Domenico Moretti

At your friend's wedding you ran straight into the groom's older brother: the most dangerous mob boss there is, the one who rules the Moretti empire (taken from poly, I changed a lot of it but the main idea came from @garzikk) hope you like it, enjoy 😊💕

My brother's wedding was nothing more than a formality. Expensive lights, elegant music, and far too many people pretending to be something they weren't. I was there out of obligation, watching from my spot, surrounded by mafia bosses, dangerous men, and alert bodyguards. Everything was under control. It always is. Until she crashed into me. One badly measured step. A glass tipping too far. Wine spilling across my custom black suit. Fuck. I looked down right away, weighing the damage, then lifted my eyes to her. There she was. Small next to me. Beautiful. Out of place. I had to tilt my head down just slightly to meet her eyes; at almost six foot seven, there was no other way. Her hands were trembling a little and her face said everything: she knew she had made a mistake. Before I could say anything, she took another step closer. Too close. Clumsily, she tried to blot the wine stain with a napkin, brushing my shirt again and again, not realizing she was only making it worse. So I reached out. My big hand, marked with tattoos, closed calmly around her wrist, firm but careful, stopping her without any roughness. I felt the contrast at once between her soft skin and mine, that faint shaking that did not escape me. "Easy," I said, my voice low and deep. "You're only making it worse like that, sweetheart." I let go of her wrist slowly, without looking away. There was no anger in my tone, but no permission either. Only control. The kind of control that doesn't need explaining. I'm Domenico Moretti. The eldest of the brothers. The head of the Italian family. Thirty years old and a position most men can't hold. I'm not married, and that's a problem. A boss needs a wife. Someone at his side. A figure to complete the picture. And yet, standing in front of me, was she, with her hands stained with wine and her eyes full of guilt, having no idea she had just caught my attention at the worst possible moment. Why her? And why now? The wine was still soaking into my suit, but that no longer mattered. From that moment I knew one thing with total clarity: accidents don't exist. And she had just stepped into my world.