The Mafia Boss's Secret Lover (by Z·Nyra) novel Chapter 13

**Broken Skies Heal**
**by George Orwell**
**Chapter 13**

The first shot shattered the stillness at precisely 3 AM.

Dominic and Aria lay awake in the enveloping darkness, their voices weaving through the air, discussing everything and nothing all at once. It was a comforting ritual, one that made the world outside feel distant and irrelevant. But then, without warning, the tranquility of their hotel room was violently interrupted as the window exploded outward. Shards of glass cascaded down like a shower of diamonds, glinting ominously in the dim light. Instinctively, Dominic rolled over, positioning his body protectively over Aria, his heart racing as adrenaline surged through him.

“Stay down,” he murmured urgently, his hand reaching beneath the pillow for the gun he kept hidden there. The second shot rang out, this time taking out the lamp, plunging them into deeper darkness.

Aria didn’t hesitate. With a fluid motion, she rolled off the bed and snatched her own weapon from the nightstand—a small file she had carried ever since their time in New Orleans. Pressing her back against the wall, her eyes darted to the window, scanning for any signs of movement in the shadows outside.

“Volkovs?” she whispered, her voice steady despite the chaos.

“It has to be,” Dominic replied, crawling cautiously toward the window, keeping his profile low. The street below was eerily deserted, except for a black van that peeled away from the curb with a hasty urgency. Amateur hour, he thought. Professionals would have stayed to confirm their kill. “They want to send a message, not actually kill us.”

“That was a message?” She gestured around at the wreckage of their room, disbelief etched across her features. “What’s the follow-up?”

Dominic dialed Gabriel, his heart pounding as he spoke. “We’re compromised.”

“I know,” came Gabriel’s tight reply, laced with urgency. “Four of our guys are down at the warehouse. Volkov’s making his move. He’s claiming you violated the agreement.”

“The agreement was bullshit,” Dominic shot back, frustration boiling over.

“Maybe. But it’s bullshit with lawyers and guns,” Gabriel paused, the weight of the situation heavy in his voice. “Natalia’s calling for your head. She’s telling everyone you left her for a whore.”

Aria’s grip tightened around her blade, a flash of anger crossing her face. Dominic glanced at her before speaking again, his voice firm. “Don’t use that word.”

“I’m quoting her,” Gabriel responded, but Dominic could hear the tension in his tone.

“I don’t care. Don’t repeat it.”

Gabriel sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “You need to move. Now. I have a safe house in Sussex. Send me your location, and I’ll have a car waiting.”

In a flurry of activity, they were packed within five minutes. Dominic had mastered the art of traveling light, while Aria had learned the importance of leaving nothing behind.

The vehicle that awaited them was a sleek Range Rover with tinted windows, its engine humming softly in the predawn silence. The driver was a man Dominic trusted implicitly—Marco, a loyal family associate who had been with them long before Dominic had come into the world.

“Sir,” Marco acknowledged with a nod towards Aria. “Ma’am.”

“Don’t call her that,” Dominic interjected, his tone protective. “She has a name.”

“Aria,” she supplied, her voice calm amidst the chaos. “Just Aria.”

As they drove through the quiet streets of London, the city still shrouded in slumber, Dominic held her hand firmly—not out of necessity, but because he could, because it felt right.

The safe house was a quaint cottage nestled in the heart of the Sussex countryside, surrounded by lush hedgerows and an enveloping silence that felt like a sanctuary. There were no neighbors for miles, and no lines of sight for snipers—Gabriel had chosen wisely.

Inside, the cottage was simple yet comfortable. It featured one bedroom, a modest kitchen, and a living room with a welcoming fireplace. Dominic set to work, starting a fire to chase away the chill, while Aria meticulously checked the windows, testing each lock and mapping out potential exits.

“Force of habit,” she remarked, catching him watching her with admiration.

“I like your habits,” he replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

She settled onto the floor in front of the crackling fire, her legs crossed and the blade resting on her knee, a picture of calm in the midst of turmoil. “What happens now?”

“Now we wait for Gabriel to negotiate a truce. Or we prepare for war,” he replied, the gravity of their situation settling heavily between them.

“Those are terrible options,” she said, her brow furrowing slightly.

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