Lorenzo’s POV
The man in front of me was shaking.
Sweat covered his face and soaked his expensive shirt. Three days ago, that shirt cost more than what he earned in a month. Now it was wet, dirty, and stuck to his body.
He was on his knees in the middle of my warehouse.
Two of my men stood behind him with their arms crossed, waiting for my order.
“Please, Mr. Moretti,” he said.
I walked slowly around him. My shoes made a quiet sound on the floor. Click. Click. Click. The sound alone made his shoulders flinch each time.
“You imported drugs into the country ,” I said. My voice stayed calm. Calm scared people more than shouting ever could. Shouting told them what you felt. Calm told them what you were capable of. “And you used my name to do it.”
“I was framed, Mr Moretti.”
“Stop.”
He stopped. His mouth snapped shut so fast his teeth clicked together.
I bent down until we were looking into each other’s eyes.
His breath smelled of old whiskey and fear. Dark circles surrounded his eyes. He had not slept well for weeks. He had been running, hoping I would never find him.
“I hate lies,” I tried calming myself down, “you knew I would find out, so you sent your family out of the country first.”
“You knew I hate betrayal,” I said, “you should have asked people what happened to those that betrayed me.”
Confusion filled his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“And you forced it down to teenagers,” I continued. “You betrayed me.”
I stood up straight and looked at Marco, my head of security, standing near the door with his hands folded in front of him.
“Find his family,” I said. “Kill him.”
Marco’s eyebrows lifted, just slightly. It was the closest thing to surprise I ever let him show.
“Boss?”
“You heard me.”
He nodded and reached for his phone.
The man broke down completely. “Please. Please, I swear I’ll never—”
“You betrayed me first, now your family will bear the consequences.”
I turned back to him. He froze.
Without another word, I pulled out my gun.
Bang.
The sound echoed through the warehouse.
He fell to the floor.
Everyone who worked for me knew one thing.
Never betray Lorenzo Moretti.
Some people were foolish enough to forget.
“Depose him,” I said, already turning away.
Two men grabbed him and dragged him toward the exit. His shoes scraped across the concrete floor.
Soon, silence filled the warehouse again.
People feared me. They called me a monster behind closed doors. A man with no heart. A king who ruled through fear and blood. Let them believe that. Fear kept my enemies at a distance, and distance kept the people I cared about alive.
I never punished desperation.
I punished betrayal.
There was a difference. Most people never cared enough to see it.
When I returned to my office, everything was quiet.
Dante stood beside my desk, holding a paper tightly. His tie was loose. His jaw was tight.
“Boss,” he said. “Something came in. Anonymous.”
I took off my jacket and threw it over my chair. “Another threat?”
“No.” He did not hesitate. He was too anxious and happy too. He is behaving weirdly. “A message. From a woman. She didn’t give her name.”
I sat down and poured myself a glass of scotch.
I held the glass but never drank it.
“What does the message say?”
Dante placed a piece of paper on my desk.
One line.
Isabella Hart. She’s in danger. Please help her.
The glass stopped halfway to my lips.
My hand went still. My heartbeat became louder.
“Say that name again.”
Dante blinked. “Isabella Hart?”
“Sir, she is the same woman we have been looking for.”
The room around me disappeared for a moment. Dante standing there waiting, all of it faded into a gray blur.
I would see her again. The way I saw her that night, months ago. Dark hair falling over one shoulder. Her smile came so easily even when she was in pain.
She spoke to me like I was just another man. Not a king. Not a monster.
One night. That was all we had.
I woke up the next morning and she was gone. No note. No number. No name. Only the soft smell of vanilla remained on the pillow.
And an emptiness in my chest I could never explain.
I searched for her.
For weeks, Dante and I searched. Nothing. No social media. Almost no records. We only had her picture and her name. It was as if she had disappeared from the world.
Then, three months later, a video appeared online. A footage, taken from far away, shaky, the kind that always circulated fast because it looked real and messy. A young woman, thin and pale, being carried to a car and another showed her, swatting at the far end of a hospital room wearing the psychiatric gown. She looked lost and empty.
I stared at that video a hundred times. Maybe more.
Something about it never sat right with me. Her eyes in that footage. They were not the eyes of someone who had lost her mind. They were the eyes of someone begging for help. Someone trying to tell the truth while nobody believed her.
Eventually, I convinced myself it couldn’t be her.
But deep inside…
I never believed that lie.
I placed the glass back on the table.
“Dante.”
“Sir.”
“I want everything. Every hospital, every clinic, every private facility within three hundred miles. I want it by tonight.”
“On it.” He was already calling people as he walked toward the door.
“Dante.”
He stopped.
“If this is really her…”
I looked out the window.
“And someone has hurt her…”
I didn’t finish. I didn’t need to.
Dante had worked for me for six years.
He already knew what I meant. He gave a short nod and left.
The office became quiet again. I stared at the paper on my desk.
Isabella Hart.
The only name I had. The only connection left to the woman I had tried so hard to forget.
And failed.
The call came at two o’clock in the morning.
I was still sitting in my office. I had not slept.
Three empty coffee cups sat beside my laptop.
My phone vibrated.
“Dante.”
“Boss.” His breathing was heavy. “We found her.”
I stood so fast my chair crashed into the wall.
“Where.”
“A private psychiatric facility. Two hours outside the city. High security. Very expensive. He paused. “The kind of place rich people use to make others disappear.”
My jaw tightened.
“Under what name.”
“Not her own.” Dante’s voice dropped lower. “She’s listed under a fake identity. Diagnosed with psychosis. Committed by a man holding power of attorney over her care.”
My hand closed into a fist.
“Whose name is on the documents?”
There was a pause.
“Matteo Edoardo.”
The name hit me hard.
I knew that name.
The acting CEO of Hart group, boyfriend to Vanessa Hart. He recently took control of the company after the death of Mrs Eleanor. Ex-finance to Isabella Hart.
Wait, is he dating two sisters?
The pieces fell into place slowly. Painfully.
She hadn’t disappeared.
She had been erased.
Someone stole her name. Her freedom. Her voice. Then they locked her away where nobody would ever look for her. Not her family. Not her friends.
Not even me.
“How long has she been there,” I asked. My voice came out low. Dangerous. Even Dante went quiet on the other end for a second before answering.
“Weeks. Maybe longer. The paperwork’s messy on purpose.”
I thought about the video.
Staged. All of it, staged, to make the world believe she was unstable long before anyone even started asking questions.
Someone had planned this carefully, until the whole thing was strong enough to trap her completely.
My hands started shaking. I hadn’t gotten this angry in years. Not the loud, reckless kind that made men careless. This was quiet. Cold. The kind that made men beg for a quick death instead of a slow one.
“Dante.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Get everything ready. And call team A.”
“Boss, it’s the middle of the night. Security there is going to be—”
“I don’t care.”
I grabbed my jacket.
“I don’t care about their security.” I kept walking. ” I don’t care whose name is stamped on her file.”
I walked toward the door.
“She is not spending one more night in that place.”
Dante ended the call.
For months, I told myself I would forget her. That one night meant nothing.
That a woman who disappeared simply didn’t want to be found.
I was wrong.
I have been wrong every single day.
Somewhere inside that building…
Behind the locked door, the fake medical reports.
She is still fighting. Still breathing.
And I had almost given up looking.
Never again.
I sent Dante a message.
“Prepare the cars,” I said. “We’re bringing her home.”