Chapter Six #2
My makeup is simple, understated, but I made sure to highlight my full lips and accentuate my large eyes. It’s deliberate, I know how people see me, and I’ve stopped trying to fight it. If they want to underestimate me because I look like I’m going on a date, fine.
Let them.
The moment I prove them wrong, the look on their faces will be worth every second of doubt.
As I walk through the halls, I can feel their eyes on me. They know who I am, Beaumont’s daughter. They know I’m young, too young for this job in their minds, and they’ve probably already written me off as another pretty face riding on her parents’ coattails.
Good. Underestimation is my secret weapon.
Ian opens the door, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“Ladies first,” he says with a smile, stepping aside to let me in.
But the moment I step through the door, I freeze.
My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Sitting there, staring at me with those piercing, cold blue eyes, is him.
What the hell?
Why would they assign me to him?
Ian notices my hesitation, his smile quirking into something knowing.
“Thank you,” I manage to say softly, my voice steady despite the storm of shock and confusion inside me.
I step further into the room, and his gaze locks onto mine, unflinching, unapologetic.
Oh. My. God.
Lorenzo Giovanni Moretti.
He is the charismatic heir to the illustrious Moretti Estate Empire. The Moretti family, steeped in wealth and tradition, traces its roots back to generations of visionary entrepreneurs who transformed humble beginnings into a sprawling legacy.
From an early age, Lorenzo was groomed to inherit the mantle of leadership.
His childhood was a blend of opulence and responsibility, with lessons in business ethics and estate management seamlessly woven into family dinners in the grand halls of the Moretti estate.
His parents, Sofia and Giovanni Moretti instilled in him a deep appreciation for both the artistry of Italian culture and the pragmatic principles of successful entrepreneurship.
At the age of 18, Lorenzo’s life took a decisive turn.
An unexpected tragedy befell his family, prompting his father, Giovanni Moretti Sr., to entrust him with the reins of the estate empire far sooner than anticipated.
Despite the weight of grief, Lorenzo embraced the challenge with a determination that belied his youth.
Under Lorenzo's stewardship, the Moretti Empire underwent a rapid and transformative evolution.
His visionary approach saw the integration of cutting-edge technologies into traditional estate management, catapulting the family business into the 21st century.
The vineyards flourished, the historic estates were meticulously restored, and strategic acquisitions expanded the Moretti holdings beyond the picturesque landscapes of Tuscany.
Lorenzo's charisma and strategic acumen turned him into a young business prodigy.
His ability to seamlessly balance modernity with the cherished traditions of his family garnered him both admiration and respect within elite business circles.
He became a prominent figure not only in the Italian business landscape but also on the global stage.
He was born in Florence, Italy, into a family that thrived on power and ambition. However, when business matters demanded it, the Moretti family relocated to New York, United States, marking the start of a new chapter.
His education was nothing short of elite.
Home-schooled by the finest tutors in the country, he excelled in every subject.
By the time he reached adulthood, he graduated with distinction in Science and Mathematics from Harvard, followed by Harvard Business School, a testament to the relentless expectations placed upon him.
But life didn’t follow the script of privilege for long. After his father’s untimely death, the family fractured. His mother, overcome with grief, moved back to Florence, Italy, choosing to isolate herself from the world that reminded her of her loss.
At just 18 years old, he was thrust into responsibility far beyond his years. He stepped into the role of running the Moretti Empire, guided only by his uncle, Dante Moretti. Together, they navigated the complex web of business and legacy.
His mother’s retreat into depression left him without the maternal support he once knew. Alone, except for Dante, he bore the weight of an empire, and the shadows of his family’s grief, on his young shoulders.
Lorenzo Moretti’s public persona is one of confidence and affluence, the polished image of a man who commands respect wherever he goes.
To the world, he is the epitome of success, a scion who not only inherited the Moretti Empire but transformed it, molding it into a living testament to the enduring power of the Italian entrepreneurial spirit.
But those who truly know him understand that beneath the polished exterior lies a man driven by more than wealth. He is fueled by an unrelenting responsibility to preserve and elevate the Moretti legacy, no matter the cost.
And cost is the right word.
Beyond the glowing biographies and celebratory articles, Lorenzo Moretti is known as one of the most ruthless businessmen in the world. His name is whispered in corridors of power, laden with accusations that paint a far darker picture.
They say he’s built his empire on a foundation of fear, gun trafficking, blackmail, and the strategic dismantling of anyone who stands in his way.
And then there are the darker rumors.
The stories of men who disappeared, of rivals and adversaries who crossed him only to vanish without a trace. Whispers of blood on his hands, though no evidence has ever surfaced. Speculation, they call it, and yes, maybe I googled him too much.
But here he is.
How could someone like him, a man who always seemed untouchable, be arrested? How could they bring him here, into a system he has always seemed immune to?
I can’t wrap my head around it.
“Who is she?” he asked, his tone laced with surprise that mirrored my own.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak, caught off guard as his piercing blue eyes locked onto mine.
Those eyes, icy, unrelenting, and filled with something dangerous.
He is, without a doubt, the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. His dark-brown curls frame a face that’s all sharp angles and perfection, his full lips curled into the faintest smirk.
And then there’s his sheer presence.
Towering at what must be 6’4”, his frame is massive, broad shoulders, powerful arms, and muscles etched under tattoos that snake across his skin. He looks like he could crush any man with his bare hands.
Unlike the other inmates in their orange jumpsuits, he’s dressed casually, in a fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans. The simplicity of it somehow makes him look even more untouchable. Superior.
He doesn’t just look like he’s in control. He acts like it, radiating an energy that dominates the room. It’s overwhelming, almost hypnotic, like he could command anyone to obey with nothing but a look.
My pulse quickened, and I felt an unwelcome heat rise in my cheeks.
“I didn’t know you guys would gift me a prostitute before meeting the third psychologist this week,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, the smirk on his lips widening.
The words were a joke, meant to provoke. And while the guards shifted uncomfortably, I felt the heat turn to ice.
Oh my Gosh. I can’t believe he actually said that to me.
I wasn’t expecting him to be warm and welcoming, but I’d at least assumed I had more class than to compare me to a prostitute.
“Watch your mouth,” Ian snaps, his voice sharp and commanding.
The tension in the room shifts immediately as Lorenzo’s gaze meets Ian’s. The air feels charged, both men silently sizing each other up like they’d love nothing more than to throw a punch.
I glance between them, feeling the weight of Ian’s protective energy. He’s always had a soft spot for me, but I don’t need him fighting my battles. I can take care of myself.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Because the truth is, Lorenzo intimidates me, dramatically. Everything about him screams danger and dominance, and it takes everything in me to hold my ground.
But I won’t let him see it.
I won’t cry.
I hear my father’s voice echoing in my head, stern and unyielding: “Don’t cry, never cry. Only weak people cry. If you feel like crying, hide. No one must see you cry. You’re a Beaumont, and you’re not allowed to cry.”
I push the memory aside, standing straighter as I force a smile onto my face.
“Lorenzo Giovanni Moretti,” I say, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.
His blue eyes flicker with something, amusement? Disinterest? as I continue.
“My name is Serena Beaumont. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Not really.
After all, you just called me a prostitute, asshole.
“I’ll be your psychologist during your time here, and I hope we’ll get along well.”
My words are polite, professional, but my tone has an edge to it, subtle enough that only someone listening closely would notice.
He doesn’t say anything, his silence speaking louder than words. He leans back in his chair, his gaze shifting elsewhere as if I don’t even exist.
What a dick.
It’s been five minutes, and I already hate him.
Ok, Serena. Pull it together. Be professional.
“So, everything I say to you is confidential, right?” he asks suddenly, his tone indifferent but edged with something unreadable.
“Yes,” I reply curtly, fighting the irritation bubbling under the surface. Unless you say something suspicious, in which case I’ll happily lock you in jail for the rest of your life, asshole.
“I want to speak to her in private,” he demands, his voice calm but firm enough to leave no room for argument.
The room falls silent. Everyone looks as shocked as I feel.