The Mafia Boss's Secret Lover (by Z·Nyra) novel Chapter 10

**Broken Skies Heal**

**Chapter 10**

The challenge of beginning anew lies in the fact that you carry your entire self along for the ride.

I came to this realization three weeks into my cosmetology program, while I was diligently practicing the art of blending foundation on the unyielding faces of mannequins that offered no judgment, no ridicule for my unsteady hands. Elena Rossi was meant to embody calmness and poise, a woman untouched by the chaos of a crime lord’s world. Yet, despite my attempts to shed the past, my hands still recalled the heavy thud of hammers. My eyes darted to exits out of habit, a reflex I couldn’t shake. Night after night, my dreams were haunted by visions of golden elevators and the silken embrace of sheets that felt foreign to me.

Mrs. Chen, my instructor—a seasoned veteran of thirty years in the field—observed my technique with a critical eye. “You possess good technique,” she remarked, her voice steady. “But you’re gripping that brush as if it were a weapon.”

I relaxed my hold, forcing myself to breathe. “Old habits die hard.”

“What did you do before this?” she inquired, genuine curiosity lighting her features.

“Sculpture. Metalwork,” I replied, my past slipping out before I could stop it.

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Artists often make the finest cosmetologists. You grasp proportion and shadow well, and you know how to unveil what lies beneath.”

What lay beneath Elena Rossi was a woman who scrutinized her rearview mirror seventeen times on the drive home. A woman who altered her route daily, driven by an instinctual need for safety. A woman who had reinforced her apartment door with three new locks and kept a file hidden beneath her pillow, a relic of her past that refused to fade.

Dominic had taught me that paranoia was merely a heightened form of awareness, sharpened to a dangerous edge.

On the thirty-fourth day, I spotted the car again. A sleek black sedan with tinted windows, parked across from my building as I set out for school. It shadowed me for three blocks before veering off, a move that felt too obvious for Volkov. No, this was Dominic’s style—checking on his investment, ensuring his property was still intact.

For a fleeting moment, I contemplated confronting them. I nearly approached the vehicle, my hand poised to tap against the glass. But Elena Rossi did not act impulsively. Elena Rossi was meant to be a ghost, unseen and unfelt.

That night, I found myself awake, practicing with the file on a piece of wood I had purchased from the hardware store. The motions returned to me effortlessly—draw the steel, locate the angle, commit to the cut. My hands were betraying me, recalling the desires my heart longed to bury.

Then came the knock at my door, sharp and insistent, at 2 AM.

I sprang to my feet, file still clutched in my hand, anticipating the next knock before it even landed. Peering through the peephole, I saw Gabriel standing there, alone, looking as though he hadn’t slept in days, shadows clinging to him like a second skin.

I opened the door cautiously. “You’re not supposed to be here,” I said, a mixture of surprise and concern threading through my voice.

“Neither are you,” he shot back, stepping inside and closing the door firmly behind him. “Dominic’s tearing through the city looking for you. Mikhail’s doing the same, trying to beat him to it. Chicago is on the brink of chaos.”

“So leave,” I urged, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t.” He pulled out his phone, revealing a text from Dominic: *Find her. Bring her in. Or I burn everything.*

“The classic Cavallo negotiation tactic,” I replied, my heart racing.

“He’s not negotiating. He’s desperate.” Gabriel sank heavily onto my couch, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “The wedding’s been postponed.”

That revelation halted me. “What?” I breathed, disbelief washing over me.

“Indefinitely. Dominic told Mikhail he needed more time. Natalia had a breakdown, screamed at her father that you were ruining everything.” Gabriel’s gaze met mine, piercing and intense. “You’ve managed to disrupt a crime lord’s wedding simply by vanishing. Do you understand the power you hold?”

“I’m not powerful. I’m invisible,” I countered, my voice tinged with bitterness.

“You’re both, and therein lies the problem.” He leaned closer, urgency threading through his words. “You have two choices. Let me take you somewhere safe—truly safe, where neither family can find you. Or…”

“Or what?” I pressed, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Or you return. Not as Aria Moretti. Not as Dominic’s shadow. But as something entirely different. Someone with leverage.”

I let out a laugh, tinged with disbelief. “Leverage? I have fifty thousand dollars and a Honda Civic.”

“He respects the alliance. That’s a different matter entirely.”

I settled my bill and drove towards Indiana, the highway stretching out before me, a pathway to a new life. Yet this time, I was not escaping Dominic. I was fleeing from the person I had become in his shadow.

I arrived at the airfield at 2:30 PM. A small jet awaited on the tarmac, the pilot checking instruments with an air of calm professionalism. A woman in a sharp suit stood by the terminal entrance, clutching an envelope.

“Ms. Rossi?” she inquired, her voice smooth and professional.

“Was,” I corrected, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Here are your new documents.” She handed me the envelope, and I opened it to find a passport, credit cards, and a driver’s license from Massachusetts. The photo was undeniably mine, but the name was new. “Your father’s work is commendable, but ours is superior. Untraceable.”

“Who are you?” I asked, suspicion creeping in.

“Friends of Gabriel,” she replied, a smile gracing her lips. “He compensates well for silence.”

I boarded the plane at 2:55 PM, my heart racing. No one halted my progress. No one questioned my papers. As the aircraft ascended, I watched as Chicago faded beneath the clouds, and an unexpected wave of grief washed over me.

Elena Rossi was fading away, another ghost emerging from the ashes of my past.

At thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic, I opened the envelope once more. My new name leapt out at me: **Aria Cavallo**.

Whether it was Gabriel’s sense of humor or a twist of fate, the irony was not lost on me. The woman Dominic had sought to erase was now taking his name, but not in the way anyone had anticipated.

Somewhere in New York, Dominic was preparing for a wedding that would never come to pass. Somewhere in New Orleans, Papa was printing papers for a daughter who had outgrown his protection.

And somewhere over the ocean, I transformed into the ghost who had finally learned how to haunt back.