Novels by MFF

The snowstorm swallowed the world whole.Wind ripped through the trees with a feral scream, carrying the scent of blood—Lorenzo’s blood—across the mountains. The forest seemed alive, breathing in ragged gasps as if it knew death was moving through its heart.Marco ran.His vision blurred, his side drenched red, breath slicing through frost like broken glass. The cold gnawed at him, ate him alive, but he didn’t stop. Rage kept him upright. Hatred kept his pulse pumping.Love—twisted, poisoned, delusional—kept him fighting.“Lorenzo…” he growled into the storm. “Still playing hero. Still stealing what’s mine.”Branches whipped his face as he stumbled deeper into the dark.Behind him, distant shouts echoed through the trees.De Luca soldiers.Hunting him.But he wasn’t running from them.He was leading them.---Inside the LodgeLorenzo’s vision faded in and out like a dying bulb.The bullet had gone deep. Too deep.He leaned heavily against Isabella as Lucio wrapped a cloth around his w

The mountains rose like jagged teeth against the night, their shadows swallowing the narrow road that wound toward Marco’s hideout. Snow fell in thin, relentless sheets, turning the forest into a white graveyard. Every tree looked like a watching figure. Every shift of wind sounded like a warning.But Lorenzo did not slow down.The black SUV growled beneath him as he pushed it harder, engine screaming against the climb. His hands strangled the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white. He had driven for hours, but it felt like minutes—time had collapsed into a single thought:Isabella.Alive.Waiting for me.Terrified.Alone.His chest burned with every breath, as though his heart was fighting through ice and fire at once.Lucio’s voice crackled through the comms behind him.“Boss, we’re ten minutes behind you—don’t go in alone.”Lorenzo didn’t respond.A moment later:“Lorenzo, I swear—if you go in without backup—”He turned the radio off.There was no backup for what he intended to do.No

The sun had barely risen above the treeline when the De Luca mansion erupted into motion again. Footsteps echoed in the corridors, radios crackled with urgent static, and engines roared to life outside. The world was waking… but Lorenzo De Luca had not slept.He was still in the same clothes he had worn the night before, blood drying on his sleeves, shadows carved deep beneath his eyes. But his mind was awake—sharper than ever. Every nerve, every instinct, every breath was anchored to one truth:Marco wasn’t finished.Marco never stopped.And Marco wanted Isabella.Lorenzo stepped out into the hall just as Lucio approached from the staircase, a folder tucked under his arm.“You’re up?” Lucio asked.“I never went to sleep.” Lorenzo’s voice was gravel—not tired, but dangerous.Lucio swallowed. “We got intel from one of the men you… questioned.”Lorenzo gave him a cold, silent look.Lucio quickly corrected himself. “Interrogated. Professionally.”Lorenzo’s jaw twitched. “Show me.”They w

The sky was still bruised with the last traces of night when Lorenzo De Luca stepped into the courtyard, the cold morning air biting at his skin. Dozens of men stood before him—armed, silent, waiting. Engines idled in the background like hungry beasts ready to tear the city apart.Lorenzo’s presence was enough to quiet even the wind.He wore the same black shirt from the night before, though someone had stitched the torn sleeve. A dark coat rested on his shoulders, the collar turned up, casting a shadow across his jaw. He looked like a king stepping into battle… or a wolf who had already decided who would die by sunrise.Lucio approached him. “The teams are in position.”Lorenzo didn’t nod. He simply scanned the faces of his men—old soldiers, loyal guards, fighters trained from the shadows of his father’s empire. Every one of them would die for him. And all of them knew he might die today.“Marco wants a war?” Lorenzo said, voice steady, chilling, final.“Yes, boss,” Lucio answered.“

The mansion was wrapped in an eerie quiet, the kind that didn’t soothe but suffocated. Night had fallen hours ago, yet no one inside the walls dared to sleep. Every guard was awake. Every gun was loaded. Every light stayed on. Fear moved through the air like smoke, curling into corners and shadows.Isabella felt it most.She sat beside the window of the guest room Lorenzo had moved her into—a room closer to his office, closer to his guards, closer to him. Her fingers trembled as she traced the outline of the bruises on her wrists. They stung when she pressed them, but the pain reminded her she was alive.Alive… even though Marco wanted her dead.Or worse.Her breath wavered. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, staring at the moon outside. The forest beyond the mansion swayed with the wind, but in her mind, she heard footsteps… Marco’s footsteps. She heard the scrape of rope against wood. His chilling laugh. The whisper he left her with:“Lorenzo will bleed for this.”A shudder

The storm had not yet passed when Lorenzo De Luca stood at the tall windows of his study, watching the dark sky twist above the city. The thunder rolled like an omen, echoing through the marble halls of the mansion. The air smelled of gunpowder and roses — the strange scent that always followed war.He turned away from the window when Isabella entered. She wore a pale blue dress, her hair damp from the rain, her eyes filled with questions she had learned not to ask.“Lorenzo,” she said softly, “you’ve been standing there for hours.”“I’m waiting for silence,” he replied, his voice low. “It’s the only thing I can trust these days.”She walked closer, her hand brushing his sleeve. “You can trust me.”He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “That’s why I need you to leave.”Her breath caught. “Leave? What do you mean?”“You’ll go to the countryside. Matteo will escort you. You’ll stay there until I settle things with Marco.”Isabella’s lips parted in disbelief. “You can’t send m