The Don's Favorite lover Vanished (by Melissa Z) novel Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The dawn broke with an unsettling chill, and as I lay in the stillness of my room, the shrill ring of my burner phone shattered the silence. I knew who it was before I even glanced at the screen. Vincenzo.

“Viktor’s workshop,” he ordered, his tone flat and devoid of warmth. “You have one hour. Katerina requires a new piece, and you are to design it.”

A surge of defiance coursed through me. “I refuse.”

“This isn’t up for negotiation, Chiara. Don’t make me send my men to ‘ask’ you again.” The line went dead, leaving a hollow echo in my ears.

An hour later, I found myself descending into the dimly lit basement of the abandoned factory. The air was thick with the scent of rust and disuse, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing within me.

Vincenzo and Katerina were already present, their presence a reminder of the twisted bond that now tied us together.

“Viktor,” Vincenzo addressed the workshop’s owner, a man whose reputation as a legendary Russian weaponsmith preceded him. “This is Chiara. The finest art forger in Chicago and a weapon expert. I need her to craft a unique sidearm for Katerina.”

Viktor’s eyes glimmered with interest. “Art and arms! Now, that’s a combination I can appreciate!”

He guided us to a workbench draped in luxurious black velvet, which was adorned with an array of rare metals and exquisite gems, each one whispering tales of craftsmanship.

Vincenzo leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant solely for my ears. “I want you to create the perfect gun for her. Use the same specifications as my Glock—the one you designed for me.”

My breath hitched in my throat, the weight of his words crashing down on me like a tidal wave.

“I know you remember every detail,” he continued, his voice as icy as the steel before us. “The 7-degree cant on the grip, the 2mm trigger pull, the platinum front sight that catches the faintest glimmer in the dark. I need you to replicate all of it. For her.”

A chill ran down my spine as realization dawned. He wanted me to excavate our shared past, to unearth the trust and the blood we had spilled together, and to present it as a gift to another woman.

The cruelty of it all struck me like a physical blow—far more heart-wrenching than any tattoo could ever be.

“Chiara?” Katerina approached, her voice laced with sweetness and innocence. “Could you help me? I’ve always dreamed of having a gun engraved with our initials—mine and Vincenzo’s. Wouldn’t that be the most romantic symbol of our love?”

I met her bright, innocent smile, then turned to Vincenzo, whose gaze was unwavering and resolute. I forced a smile of my own, though it felt like a mask.

“Of course,” I replied, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

I picked up the stylus, but my hand trembled with the weight of what I was about to do.

With each stroke, I sketched the sleek frame, the perfect balance, every intricate detail that had once belonged to us. My hand moved mechanically, while my heart bled in silence.

“Brilliant!” Viktor exclaimed, his eyes sparkling as he admired the blueprint. “This is truly a work of art!”

“How long will it take?” Vincenzo inquired, his voice clipped.

“Three weeks,” Viktor responded confidently. “Provided Miss Chiara is willing to oversee the production.”

“You are cordially invited to the engagement party of Mr. Vincenzo Russo and Miss Katerina Petrov.”

I stared at the exquisite card, my mind racing with images of them selecting it together, their laughter mingling in the air like a cruel melody.

Just then, my phone buzzed, pulling me from my thoughts. It was a photo from Marco.

There was Vincenzo, at my favorite private shooting range, coaching Katerina. In her hands was the custom SIG Sauer P226 that had once been my pride and joy.

A surge of fury ignited within me. I flicked open my lighter and held the flame to the corner of the invitation, watching as it caught fire.

I observed the flames consume the card, the names turning to black ash, taking with them the last remnants of hope I had clung to.

With trembling hands, I dialed my father’s encrypted number.

“Papa,” I said, my voice steady but laced with urgency.

“Is it time?” he asked, sensing the gravity in my tone.

I watched the invitation disintegrate into ash, my voice icy and resolute.

“It’s time. We do it tonight.”