Page 33 of I'm sorry, Princess
I know it’ll irritate him, he’s the kind of man who expects his orders to be followed without question. But I can’t help it. His request feels... strange.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves toward the door, his movements slow and deliberate.
“Just do as I say,” he finally replies, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m very proud of you.”
He gives me a curt nod before stepping out, leaving me alone in the silence of my office.
Proud of me?
The words linger in the air, but they feel hollow, like something he’s supposed to say, not something he truly means.
I stare at the closed door, my mind buzzing with questions. Why is he so concerned about Moretti? And why is he involving me in whatever this is?
For now, though, I have no answers. Only orders.
Chapter Nine
Lorenzo
“Get up, asshole.”
The loud, grating voice cuts through the haze of sleep, but I ignore it, turning over and trying to fall back under.
“Lorenzo! Get the fuck up. We need to talk.”
The voice gets closer, more persistent. I crack one eye open, groaning when I see it’s Andres standing there with Francesco, my lawyer. I glance at the clock: 7 a.m.
Seven fucking a.m.
These people seriously have nothing better to do than disturb me this early?
“Fuck off, Andres,” I growl, pulling the blanket over my head.
“Lorenzo, it’s important. We need to talk,” Francesco says, hisvoice calm but firm.
“You too, Francesco.” My tone is sharp, cutting. I don’t have the patience for this right now. I barely slept last night, and whatever they’re here for can wait.
“Son,” Francesco starts, a note of urgency slipping into his voice as he makes himself comfortable at the edge of my bed. “We got important information from Lucy.”
The mention of Lucy jolts me awake. I sit up immediately, the haze of sleep burning away in an instant.
“What do we know?” I snap, swinging my legs out of bed and standing, my focus locked on him.
I step closer to Francesco, my mind already racing. He’s been with me since I took over the Moretti Empire. My father’s lawyer first, he saw me grow up, watched as I went from a reckless kid to… well, this.
Since my father’s death, Francesco has been my lifeline. He’s kept me out of trouble, smoothed over the messes I’ve made, and pulled me out of jail more times than I care to count, all without the media catching wind of it.
There aren’t many men I trust, but Francesco is one of them.
Besides Andres, Francesco has been the closest thing I’ve had to family. At 50 years old, the man takes better care of himself than most in their 30s. Sure, his hair is grey, but he never misses a day at the gym. He’s almost as tall and massive as me. Almost.
“The good news is that Lucy is working,” Andres says, his eyes glued to his phone. God knows what he’s looking at, but his tone is too serious for it to be trivial. “I still need time to get all the information and fully hack their system so I can access everything smoothly, but the hard work is done.”
He doesn’t look up, his thumb scrolling as he continues, “However, while reviewing the data we’ve already pulled from Lucy, we found an interesting statement.”
He glances up at me, his expression unreadable at first, but then something unusual flickers in his eyes. Concern?
What the fuck is going on?
