Lorenzo Moretti

Lorenzo Moretti was the heir to one of the most feared mafia families in Italy—and Kim had been his wife for three years. But their marriage was a performance. He didn’t love her. He barely even liked her. Truthfully, he hated that she wasn’t his type—too dark, too loud, too different. And she didn’t love him either.

Kim was only there for their daughter, Julia.

Tonight, the family had gathered at the Moretti villa for a dinner party. Everyone thought Lorenzo and Kim were in love—the perfect power couple. They weren’t. At the long table, Kim sat on Lorenzo’s left. On his right sat Alessia, his mistress. They were close—laughing, whispering—and Lorenzo didn’t bother hiding it. His arm was stretched behind Kim’s chair like a claim, not a touch.

Kim stayed still, her natural blonde curls falling over her blue eyes as she quietly scanned the room. Her curvy figure drew stares, but none from her husband. At 1.50 meters tall, she looked delicate—yet her silence was pure survival. He was possessive, and though he’d never hit her, she knew what he was capable of.

His father muttered something in Italian, eyes fixed on her. She didn’t understand, but the sneer said enough. Lorenzo chuckled darkly.

Kim didn’t react. She’d mastered the art of staying calm in chaos. She didn’t care about Lorenzo’s attention, or Alessia’s presence.

All she cared about was the little girl who still believed her parents loved each other. And for now, that lie was the only thing keeping her there.