Semua Bab The Don’s Favorite Lover Vanished: Bab 11 - Bab 20

Vincenzo's POVThree hours later, the church reeked of blood and gunpowder. The stench was sickening.The wound on my chest was still bleeding, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony in my soul.Two of my men held Katerina on her knees before me. The dagger lay on the stone floor beside her.She was trembling, her blonde hair matted with blood and dust. The princess was gone.“Vincenzo, please… don’t kill me…” she sobbed, trying to crawl toward me. “Dimitri made me do it! I love you, I was just so scared…”“Love?” I looked down at her, my voice quiet. “Your love is setting a six-month trap with your family to put me in the ground?”I crouched, grabbing her chin and forcing her to meet my eyes.“Your love is planning an ambush to get rid of Chiara?” My voice trembled with suppressed rage. “Do you know you almost succeeded? Do you know I… I pushed her right into the explosion you designed?!”I was shouting the last words.Every word was a knife twisting in my own heart.A flicker

Chiara's POVTwo years later. Florence.I stood at my studio’s floor-to-ceiling window, watching the sunset over the Arno River.This was my new world. Quiet, elegant, far from the blood.“Bella, daydreaming again?” Alessandro, a man who’d been pursuing me, walked into the studio with a bouquet of white roses.He was a rising star in the art world. We’d met at a gallery opening.I was hesitant when he first asked me out. I wasn't sure I could ever face another relationship.But he was handsome, elegant, and most importantly, his world was as clean as a blank canvas.He kissed my cheek and asked me to the opera that night.I smiled and accepted.After he left, I went back to my workbench to continue restoring a portrait for a mysterious collector.The woman in the painting looked surprisingly like me.I picked up a scalpel and carefully began scraping away a layer of grime.Suddenly, my hand froze.In the bottom right corner of the canvas, hidden under layers of paint, a symbol slowly e

Chiara's POVJust as the elevator doors were about to close, Vincenzo shoved his hand between them, forcing them open.His eyes were wild, obsessive. “Wait. We’re not done.”I gave him a cold look, then turned to my father. “Dad, let him in. It’s better to get this all out in the open, once and for all.”We returned to the suffocating tension of the private room.Vincenzo thought he still had a chance. What he got was a public trial.“Don Russo,” I began, my voice clear and calm, carrying across the room. “Since your son believes the past is just a series of ‘misunderstandings,’ I don’t mind repeating them. Here. In front of all our elders.”I rose to my feet, as if I were taking the stand.“First,” I began, my voice ringing with cold clarity. “The tunnel. The rocket attack. You used me as a human shield for her.”Elena gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.“Second. The engagement party. The grenade. You chose to shield her again, leaving me to take the blast. To live or die on my own.

Chiara's POVI stepped out of the fortified building into the cold Chicago wind.Vincenzo was standing across the street.He had tried to clean himself up, dressed in an expensive Brioni suit, trying to maintain the last shreds of a Don’s dignity.But the bloodshot eyes and the exhaustion he couldn’t hide gave him away.He saw me, immediately dropped his cigarette, and strode toward me.“What are you doing here?” I stopped. The bodyguards behind me instantly moved to shield me.“I heard about the hearing,” his voice was hoarse.“And?” I sneered. “Here to collect the bodies?”“No.”“Then you’re here to question why I touched your people?”“I’m not here for them!” His voice was edged with emotion. “I’m here for you!”I ignored him and turned toward my car.He suddenly rushed forward, throwing his arms out to block my path.“Chiara, please,” his voice held a note of pleading. “Five minutes.”I looked at him, then at my bodyguards. “Stand down.”They stepped back.I didn’t get in the car.

Chiara's POVThree months later. Florence.My art gallery was about to open. Everything was falling into place.Alessandro’s gentle affection was like a warm sun, illuminating a world that had once been nothing but shadow.I thought I had finally left the past behind.Until my assistant, Lucia, handed me a package from Sicily. No return address.It was heavy. Inside was an ancient box made of ebony.Carved on the lid was the original Russo family crest.The older, fiercer phoenix. The one from before I redesigned it.My breath caught.I opened the box. Inside lay an old key and a faded, parchment contract.It was the deed to the original Russo family estate in Sicily. The family’s roots.The key was the only one that could open the vaults beneath the old manor.This wasn't just land. It was the soul of the Russo family.There was also a letter. Elena’s elegant, familiar handwriting.“My dearest Chiara,”“When you read this, you may still hate us. I have no right to ask for your forgive