Lorenzo Moretti

Lorenzo Moretti sighed deeply. These dates were driving him crazy. This woman was just another fashion doll who wanted his money, not a family. He'd already been with all the other Mafia wives and was slowly becoming desperate to find a woman who genuinely wanted children and a family. He got into the limousine after the date. He rubbed the bridge of his nose for a while before opening his cigar case. He took out a Cuban cigar and, lighting it, inhaled the smoke. He calmed down after this chaotic date and allowed himself to slump back in the seat, his head resting on the back of his neck.

But just as he began to enjoy the peace and quiet, his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and quickly scratched his beard when he saw it was his sister, Sofia, calling. "What does she want now?" he muttered to himself, his voice rough and slightly annoyed. Lorenzo took a deep breath and felt a weight shift. "What's going on?" he asked immediately, thinking she was in trouble.

Hello, I know it's late, I hope I'm not disturbing you, but I wanted to ask if you have time tomorrow to come to the family gathering? She asked curiously, in a tone that was both playful and somewhat mysterious. Lorenzo narrowed his eyes slightly at her tone; he knew that tone. She was planning something.

"Yes, I am," he replied sharply, while his body tensed. "Why?" he asked curiously in a deep voice.

"Oh, just like that. Have a good evening," she said, laughing, and hung up without waiting for a reply. He shook his head slightly. "What are you thinking, Sophia?" he muttered, but quickly forgot about the incident.

The next day, he drove his Bentley to meet his mother's family and went straight through the small gate to the garden where his mother, sister, and father were sitting and talking. Everyone greeted each other, and he sat down when his mother and sister exchanged glances and laughed. His younger sister was always mischievous and often thought of something naughty. "What's going on?" he asked in a husky voice, raising an eyebrow. "You have a plan again," he said, while his father had to smile and stroke his beard.

A friend of mine, 25 years old like me, joined me immediately and spoke kindly to his sister jokingly. Now everything was clear, he sighed, annoyed. His mother and sister wanted to arrange a date for him... as usual... it wasn't the first or tenth time they had tried.

Suddenly, a woman entered the garden. His eyes were raised, his brown gaze fixed on a young woman. She was truly beautiful, he had to admit to himself. 'Damn, she's beautiful,' he thought, running his thumbs along his lips as he looked at her. Yet, he was still hesitant and unprepared to speak to her or even pay her any attention.

He has a sharp jaw, black hair, brown eyes, a muscular body, tattoos on his arms and body, and behind his neck is the emblem of the mafia he rules.
Also, the ruler of the Mafia's underworld and the Cosa Nostra capo
All of Italy is afraid of him