The Don’s Favorite Lover Vanished

I turned off my phone.

Seventeen encrypted messages from Vincenzo. I didn't answer a single one.

At two in the afternoon, the door to my studio was kicked open.

Marco, Vincenzo’s right-hand man, stormed in with four of his goons.

“Miss Chiara,” Marco’s voice was polite, but his hand was already on the butt of his gun. “The Boss wants to see you.”

I didn’t look up. I kept working on the painting in front of me. “Tell your boss I’m busy.”

“I’m afraid this isn’t a request.”

I put down my brush and stood up. “So you’re dragging me back by force?”

Marco didn’t deny it. “The Boss’s orders. Don’t make this ugly.”

Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of the Russo family estate.

This used to be my home. Now, it was just a cage.

I was “escorted” to my old art studio.

The moment the door opened, I froze.

The room was empty.

All my paintings, my easels, my paints, our only photo together…

Every trace of me was gone. Cleaned out.

In its place was opulent, Russian-style decor.

And hanging in the center of the wall was a huge oil painting.

It was Katerina, in a white dress, smiling like a saint.

“Like it? Katerina picked it out herself.”

Vincenzo’s voice came from behind me.

He was wearing a custom Brioni suit. Flawless.

Katerina was clinging to his side, blonde hair, blue eyes, an angel.

“Katerina,” Vincenzo said, his tone flat, “this is Chiara Rossi. The family’s most… useful asset.”

Katerina’s blue eyes flashed with innocence. Her voice was sweet. “It’s so nice to meet you. Vincenzo mentions you all the time. Says he doesn’t know who’d do all the family’s ‘dirty work’ if it weren’t for you. That must be so hard.”

She stressed the words “dirty work,” but her face was a mask of sympathy.

“It’s my honor to serve the family,” I replied, my face blank.

Vincenzo nodded, satisfied. He turned to Katerina. “Darling, let me introduce you to the uncles.”

He wrapped his arm around her and led her to the main hall. I followed like a shadow.

The family elders were already waiting.

One of them, Uncle Antonio, looked from me to Vincenzo and smiled. “Vincenzo, Chiara has been by your side for so many years. We all thought…”

Vincenzo cut him off, his voice cold.

“Uncle Antonio.” His face darkened. “Don’t say things that could be misunderstood.”

His eyes cut to me, his voice low, but carrying across the silent room.

“I would never dirty my hands with an underling.”

I lowered my eyes to hide the pain. I forced a smile. “Uncle Antonio, you’ve misunderstood. The Boss and I have always had a purely professional relationship.”

For a split second, Vincenzo’s expression froze. Then it was gone.

The tension in the hall vanished.

Katerina tightened her grip on Vincenzo’s arm and gave me a triumphant little smile.

Vincenzo walked past me. He started to raise his hand, like he always did, to pat my head.

But he stopped halfway. He fixed Katerina’s hair instead.

He leaned in, his voice a low growl only I could hear.

“Well done. Remember what you said tonight. Don’t disappoint me.”

The dinner began.

I sat alone at the far end of the long table, watching Vincenzo and Katerina at the head, accepting everyone’s congratulations.

Vincenzo felt me looking. He turned and met my gaze.

He raised his glass to me. His eyes were cold, full of approval.

Like he was praising a well-trained hound.

I raised my glass back, a perfect smile on my lips.

I hope you’re still smiling in seven days, Vincenzo. When I’m gone for good.