In New York, power isn't loud.
It's quiet.
Measured.
Deadly.
And Lorenzo Moretti owned it.
The skyline of Manhattan glittered beneath the glass walls of the ballroom. Billionaires, politicians, CEOs all gathered under crystal chandeliers pretending they weren't afraid of the man who funded half their empires.
He didn't arrive early.
Men like him never did.
The doors opened at exactly 10:47 PM.
Not a second sooner.
Conversations thinned. Laughter faded. Even the orchestra softened.
Lorenzo Moretti entered like he owned more than the building.
Black tailored suit. No smile. No wasted movement.
CEO of Moretti Global Holdings.
Investor in Wall Street.
Philanthropist in the news.
Mafia sovereign in the shadows.
He didn't look around like he needed approval.
He looked around like he was calculating assets.
Until his eyes landed on me.
Not impressed.
Not curious.
Certain.
My father's champagne glass trembled in his hand.
"Don't make eye contact," he whispered under his breath.
Too late.
Lorenzo didn't cross the room quickly.
He moved slowly. Intentionally. As if the floor itself belonged to him.
When he stopped in front of us, the air changed.
Not fear.
Control.
"Mr. Carter," he said smoothly.
His voice was calm almost gentle.
The kind of calm that comes before destruction.
My father swallowed. "Mr. Moretti. I can explain—"
"You already did," Lorenzo interrupted.
Then his gaze shifted to me.
Cold.
Assessing.
Like he was deciding whether I was worth the investment.
"I don't want repayment," he said quietly.
Silence.
"I want leverage."
His eyes never left mine.
"And she will do."
My heart stopped.
Not because I was afraid.
But because for the first time in my life…
Someone wasn't looking at me like I was fragile.
He was looking at me like I was valuable.
And dangerous things protect what they value.
Even if they destroy it first.