with me. He was the untouchable Don of the Moretti family, a man who never lost control in public, yet he broke every rule for me. He declared his love at a gathering of the most powerful mafia families in the country, then bought an entire private island just to build me a glass-domed garden when he proposed. For years, he laid the world at my feet—power, jewels, territory, status. If I wanted something, Kayson didn’t promise it. He made it mine. That was why everyone believed I was the luckiest woman in Italy. They were wrong. Because the same man who swore he would die for me was sleeping with his private secretary behind my back. Worse, he got her pregnant. The day she sent me her ultrasound, their bed photos, and every intimate secret she thought would destroy me, I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg. I didn’t confront him. Instead, I erased every trace I had ever left in his world. My name. My accounts. My records. My past. I staged my death. I let the world believe I had died in a private jet crash.

I had just climbed into the armored SUV leaving the Moretti estate when the gatekeeper hurried after me with a black encrypted phone in his hand. "Mrs. Westmore, Don Moretti asked me to give you this." I took it. One unread message glowed on the screen. [Selena only had a scare. I'll come home tomorrow. Don't overthink it.] I stared at it for two seconds, popped out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and tossed it into the rain outside the window. The next day, I had just reached the abandoned shipyard in North Harbor when encrypted messages started hitting my backup phone one after another. [Vivian, where are you?] [Why aren't you home? Where the hell did you go this late?] [Answer me. Don't make me send men all over the city looking for you.] The last one was exactly his style: soft on the surface, arrogant underneath. [Your family survives under my protection. Don't test my patience.] I didn't answer. After countless messages sank without a reply, my husband finally drove to the old Westmore grounds at North Harbor. He knew that if anything was left of my family, I would be there. But when Damon pushed through the broken iron gate, he found no guards, no household staff, and no Westmore men waiting for orders. The old house stood hollow in the rain. Its windows were blown out, the front steps were black with soot, and the air still carried the bitter smell of smoke and gunpowder. Damon grabbed a passing harbor guard by the sleeve. "Where are the Westmores?" The guard looked at him as if he should already know. "Gone. The family was hit two nights ago. Whoever came for them knew exactly when Moretti protection would be pulled from the harbor." "Miss Westmore came back before dawn," the guard added. "She took the black-gold signet, a few boxes of ledgers, and whatever papers survived the fire." "After that, she left. And no one has seen her since."

Three months since my husband, Julian Moretti, disappeared. I walked into his favorite den, the grief so deep it stole the air from my lungs. I just wanted to breathe him in, to find any trace of him that was left. Then I heard it. A familiar laugh. And the soft moan of a woman. Through a crack in the door, I saw him. My husband, the man "missing" for three months, had his hand tangled in another woman's hair. "Baby, just a little longer," he said. "Soon as I siphon enough cash from the family's books, we're gone. You and me." In his arms was Bianca, from the Rosso family. "What about your wife?" she purred. "Let her play the grieving widow. She's nothing without me anyway." My fists clenched. The world went quiet, my blood turning to ice. The next day, I put the word out to the entire Family. "I'm holding a memorial mass for my husband." At the service, he stormed in, a ghost returned from the grave, roaring that he was alive and there to take back what was his. But I was standing next to his uncle, Dante Moretti, and all I did was stare him down. "Then explain," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "Explain the woman. Explain the money. Explain your betrayal... to the Family. And to me."

Five years into my marriage to the Don, Ives Moretti, he left me for dead during a shootout to get his mistress, Isabella, to safety. I woke up three days later in a private hospital room. No apology. Ives was cold. “You’re my wife. You knew the risks. Stop being so dramatic.” Then, he added, “Isabella’s different. She’s fragile. She needed me.” That was followed by three months of the silent treatment. Like always, he expected me to be the one to break, to come crawling back begging for forgiveness. Three months later, I handed the Irish deal to Isabella on a silver platter. The big one I’d spent half a year building myself. Ives thought it was a peace offering. He smiled, a rare, genuine thing these days. “I knew you’d come around. As a reward, we’ll go to Vegas. I know you’ve always wanted to go.” The next day, Isabella whined about being bored, and he broke his promise. He took her to Vegas instead. Told me it was “urgent family business.” This time, I didn’t cry. Didn’t make a scene. Ives was pleased I was being so understanding. He had no idea I was already cutting all ties to the Moretti family. That he’d already signed the divorce papers. I was free.