The Don's Favorite lover Vanished (by Melissa Z) novel Chapter 13

**The Story of a Girl Who Loved a Man Made Entirely of Secrets**
**Chapter 13**

Two months had slipped by, and once again, the city of Chicago found itself bowing before the formidable Russo family. The weight of our power pressed down on the streets like an unyielding shadow.

But I was different now.

“Boss,” Marco’s voice broke through the thick silence, laced with caution, “the Castellano family is requesting a negotiation…”

Without lifting my gaze from the document sprawled across my desk, I responded with chilling calmness, “Eliminate their leader.”

“…Yes, Boss.”

The air thickened with unease.

Fear had replaced the respect that once filled the room.

They were terrified of me now.

What had once been admiration had morphed into dread.

I had become a monster, a creature of the night. Murder was the only thing left that made sense.

Each night, as I drifted into a restless sleep, she haunted my dreams.

I could still see her last expression—cold, distant, and filled with disappointment. It was as if she had stripped away every ounce of emotion, leaving only an empty shell behind.

I would awaken, heart racing, drenched in a cold sweat, the remnants of my nightmares clinging to me like a shroud.

“Find her,” I commanded Marco, my voice a low growl. “Use every resource at our disposal. I want Chiara Rossi located.”

“Boss, we’ve been searching for two months now…” he began, but I cut him off, sliding a sleek handgun across my desk.

“If you don’t bring her to me within one month,” I fixed him with an empty stare, “you know what to do with this.”

Marco’s complexion drained of color, his hand quivering as he grasped the weapon.

But as the days turned into weeks, the search yielded nothing. She had seemingly vanished into thin air, leaving no trace behind.

Then, one day, Tony entered my office, his face ashen. “Boss, I just recalled something… that night, I spotted a black Mercedes parked outside the estate… the license plates looked Italian…”

Italy.

My heart raced at the thought.

She had returned to Italy.

“Prepare the jet,” I ordered, rising to my feet with a sudden surge of urgency. “We’re heading to Italy.”

“Where to, Boss?” Tony asked, confusion etched across his brow.

“We’ll begin with her father.”

Sicily awaited us, the ancient estate of the Rossi family looming in my mind.

Chiara’s father, Lorenzo Rossi, sat across the table from me, his white hair contrasting sharply with his piercing, razor-like eyes.

“What brings you here?” he asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

“I want Chiara,” I stated bluntly, cutting through the pleasantries.

“You won’t find her,” he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Where is she?!” I demanded, stepping closer, my patience wearing thin.

“She’s gone,” Lorenzo replied, his voice as calm as if he were reciting a fact from a book.

“Locate Chiara Rossi. I want her alive, or I want her body. I need to know her last whereabouts, who she interacted with, what she said. I demand to know everything.”

For the first time, the realization hit me like a wave: all the power and wealth in the world meant nothing without her by my side. I craved none of it.

Two years later, I found myself in an abandoned church in Sicily, moving through the ruins like a specter, searching for any hint of her presence.

On one wall, a half-restored fresco caught my eye. The face of the Virgin Mary radiated compassion, a stark contrast to the despair that had consumed me.

The brushstrokes, the colors, the technique of restoration…

It felt hauntingly familiar.

With trembling hands, I approached it, carefully scraping away a small piece of paint from the bottom right corner.

Beneath the surface, I discovered it—a minuscule mark, drawn in a unique ink that only I could recognize.

A phoenix rising from the ashes.

It was her.

She was alive.

I sank to my knees before the fresco, my fingers tracing the delicate outline of the tiny phoenix.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t laugh.

Instead, I let out a choked, desperate sound, akin to a lone wolf finally catching the scent of its prey. It was a sound filled with both agony and ecstasy.

Chiara.

I’m coming for you.