The Mafia Boss's Secret Lover (by Z·Nyra) novel Chapter 2

**Broken Skies Heal by George Orwell 2**
**Chapter 2**

As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, Gabriel found me in my studio, a chaotic sanctuary of ash and shattered glass. The remnants of my world lay scattered around me, a stark reflection of my inner turmoil. “Aria, we need to talk—” he began, but I cut him off before he could finish.

“No.”

Without lifting my gaze from the blade I was meticulously sharpening, I felt the tension in the air thicken. “We don’t,” I insisted, my voice steady but cold.

“Dominic wants you back at the estate. There’s a family dinner tonight,” he pressed, his tone urgent.

“Tell Dominic to go fuck himself.”

Gabriel’s expression shifted, the gravity of the situation settling in. “He’s not asking.”

His voice dropped, taking on a serious tone that made my stomach churn. “The Volkovs arrive tomorrow. He needs all family assets accounted for.”

Assets. The word struck me like a slap. That’s all I was now—a mere asset in this twisted game. “Fine,” I conceded, every muscle in my body protesting as I stood. “Let’s go see what else he wants to destroy.”

The Cavallo estate appeared transformed in the harsh light of day. It was cold, almost mausoleum-like, devoid of the warmth it once held for me. Gabriel guided me through the main house, leading us toward the west wing.

My wing. My studio. But as we approached, I noticed the door stood ajar.

Inside, a wave of disbelief washed over me. Everything was gone. My easels, my paintings, the weapons I had painstakingly crafted over the years—all vanished. “What—where is everything?” I stammered, my heart racing.

“Relocated,” came a sharp, accented voice from behind me.

I turned to find Natalia Volkov standing in my doorway, her blonde hair perfectly styled, her blue eyes appraising me as if I were merely livestock.

“You must be Aria. The… craftsman,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension.

“Where are my things?” I demanded, my voice rising.

“Dominic said I could redecorate. This room has the best light,” she replied, a smile playing on her lips. “For my morning yoga.”

My sanctuary, my creative haven, had been transformed into her gym. “Everything was moved to storage,” Gabriel muttered, his frustration palpable.

“I tried to—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted, my voice icy. “I don’t need it anymore.”

Natalia tilted her head, a smirk creeping onto her face. “You’re prettier than I expected. I can see why Dominic kept you around.”

Kept. The word echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder of my status. “Enjoy the room,” I said, my voice laced with venom. “The bloodstains on the floor are from my best work. They don’t come out.”

Her smile faltered, and for a fleeting moment, I felt a sense of satisfaction.

Dinner was a circle of hell that Dante had conveniently left out of his writings. Twenty people crowded around a table meant for fifty, with Dominic presiding at the head and Natalia at his right. I was relegated to the far end, almost invisible.

“To new alliances,” Dominic proclaimed, raising his glass with a flourish. “And the future of both our families.”

Everyone clinked their glasses together, the sound grating on my nerves. I stared at my untouched wine, feeling its weight like a stone in my stomach.

“Aria.” Mikhail Volkov’s voice boomed across the table, pulling me from my thoughts. “My daughter tells me you’re a weaponsmith.”

“I was,” I replied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Was?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I’m transitioning to… other projects,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“She’s being modest,” Dominic interjected smoothly. “Aria has created some of our family’s most valuable pieces.” He spoke as if I were a piece of furniture he was appraising, and the thought made my skin crawl.

“Then you’ll forge Natalia’s ceremonial blade?” Mikhail pressed, every eye at the table turning to me.

“Of course,” I heard myself say, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “It would be an honor.”

Liar.

Liar.

Liar.

“Excellent!” Mikhail beamed, his enthusiasm palpable. “I want it to bear both family crests. A symbol of unity.”

“Unity,” I repeated, forcing a smile. “How romantic.”

I watched as Natalia’s hand covered Dominic’s on the table, a gesture of intimacy that made my heart twist. He didn’t pull away, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me.

Excusing myself before dessert, I slipped away unnoticed, seeking refuge in the library—one of the few rooms still accessible to me. But even here, the remnants of my past had been stripped away. The photo of Dominic and me from last year’s gala? Gone. The first blade I had ever crafted for him, proudly displayed in a glass case? Also gone. Even the chair I used to curl up in with a book had been replaced.

“Efficient, isn’t he?” I spun around to find Gabriel standing in the doorway, looking weary and worn.

“He’s erasing me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

I walked past them, feeling the weight of their expectations pressing down on me. “Enjoy your tour.”

“Wait.”

Natalia’s voice halted me. “I wanted to thank you. For agreeing to forge my blade.”

I turned slowly, meeting her predatory smile, all teeth and charm. “Dominic speaks so highly of your work. He says you put your heart into every piece.”

“I used to,” I replied, bitterness coating my words. “But hearts are expensive. I don’t waste them anymore.”

Her smile cracked slightly, and I could see Dominic’s hand tighten on her waist, a silent warning.

“Aria—”

“Goodnight, Mr. Cavallo.” I emphasized the formality, letting it hang in the air like a challenge.

“Miss Volkov.”

I left them standing there, a tableau of power and betrayal. Behind me, I heard Natalia whisper, “She’s in love with you.”

And Dominic’s response, cold and dismissive: “She’ll get over it.”

Six days left.

I sat in my car outside the estate, gripping the steering wheel as if it were my lifeline. My phone buzzed, and I glanced down to see a message from Papa: The papers are ready. New passport. New identity. Where do you want to go?

I typed back quickly: Anywhere with no memories.

Another buzz interrupted my thoughts. An unknown number. A photo appeared on my screen: my old studio, now cluttered with Natalia’s yoga mats and decorative pillows.

The message read: Thanks for the space! It’s perfect. – N

I deleted it, feeling a surge of anger.

Then I opened my banking app, my heart sinking as I saw the status of every account—frozen. My apartment lease had been transferred to Cavallo Holdings. My car title? Under review for “family asset reconciliation.”

He wasn’t just erasing me; he was ensuring I had nowhere to run except where he dictated.

But Papa didn’t play by Cavallo rules. Neither would I.

I started the engine, the sound roaring to life, and drove toward the warehouse district, a sense of purpose igniting within me.