The King of New York
Isabella Chen’s feet were screaming. She’d been working the Roosevelt Grand Ballroom for seven straight hours, serving champagne to Manhattan’s elite at a tech mogul’s charity auction. Her black uniform was pressed, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, her smile professional despite the exhaustion eating through her bones. She was twenty-six, working three jobs to help pay her younger sister’s medical bills. Tonight’s event meant an extra three hundred dollars she desperately needed.
Table fourteen needed refills. Six men in suits that cost more than her car. Their voices loud with alcohol and arrogance. Their laughter sharp and cruel. She recognized the man at the head of the table from business magazines: Preston Vale, thirty-two, CEO of Vale Technologies, worth eight hundred million, famous for his hostile takeovers and his even more hostile personality.
Isabella approached carefully, champagne bottle balanced perfectly, her practiced hands steady despite her exhaustion. Mr. Vale thrust his glass toward her without looking up from his phone, like she was furniture, like she didn’t exist.
She poured carefully, the golden liquid streaming smoothly, until someone at the table told a joke and bumped the table hard. The champagne splashed over the rim, cascading down Preston’s custom-tailored suit, soaking his shirt, his pants, his fury.
The table went silent.
“Oh my god!” Isabella gasped, grabbing napkins immediately. “I’m so sorry, sir. Let me—”
“Do you have any idea what you just did?” Preston shot to his feet, his face purple with rage. “This suit is worth fifteen thousand dollars!”
Isabella’s hands shook as she tried to blot the champagne. “Sir, I’m terribly sorry. It was an accident. I’ll get the manager. I’ll—”
“An accident?” Preston’s voice boomed across the ballroom. The orchestra stopped playing. Conversations died. Hundreds of eyes turned toward them. “You just destroyed fifteen thousand dollars worth of Italian wool because you’re too incompetent to hold a bottle properly!”
“Sir, please. I can—”
“You can what?” Preston grabbed her wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “Pay for this? With what? Your tips?”
His friends were laughing now, phones out, recording, capturing Isabella’s humiliation for their entertainment. Tears burned Isabella’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
“I’ll pay for the cleaning. I’ll work extra shifts. I’ll—”
“You’ll do more than that,” Preston snarled. “Someone get me scissors. Now.”
Isabella’s blood ran cold. “What?”
“I said get me scissors!” Preston roared. “This incompetent waitress needs to learn what happens when you disrespect your betters.”
“Mr. Vale, please,” Isabella tried to pull away, but his grip was iron. “This isn’t—”
A waiter appeared with scissors from the kitchen, his face pale, his hands shaking as he handed them over. Preston grabbed the scissors, and Isabella screamed.
“No! Please! I’m sorry! I’ll do anything!”
Too late for apologies. Preston grabbed a fistful of Isabella’s hair, the neat bun she’d spent twenty minutes perfecting that morning. He yanked her head back violently.
“Let’s see how pretty you look without this.”
“Stop!” Isabella sobbed.
But nobody moved. Nobody helped. They just watched. Phones recording, capturing every second of her destruction.
Preston opened the scissors and started cutting. Long strands of black hair fell to the marble floor like dying birds. Isabella felt each cut like a physical wound, her dignity being stripped away chunk by chunk while three hundred people watched and did nothing. He wasn’t careful, wasn’t gentle; he hacked away at her hair, leaving jagged, uneven patches, making her look destroyed, making her look broken.
Tears streamed down Isabella’s face as her hair—the hair she’d been growing for five years—fell around her feet in terrible piles. Preston laughed the entire time, performing for his audience, for the cameras, for the cruelty of it.
“There,” he said finally, releasing her so roughly she stumbled. “Now we’re even. Your hair for my suit. Fair trade.”
Isabella stood there shaking, her hands flying to her head, feeling the jagged destruction, feeling the shame burning through her like acid. The room was silent except for suppressed laughter and the clicking of phone cameras. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to die.
Chapter 1: The Arrival
The massive ballroom doors opened. The sound echoed through the silent room like a gunshot.
A man walked in, and the energy shifted immediately. He wore a black suit that fit like it was sculpted onto his body. His dark hair perfectly styled. His presence filling the entire room without him saying a single word. He moved with the kind of quiet power that made billionaires step aside without thinking. That made security guards straighten their spines. That made the air itself feel heavier.
Isabella’s breath stopped.
Luca, her husband, walked forward slowly, deliberately, his dark eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. On her tears. On her destroyed hair. On Preston Vale, still holding the scissors.
For five seconds, nobody breathed.
Then Luca Moretti crossed the ballroom floor, his footsteps echoing on marble, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea, instinct screaming at them to get out of the way. When he reached Isabella, he didn’t speak. Just removed his suit jacket with careful movements and draped it over her shaking shoulders, covering her, protecting her, claiming her.
“Stand up, amore,” Luca said softly in Italian. His voice was gentle, loving, terrifying.
Isabella stood on trembling legs, and Luca guided her behind him, placing his body between her and Preston like a shield. Then he turned to face Preston Vale, and the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.
“You just made a mistake,” Luca said quietly. His voice didn’t rise. Didn’t need to. The threat was clear in every syllable.
Preston’s cocky smile faltered. “Look, man. I don’t know who you think you are, but this waitress—”
“She’s not a waitress,” Luca interrupted, his tone still soft, still deadly. “She’s my wife. And you just assaulted her in a room that I own, at an event that I funded, in front of cameras that will make you famous for all the wrong reasons.”
The color drained from Preston’s face.
Luca smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing Isabella had ever seen.
“You like cutting hair?” Luca asked conversationally. “Let’s see how you like it when someone takes something precious from you.”
He pulled out his phone and made one call. Within sixty seconds, six men in black suits entered the ballroom, moving with military precision.
“Security,” Luca said calmly. “Escort Mr. Vale and his associates out. And make sure every camera in this room captures their faces.”
“Wait!” Preston’s voice cracked. “You can’t just—”
“I can do whatever I want,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried through the entire ballroom. “This is my city. My event. My wife. And you, Mr. Vale, just declared war on the wrong family.”
The security team moved in, gripping Preston’s arms with professional efficiency. Preston tried to resist, tried to pull away, but these men were professionals.
“Let go of me!” Preston screamed. “Do you know who I am? My company is worth hundreds of millions! I’ll destroy you!”
Luca’s expression never changed. “You’re worth eight hundred million,” he said calmly. “I’m worth six billion. Your company develops software. My family controls ports, shipping routes, construction unions, and half the city council. So please, Mr. Vale, tell me again how you’re going to destroy me.”
Preston went silent, the reality crashing down on him like a building. “You’re… you’re Moretti,” he whispered.
“Luca Moretti. The Ghost of Manhattan,” Luca finished. “Yes. And you just cut my wife’s hair for entertainment. So now, Mr. Vale, I’m going to cut everything you love. Starting with your company.”
Security dragged Preston toward the exit, his protests growing desperate, his friends suddenly very interested in anything except helping him. The ballroom remained frozen.
Luca turned back to Isabella, his dangerous mask disappearing, replaced by the man she loved.
“Let’s go home,” he said gently.
But Isabella saw something in his eyes. Something dark. Something final. This wasn’t over. This was just beginning. And Preston Vale had no idea what was coming for him.
Chapter 2: The Assessment
Outside, as Luca’s driver opened the car door, Isabella touched her destroyed hair and started crying again. Not from pain—from shame. From the humiliation that would never leave her.
Luca pulled her close, holding her while she sobbed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I ruined your event. I embarrassed you. I—”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Luca said fiercely. “Nothing. What happened tonight wasn’t your fault. It was his. And Isabella, I promise you this: By the time I’m finished with Preston Vale, he’ll wish he’d never been born.”
There was something in his voice that made Isabella shiver. Not from fear of him, but from fear of what he was about to unleash. Luca Moretti wasn’t just a businessman. He was the head of the Moretti crime family, one of the five families that controlled New York’s underworld.
The town car pulled up to their penthouse in Tribeca, the building Luca owned through six shell companies, where their entire floor was a fortress of security and luxury. Isabella sat in silence, Luca’s jacket still wrapped around her shoulders, her hands trembling in her lap. Every time she touched her head, felt the jagged, uneven patches where her hair used to be, fresh tears came. Not just from vanity—from the public violation. From three hundred people watching and doing nothing.
Luca hadn’t spoken during the ride, just held her hand, his thumb tracing circles on her palm, his jaw so tight she could see the muscle twitching.
When they reached the penthouse, he guided her inside with gentle hands, sat her on the couch, and disappeared into the bathroom. He returned with a first aid kit.
“Your wrist,” he said softly, kneeling in front of her.
Isabella looked down. Purple bruises were already forming where Preston had gripped her—finger-shaped marks of violence. She hadn’t even noticed the pain until now.
Luca’s hands were impossibly gentle as he applied ointment, wrapped her wrist in a soft bandage, his touch reverent like she was made of glass. But his eyes… his eyes were murder.
“I’m calling Marco,” Luca said, standing.
“No.” Isabella grabbed his hand. “Luca, please. Don’t do anything crazy.”
He looked at her. Really looked at her, taking in her destroyed hair, her tear-stained face, her bandaged wrist.
“Too late, amore,” he said quietly. “It’s already done.”
He walked to his office and closed the door.
Isabella sat there shaking, knowing that on the other side of that door, her husband was making calls that would destroy lives. Knowing she should feel guilty. Knowing she should try to stop him. But all she felt was a terrible, burning desire for Preston Vale to suffer the way she was suffering.
Chapter 3: The Order
In his office, Luca made the first call. Marco, his underboss, answered on the first ring.
“Boss. I saw the video. It’s already everywhere.”
“How is she?” Luca asked, his voice like ice.
“Humiliated. Violated. But alive.”
Marco was silent for three seconds. “What do you need?”
“Everything on Preston Vale. His company, his assets, his investments, his weaknesses. I want to know every business deal, every bank account, every person he’s ever screwed over. And I want it by morning.”
“Consider it done. But Boss,” Marco hesitated. “This is going to be public. Very public. Vale’s not some street dealer we can disappear quietly. He’s visible. Taking him down means—”
“I don’t care,” Luca interrupted, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “He put his hands on my wife. He violated her in front of cameras. He thought he could humiliate a Moretti and walk away laughing. So yes, Marco, this will be public. This will be messy. And when I’m finished, every billionaire in this city will know what happens when you touch what’s mine.”
He hung up and made another call. Salvatore, his family’s lawyer, the man who’d kept Morettis out of prison for three decades.
“Sal, I need you to file lawsuits. Assault, battery, intentional infliction of emotional distress. Everything. Against Preston Vale personally and Vale Technologies.”
“Luca,” Sal said carefully. “I understand you’re angry, but litigation takes time. We’re talking months, maybe years before—”
“I don’t care how long it takes,” Luca said. “I want him buried in legal fees. I want him spending every day in depositions and court appearances. I want his lawyers bleeding him dry. And Sal? Make sure every filing is public record. I want the world to see exactly what kind of man Preston Vale is.”
Sal sighed. “I’ll have the paperwork ready by tomorrow.”
“Good. One more thing. Find every employee Vale Technologies ever fired. Every contractor they stiffed. Every investor they screwed. I want witnesses. I want a case so airtight that Vale can’t buy his way out.”
Luca hung up and made a third call. This one to someone whose name he never said out loud. A fixer. A ghost. The kind of person who could make things happen without leaving fingerprints.
“It’s me,” Luca said when the line connected. “I need Vale Technologies investigated. EPA violations, labor law violations, tax irregularities. Everything. Dig deep. Find the dirt. And when you find it, give it to the right journalists. The ones who can’t be bought.”
The voice on the other end said nothing, just listened.
“And one more thing,” Luca continued. “Preston Vale has friends. Business partners. Investors. I want them all to receive a message. Nothing overt. Nothing traceable. Just a quiet suggestion that continued association with Vale might be bad for their health.”
A pause. Then the voice said one word. “Understood.”
The line went dead.
Luca made seven more calls that night. To union bosses who controlled construction permits. To city officials who owed the Moretti family favors. To bankers who understood that sometimes loans got recalled for mysterious reasons. To investors who knew that certain stocks could be manipulated if the right people applied pressure.
By the time Luca finished, Preston Vale’s entire world was about to collapse, and he didn’t even know it yet.
Chapter 4: The Haircut
When Luca finally emerged from his office at 2:00 a.m., he found Isabella standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at her destroyed hair. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to fix it, tried to make it even, but every attempt just made it worse.
Luca’s heart shattered.
He crossed the bathroom and gently took the scissors from her hands. “Let me,” he said softly.
Isabella looked at him through the mirror, her eyes red and swollen. “You can’t fix this.”
“Maybe not,” Luca admitted. “But I can make it better.”
He worked carefully, gently trimming away the jagged pieces, evening out the disaster Preston had created. His hands were steady despite the fury burning through his veins. When he finished, Isabella’s hair was short—a pixie cut that actually suited her delicate features.
“It’s…” She touched it carefully. “It’s not terrible.”
“You’re beautiful,” Luca said fiercely. “With long hair, short hair, no hair. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And what he did to you… what he took from you… I’m going to take everything from him.”
Isabella turned to face him. “I don’t want you to become a monster because of me.”
“I’m not becoming anything,” Luca said. “I’m just reminding people what I’ve always been. A man who protects his family. At any cost.”
Chapter 5: The Collapse
By morning, the video had forty million views. Isabella’s humiliation was trending worldwide.
The headlines were brutal: TECH CEO ATTACKS WAITRESS AT CHARITY EVENT. BILLIONAIRE SHAVES WOMAN’S HEAD AFTER CHAMPAGNE SPILL.
But other headlines were starting to appear too: MYSTERY MAN DEFENDS WIFE AT MANHATTAN GALA. WHO IS LUCA MORETTI?
And then the one that made Preston Vale’s blood run cold: MORETTI FAMILY CONNECTION RAISES QUESTIONS ABOUT VALE TECHNOLOGIES SAFETY.
Preston woke up to seventeen missed calls from his PR team, his lawyers, his board. His phone was exploding with messages: Emergency meeting. Investors pulling out. Sponsors demanding answers. Criminal charges filed.
His father, the Chairman of Vale Technologies, called him at 6:00 a.m. His voice was icy.
“What the hell did you do?”
“It was just a joke,” Preston stammered. “She spilled champagne on me. I was drunk. I didn’t—”
“You assaulted a woman on camera!” his father roared. “And not just any woman. Luca Moretti’s wife. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Preston’s stomach dropped. “Who’s Luca Moretti?”
There was a long, terrible silence. Then his father said quietly, “We’re finished. Preston, the board is calling for your resignation. Our investors are fleeing. Three of our biggest clients just canceled contracts. And the Moretti family…” His voice cracked. “They own this city. You didn’t just attack some random waitress. You attacked the mafia’s queen. And now they’re coming for everything we’ve built.”
Preston’s world started spinning. “That’s… that’s insane. We can fight this. We can—”
“There’s nothing to fight,” his father said. “Luca Moretti doesn’t fight in courts. He doesn’t play by rules. He just destroys. And son… you just gave him permission to destroy us.”
The line went dead. Preston sat in his penthouse, his $15,000 suit still stained with champagne, and realized he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.
By noon, Preston Vale’s life was disintegrating in real-time. He sat in the emergency board meeting at Vale Technologies headquarters. Twenty executives staring at him with expressions ranging from fury to terror. The company’s stock had dropped eighteen percent in four hours.
“Mr. Vale,” the CFO said, his voice shaking. “We’ve received notice that our primary banking relationship with Sterling Financial has been terminated. Effective immediately.”
“What?” Preston’s voice cracked. “They can’t just—”
“They can. And they did,” the CFO interrupted. “And Chase Manhattan just declined to renew our credit line. We’re looking at a cash flow crisis within thirty days.”
“How is this happening?” Preston demanded. “It’s been less than twelve hours!”
The room went silent. Then his father spoke, his voice like gravel and broken glass. “It’s happening because you declared war on the Moretti family. And the Morettis don’t just win wars. They erase their enemies from existence.”
Preston’s phone buzzed. Another headline: EXCLUSIVE: FORMER VALE TECHNOLOGIES EMPLOYEES ALLEGE WORKPLACE ABUSE, DISCRIMINATION. He clicked it. The article detailed fifteen complaints from former employees—harassment, hostile work environment, wrongful termination—all documented, all verified, all suddenly appearing in the press at the exact same time.
“This is a hit job!” Preston said desperately. “Someone’s coordinating this!”
“Yes,” his father said flatly. “Luca Moretti is coordinating it. And he’s just getting started.”
Another notification: EPA LAUNCHES INVESTIGATION INTO VALE TECHNOLOGIES MANUFACTURING FACILITIES FOLLOWING ANONYMOUS TIP.
Then another: IRS ANNOUNCES AUDIT OF VALE TECHNOLOGIES TAX FILINGS FROM PAST 7 YEARS.
“This is insane!” Preston shouted. “One incident! One stupid mistake, and he’s trying to destroy my entire company!”
“You didn’t make a mistake,” his father stood, his face carved from stone and disappointment. “You committed assault on camera against a woman connected to organized crime. The board voted. You’re suspended as CEO effective immediately. The company is distancing itself from your actions. You’ll face the criminal charges alone.”
“Wait!” Preston’s voice rose to a panicked pitch. “You’re throwing me to the wolves!”
“We’re trying to save the company you destroyed,” his father said coldly. “And son… from this moment forward, you’re on your own.”
Chapter 6: The Visitor
Preston sat in his lawyer’s office, his head in his hands, watching his life collapse.
“How do I make this stop?” he asked desperately.
“You can’t,” his lawyer said bluntly. “Preston, you assaulted the wife of a crime boss on camera. This isn’t going away. This is your new reality.”
“There has to be something,” Preston begged.
“There’s one possibility,” the lawyer leaned forward. “If Mrs. Moretti agrees to drop the charges… shows public forgiveness… it might slow things down. Might. But given what you did to her, I wouldn’t count on her mercy.”
Preston made a decision born of desperation. “I’ll go see her. Apologize in person.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” the lawyer said immediately. “Luca Moretti will—”
“I don’t care!” Preston stood, his voice cracking. “I have to try. I have to make her understand it was a mistake. That I was drunk and stupid and—”
“You were cruel,” the lawyer corrected. “You humiliated her because you could. Because you thought you were untouchable. And now you’re learning what happens when you’re not.”
Preston left the office and made the worst decision of his life. He went to the Moretti penthouse.
Security stopped him at the building entrance. Two men in black suits who looked like they could break him in half.
“I need to speak with Mrs. Moretti,” Preston said. “To apologize. To make this right.”
The guards didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at him like he was already dead.
“Please,” Preston’s voice broke. “I just need five minutes.”
One of the guards spoke into his earpiece. Received a response. Then looked at Preston with something like pity. “Mr. Moretti says you can come up.”
Preston felt relief flood through him. Hope. He didn’t understand. Didn’t realize Luca wasn’t granting him mercy. He was granting him one last chance to understand the magnitude of his mistake.
Preston rode the elevator to the penthouse, his heart pounding. When the doors opened, Luca Moretti stood waiting. Alone. No guards. No weapons visible. Just a man in a black shirt and dark pants, looking calm. Dangerous. Inevitable.
“Mr. Moretti,” Preston started. “I came to—”
“I know why you came,” Luca interrupted. “You came because you’re desperate. Because your world is falling apart. Because you finally understand that money can’t save you.”
Preston swallowed hard. “I want to apologize to your wife.”
“She’s not here,” Luca said. “I sent her away. Because what’s about to happen… she doesn’t need to witness.”
Preston’s blood ran cold. “What? What do you mean?”
“Come inside, Mr. Vale,” Luca said, stepping aside. “Let’s have a conversation about consequences.”
And Preston, knowing it was a mistake, knowing he should run, walked into the penthouse anyway.
Chapter 7: The Lesson
The door locked behind him with a sound like a coffin closing.
“Drink?” Luca asked, walking to a bar cart.
“No,” Preston said, shaking. “I just want to apologize to your wife.”
“And she doesn’t want your apology,” Luca interrupted, pouring himself whiskey. “She wants to forget you exist.”
“I was drunk. I made a terrible—”
“You were cruel,” Luca corrected, turning to face him. “Drunk just removes the filter. What you are is a man who thought power meant you could hurt people without consequences.” Luca took a sip. “How’s your company doing?”
Preston’s jaw clenched. “You know how it’s doing. You’re systematically destroying it.”
“Am I?” Luca tilted his head. “Or am I just exposing what was already broken? Those EPA violations? Real. Those labor complaints? Real. I didn’t create your company’s problems, Mr. Vale. I just made sure everyone knew about them.”
“You’re manipulating—”
“I’m applying pressure,” Luca interrupted. “See, men like you operate in shadows. You exploit workers, cut corners, buy silence. You get away with it because you’re rich and connected. But when someone pulls back the curtain, all your sins come flooding out. That’s not my fault. That’s yours.”
Preston’s hands balled into fists. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to understand,” Luca said, setting down his glass, “that what you did to Isabella wasn’t just assault. It was a message. A message that said women like her—working women, normal women—they don’t matter. They exist to serve you, to tolerate your abuse.”
Luca stepped closer. “And when you sent that message, you sent another message. That money makes you untouchable. So I’m sending a message too, Mr. Vale. I’m showing every person in this city what happens when you forget that everyone deserves dignity. Money doesn’t make you a god. It just makes you a richer target when you fall.”
“I’ve lost everything!” Preston’s voice cracked. “My company is dying. My reputation is destroyed. The board fired me. My own father disowned me. What more do you want?”
Luca smiled, and it was terrifying. “I want you to face criminal charges. I want you to stand in a courtroom. I want you convicted, sentenced. I want you to spend time in a cell understanding what it feels like to be powerless.”
“You’re insane,” Preston backed toward the door. “This is revenge.”
“This is justice,” Luca corrected. “Revenge would be me having my people throw you off this balcony. Justice is letting the system handle you. I don’t need to cheat to destroy you, Mr. Vale. Your own actions did that.”
Preston’s back hit the door. His hand fumbled for the handle.
“Before you go,” Luca said casually. “You should know something. That charity event where you humiliated my wife? I donated five million dollars to that cause. Do you know how much you donated?”
Preston went pale.
“Two thousand dollars,” Luca answered for him. “The minimum required to get your name in the program. You showed up to be seen. While people like Isabella worked overtime serving champagne to frauds like you.”
“Get out of my house,” Luca said quietly. “And Mr. Vale? When you’re sitting in your cell, remember something. All of this happened because you couldn’t control yourself for five seconds. In my world, when you hurt what’s mine, the reaction is obliteration.”
Preston fled. He made it to the lobby, gasping for air.
Waiting for him were three police officers.
“Preston Vale?” one asked.
“Yes,” Preston whispered.
“You’re under arrest for assault and battery.”
They handcuffed him and led him out to the waiting news cameras. PRESTON VALE ARRESTED. The headlines would write themselves.
Chapter 8: The Aftermath
Three months later, Isabella stood in the courtroom gallery watching Preston Vale get sentenced. The trial had been swift. Guilty on all counts.
The judge looked down at Preston with disgust. “Mr. Vale, what you did was an act of profound cruelty. This court sentences you to eighteen months in prison, to be followed by three years probation.”
Preston collapsed. His lawyer caught him.
Isabella felt Luca’s hand find hers. She squeezed it tight. “Is it over?” she whispered.
“It’s over,” Luca confirmed. “Vale Technologies filed for bankruptcy last week. Preston’s fortune is gone.”
Isabella nodded. She’d cut her hair shorter, styled it, learned to love the pixie cut. She’d quit her waitressing jobs and now managed the Moretti family’s charitable foundation, helping others who’d been victimized by the powerful.
As they left the courthouse, reporters swarmed. “Mrs. Moretti, how do you feel about the verdict?”
“Justice was served,” Isabella said simply. “Nobody should ever feel like they’re less than human because they’re serving someone wealthier. Money doesn’t make you untouchable. Decency and respect aren’t optional. They’re required.”
That night, Isabella and Luca stood on their penthouse balcony overlooking the city.
“It’s beautiful,” Isabella said softly. “When you’re not terrified of it.”
“You’re never going to be terrified again,” Luca promised. “Not while I’m breathing.”
Isabella turned to face him. “I know what you are. I know what the Moretti name means. But Luca… when I needed protection, you didn’t hesitate. So thank you. For being my monster when I needed one.”
Luca pulled her close. “For you, amore, I’ll be whatever you need. Monster, protector, husband, destroyer. Whatever keeps you safe.”
They stood there holding each other while Manhattan glittered below them. A city that now knew what happened when you crossed the Moretti family.
Preston Vale would spend eighteen months in prison. But more importantly, every wealthy person in that city now understood a fundamental truth: If you forgot that everyone deserved dignity, if you thought cruelty was entertainment, there would be consequences. Real, permanent, devastating.
Isabella had her justice. Luca had sent his message.
If you believe that power should protect the vulnerable instead of crushing them, smash that subscribe button right now. Drop a comment telling me what you would have done in Isabella’s position. Share this with everyone who needs to know that justice isn’t just for the rich and powerful. This story proves that when you have someone who truly loves you, they’ll burn the world down to protect you.
