The Mafia Boss's Secret Lover (by Z·Nyra) novel Chapter 9

**TITLE: Broken Skies Heal by George Orwell**

**Chapter 9**

The Plaza Hotel in New York sparkled with an excess of gold, a façade that concealed a labyrinth of deceit. Dominic stood by the expansive window of the penthouse suite, gazing out at Central Park as it transformed into a lush green canvas, vibrant with the arrival of spring. A wave of melancholy washed over him as he pondered the unsettling truth: his life had devolved into a series of sterile rooms he was desperate to escape.

“Is the suite to your liking?” Natalia’s reflection emerged beside his in the glass, her voice smooth yet probing.

“It’s adequate,” he replied, his tone flat, devoid of enthusiasm.

“Father mentioned that you appeared… distracted at the airport.” She stepped closer, her presence an intoxicating blend of warmth and tension.

“Your father has a penchant for dramatics,” he retorted, unwilling to divulge the turmoil roiling beneath his calm exterior.

Her perfume enveloped him like a shroud, and he felt the weight of her scrutiny. “He claims you let the weaponsmith go. That you chose to protect her.”

Dominic remained rooted to the spot, refusing to meet her gaze. “She posed no threat.”

“She was a complication. A past complication, I hope.” Her fingers brushed lightly against his shoulder, a cool, possessive gesture that sent a shiver down his spine. “Our future cannot afford loose ends, Dominic.”

His mind flickered to Aria’s face, illuminated by the dim light of that Chicago alley. The way she had clutched the file with a fierce determination, transforming into someone entirely different, someone he could barely recognize. “Some threads,” he murmured, “can’t simply be severed.”

Natalia’s grip on his shoulder tightened, her voice low and insistent. “They can be cut if you wield the right knife.”

Tomorrow night marked the engagement party, a grand affair set to host two hundred guests, adorned with society’s elite, photographers poised to capture every moment. It was the official union of the Cavallo and Volkov families, a merger that Dominic had meticulously orchestrated countless times before—weddings, funerals, baptisms disguised as business transactions. Yet this particular event felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

Without warning, Gabriel strode into the suite, bypassing the formality of knocking. “We need to talk,” he declared, his expression serious.

Natalia bristled at the intrusion. “Private matters can wait.”

“They cannot,” Gabriel insisted, locking eyes with Dominic. “This is about Chicago.”

Dominic turned away from the window, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. “Excuse us.”

Natalia remained steadfast, her expression a mix of defiance and curiosity. “Whatever you need to say to my fiancé, you can say it in my presence.”

“With all due respect, Miss Volkov, family matters are not for public consumption.” Gabriel held the door open, a silent invitation for her to leave.

She exited, her eyes flashing with unspoken threats, leaving Dominic to ponder the consequences of her departure.

“She’s gone,” Gabriel said, his tone matter-of-fact.

“I am aware,” Dominic replied, sinking heavily into an armchair, the fabric swallowing him whole. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“Mikhail is still searching for her,” Gabriel continued, his voice steady. “He has operatives scouring the country for every Elena Rossi. It’s only a matter of time before they uncover the real trail. Your father’s connections are solid, but the Volkov resources are far superior.”

“And then what?” Gabriel asked, leaning forward, curiosity piqued.

“Then I give her a choice.” Dominic strode toward the door, his mind racing. “She can stay gone or come back. But it will be her decision. Not mine. Not Natalia’s. Not her father’s.”

“And if she chooses to remain gone?”

“Then I let her.” The words felt like shards of glass lodged in his throat. “And I will have to live with that.”

Downstairs in the hotel bar, Natalia sat across from her father, both observing Dominic as he descended the staircase. The moment their eyes met, she understood the painful truth: she had lost him. Not to another woman, but to the haunting specter of a woman who had never truly relinquished her hold on him.

“He’s searching for her,” Mikhail muttered, a hint of disdain coloring his words. “Fool.”

“Let him search,” Natalia replied, taking a measured sip of her champagne, her voice steady. “Ghosts cannot be found, only remembered. And memories fade.”

Yet she was mistaken. Memories did not fade; they lingered, haunting the corners of the mind, whispering in empty rooms, and manifesting in alleyways, clutching files like weapons, ready to sever the ties that bound them and grant freedom.

Dominic walked past them, his stride unwavering, his phone already dialing the number of a private investigator he trusted more than his own blood. The engagement party remained scheduled. The marriage would proceed as planned.

But Aria had imparted one crucial lesson: some promises were meant to be broken, and some chains had to be shattered before one could truly breathe again.

He could only hope that he had learned this lesson in time.