OBSESSED WITH THE GIRL HE COULDN’T HAVE

OBSESSED WITH THE GIRL HE COULDN’T HAVE CHAPTER ONE: THE DEVIL IN THE RAIN The first time Isabella Rossi met Lucien Moretti, she called him a potential serial killer. The second time, she rejected his flowers. And the third time, she made the most powerful man in Milan wonder whether he had finally met someone capable of destroying him. It all began on a rainy Thursday evening. Isabella hurried out of the bakery where she worked part-time, clutching her handbag beneath her coat. At twenty-four, she had become an expert at surviving on little money, endless cups of coffee, and the stubborn belief that her life would eventually become something more than university assignments and exhausting shifts. Tonight, however, even her optimism was drowning. Her phone had died. The last bus had departed, and the rain showed no intention of stopping. “Perfect,” she muttered, staring at the flooded street. “Absolutely perfect.” A black Mercedes slowed beside her. Its windows were tinted, and its polished surface reflected the golden lights of Milan’s expensive shopping district. Isabella stepped away instinctively. The rear window lowered. A man sat inside, dressed in a black suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent. His dark hair was neatly styled, his jaw sharp, and his grey eyes unsettlingly calm. “Get in,” he said. Isabella blinked. “Excuse me?” “You’re getting soaked.” “I hadn’t noticed.” His expression remained unreadable. “It’s dangerous to walk alone at this hour.” “Then perhaps you should tell the dangerous people to stay home.” For one remarkable second, the man looked genuinely surprised. Then his lips curved into a slow smile. “What’s your name?” “Someone who doesn’t get into cars with strange men.” She turned and began walking. The car followed her. Isabella stopped. “Are you serious?” The door opened, and the stranger stepped into the rain. He was taller than she had expected, with broad shoulders and the kind of presence that made people instinctively move aside. He removed his expensive coat and held it toward her. “Take it.” “No, thank you.” “You’re shivering.” “And you’re apparently incapable of understanding a simple sentence.” His driver stared at her in horror. Nobody spoke to Lucien Moretti like that. Not his employees. Not his business partners. Certainly not the men who owed his family money. Lucien had built his reputation on being feared, obeyed, and never questioned. Yet this woman stood before him with rain running down her face, looking at him as though he were an inconvenience rather than a man whose name could empty an entire room. “Do you always argue with people who offer to help you?” he asked. “Only when they behave as though helping me gives them ownership of my decisions.” Something flickered in his eyes. Before he could answer, Isabella walked away. Lucien watched her disappear around the corner. Rain soaked his shirt, but he barely noticed. “Matteo.” His driver straightened. “Yes, sir?” “Find out who she is.” Matteo glanced toward the empty pavement. “May I ask why?” Lucien opened the car door. “No.” ⸻ The next morning, Isabella discovered that her life had attracted the attention of a very persistent stranger. A black envelope waited on the bakery counter. Her name was written across it in elegant silver lettering. Nina, her coworker and closest friend, practically vibrated with excitement. “Open it! What if it’s a secret admirer?” “Secret admirers usually start with a message, not something that looks like an invitation to a criminal organization.” Isabella opened the envelope. Inside lay a business card bearing the name LUCIEN MORETTI, a dozen white roses, and a handwritten note. You were right. I was being bossy. Allow me to apologize properly. Dinner tonight. Eight o’clock. L.M. Isabella stared at the card. Then she laughed. “Oh, absolutely not.” Nina snatched the card. “Isabella! Do you know who this is?” “Unfortunately, I know he has terrible listening skills.” “That’s Lucien Moretti! His family owns hotels, shipping companies, nightclubs—” “And apparently a flower shop.” Nina lowered her voice. “People say his family has connections to the underworld.” Isabella’s smile faded slightly. She had heard rumors about the Morettis. Everyone in Milan had. Their name appeared in business magazines beside photographs of charity galas, but whispers followed them wherever they went. She looked at the flowers again. A man who couldn’t accept a refusal was not suddenly romantic because he could afford roses. She tore the invitation in half. “Return these.” Unfortunately, Lucien had anticipated resistance. At eight that evening, another delivery arrived at Isabella’s apartment. A new phone. Chocolates. More flowers. And another note. In case your phone dies again. I would hate for you to be stranded. —Lucien. Isabella stared at the phone for a full ten seconds before picking up her own device, which she had finally managed to charge. She called the number printed on his business card. He answered immediately. “Did you enjoy the flowers?” “How did you get my address?” “I have my ways.” “That isn’t an answer. It’s a threat wearing an expensive suit.” Silence. Then she heard his quiet laugh. “You’re remarkably difficult to impress, Isabella Rossi.” “And you’re remarkably difficult to discourage.” “Have dinner with me.” “No.” “Coffee?” “No.” “Ten minutes of conversation?” “Mr. Moretti, listen carefully. I don’t want your gifts, your money, or your attention. I’m not interested in becoming another woman who mistakes your wealth for a personality.” For the first time in years, Lucien had absolutely nothing to say. Isabella continued. “If you genuinely want to apologize, stop sending people to my home and stop trying to buy your way into my life.” She ended the call. Across Milan, Lucien sat behind his desk in a penthouse overlooking the city. Matteo stood nearby, pretending not to notice his employer’s expression. “She rejected the invitation,” Lucien said. “Yes, sir.” “The flowers.” “Yes, sir.” “The phone.” Matteo hesitated. “Yes, sir.” Lucien leaned back. “Do you find this amusing?” “Not at all.” “You’re smiling.” “It’s a medical condition, sir.” Lucien threw a pen at him. Matteo caught it. Then, cautiously, he said, “Perhaps you should leave her alone.” Lucien’s expression hardened. “Perhaps you should remember who employs you.” “Of course, sir.” After Matteo left, Lucien stood by the window and watched the city glitter beneath the evening sky. He had met beautiful women before. Women who wanted his attention, his money, his name, and the protection his family could offer. He had never cared enough to remember their birthdays. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about a woman who had refused even a cup of coffee. He wanted to know why she worked so hard. Why she walked home alone. Why she looked at him without fear—or perhaps with fear she refused to acknowledge. Most of all, he wanted to understand why her rejection had affected him more than any business failure or betrayal ever had. His father had taught him that anything valuable could be acquired through money, power, or patience. Lucien had mastered all three. But Isabella was different. She could not be bought, intimidated, or persuaded by his reputation. And that made her dangerous. ⸻ The following afternoon, Isabella left the bakery and found the black Mercedes parked across the street. Lucien stood beside it, holding two coffees. She stopped walking. “You have got to be kidding me.” He approached only far enough to offer her one of the cups. “Coffee. No flowers. No expensive gifts.” “Do you have a hobby that doesn’t involve ignoring women when they say no?” “Not recently.” Despite herself, Isabella almost smiled. Almost. She looked at the coffee, then at him. “Why me?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. Lucien studied her face. “Because you don’t look at me the way everyone else does.” “And how does everyone else look at you?” “Like they want something.” “Perhaps they do.” “And you?” “I want you to stop following me.” His smile disappeared. For a moment, the silence between them felt heavier than the rain from their first meeting. Then Lucien lowered the coffee. “All right.” Isabella searched his face, suspicious of how easily he had agreed. “All right?” “I won’t follow you again.” She nodded once and walked away. This time, the Mercedes remained where it was. For the first time, Lucien allowed her to leave without trying to change her mind. But when he returned to his penthouse that evening, an unfamiliar message appeared on his phone. A photograph. Isabella was standing outside the bakery, laughing with a handsome man who had one hand resting lightly against her shoulder. Beneath it were five words. She’s already chosen someone else. Lucien stared at the photograph until the screen dimmed. Then he opened it again. He didn’t know the man. He didn’t know how long they had known each other, or whether Isabella looked at him with the same warmth she had denied Lucien. But he knew one thing. For the first time, he wanted something that another man might already have. And the feeling that rose inside him was neither love nor anger. It was fear. Fear that he had discovered the one person in the world he could never replace. Fear that she might never choose him. And fear of what he might become if he allowed that desire to rule his life. Lucien set the phone down. “Matteo,” he called. His right-hand man appeared in the doorway. “Yes, boss?” Lucien looked at the photograph one last time. “Find out who that man is.” Matteo’s expression grew serious. “And if Isabella asks you to leave her alone?” Lucien was silent for a long moment. Then he looked toward the darkened city. “Then I’ll have to decide whether I love her enough to listen.” He didn’t yet understand that this would be the most important decision of his life. Because the woman he wanted was not a prize to be won. She was a choice he had to earn. And somewhere beyond the glittering streets of Milan, another man had already begun watching Isabella Rossi. A man who knew the Moretti family. A man who understood Lucien’s weaknesses. And a man who intended to use Isabella to bring the most powerful mafia heir in Italy to his knees.