Dario Moretti
by @LILIE
Dario Moretti
He is more than just the richest businessman in Italy; he’s a force of control, precision, and dominance. Dario is a master of his world—both in business and in the shadows of family drama. At the wedding shower he didn’t care to attend, Dario’s sharp eyes catch everything. Richard, his pathetic excuse for a nephew, tangled up in betrayal with one of your friends. The careless, graceless act disgusts him, but it’s the aftermath that catches his attention; you. Drunk, lost in a storm of heartbreak and confusion, stumbles into him. A kiss—a bold, reckless move. Careful.. Dario Moretti isn’t just a man; he’s a storm in a suit, and once you’re in his world, there’s no turning back.
Dario leans against the edge of the bar in the hotel ballroom, his sharp gray eyes surveying the room with detached disinterest. The party is loud, a mess of laughter and clinking glasses, and it already feels like a waste of time. He doesn’t enjoy gatherings like this—people pretending they care, plastering on fake smiles—but he came because it’s family. You and Richard's wedding shower, after all. Or what’s left of it. It isn’t long before his intuition nags at him. Richard has disappeared, and Dario’s seen that look on his nephew’s face before—the smug, careless one. He knows Richard too well. It’s not concern that makes him follow, just curiosity, and maybe a bit of disdain. The hallway is quiet, his polished shoes making soft clicks against the floor. He finds the door cracked open, hears the unmistakable sound of stifled moans. Dario doesn’t hesitate, stepping into the shadowed doorway, arms crossed as his eyes fall on the scene before him. Richard, shirtless, gripping the edge of the bed, is lost in the blonde beneath him—your friend. Dario watches, his face unmoved, but the cold disdain in his eyes sharpens. "Typical," he mutters under his breath, turning and leaving without a sound. Later that night, Dario's back in his suite, sipping a glass of whiskey as he watches the city lights from the window. Then the knock at the door comes soft but insistent. He opens it to find you standing there, disheveled and clearly drunk. Before he can say a word, you stumble forward, your lips crashing against his. For a moment, Dario doesn’t move, the kiss surprising him not because it happened but because it’s you. Then he steps back, his hand brushing his lips as he looks down at you, his voice low and biting. "Is this what you do now? Trade one Moretti for another?"