The Don's Favorite lover Vanished (by Melissa Z) novel Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Three days passed, and the silence in my room was shattered when the door creaked open, letting in a rush of unfamiliar energy.

Vincenzo stepped inside, his presence commanding, with Katerina elegantly draped on his arm. She was a vision in a pristine white Chanel suit, the fabric hugging her form in a way that screamed sophistication. The family ring on her left hand caught the light, its brilliance almost painful to behold, as if it were a spotlight aimed directly at my heart.

“Chiara,” Vincenzo’s voice was devoid of warmth, a flat tone that sent a chill through me. “How are you feeling?”

“Still breathing,” I replied, my voice rough and gravelly, like a stone being dragged across concrete. “Disappointed?”

Katerina glided over to my bedside, her expression a carefully crafted mask of concern. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you. I heard you were badly hurt while protecting us. You’re so incredibly brave.”

Protecting you.

What a laughable notion.

“Just doing my job,” I said, forcing the words through clenched teeth, my heart pounding with frustration.

“Your loyalty is truly touching,” Katerina remarked, her gaze drifting down to the open collar of my hospital gown. Her eyes zeroed in on the small phoenix tattoo nestled just below my collarbone, a symbol of our shared history.

That tattoo was more than just ink; it was a reminder of the bond we forged after our first firefight together, our very first secret, a mark of defiance against the chaos surrounding us.

A flicker of jealousy ignited in her eyes, and she pivoted toward Vincenzo, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Darling, Chiara’s tattoo is so unique. But… I must admit, I don’t really like it. It reminds me that you have a past I know nothing about. It makes me feel… insecure.”

Vincenzo froze, his expression unreadable.

A heavy silence enveloped the room, thick with unspoken tension. Then, with a deliberate motion, he pulled out his phone and dialed Marco, his face set in grim determination.

“Get Tony over to the hospital with his kit. Now,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

A wave of dread washed over me. Tony was the family’s tattoo artist, a man whose needle could erase memories as easily as it could create them.

No. He wouldn’t dare…

Twenty minutes later, Tony Marcelli entered, a sleek black case in hand. His eyes widened as he took in the scene—me in the hospital bed and Vincenzo standing like a statue, radiating an intensity that could scorch the air.

“Boss, you sure… you want to do this here?” Tony asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

In that moment, I feared the worst. I thought he was here to erase my tattoo, to strip me of our last shared secret. But I was sorely mistaken. What unfolded next was far more devastating. Vincenzo began to remove his shirt.

The scars on his chest glistened under the harsh hospital lights, suddenly blinding in their familiarity. Each mark told a story, a testament to our tumultuous life together. The scar on his left pec, a jagged reminder of a night at the docks three years ago, when I had pushed him aside and taken a knife meant for him. He had held me, drenched in crimson, his eyes wild and filled with rage as he screamed my name. “Chiara, you’re mine. No one touches you.”

Vincenzo gritted his teeth, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, yet he remained silent, his gaze locked onto Katerina, as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, delicately dabbing his sweat with a pristine handkerchief, her voice a blend of faux concern and genuine curiosity.

“No,” he replied, his voice gravelly and strained. His eyes never wavered from hers. “For you, nothing hurts.”

Two hours dragged on like an eternity, and finally, it was over.

Vincenzo’s chest was a chaotic canvas of blood and raw flesh, but the snarling Russian eagle had completely obliterated the phoenix.

My phoenix was gone.

“Perfect,” Katerina purred, her lips brushing against his bloodied chest in a possessive kiss. “Now, inside and out, you belong only to me.”

Vincenzo stared at the grotesque, bloody symbol reflected in the mirror, a weak but satisfied smile creeping onto his lips.

“Yes,” he said, but as his eyes met mine in the reflection, a flicker of something unspoken passed between us.

“Now, I’m only yours.”