The Don’s Favorite Lover Vanished

The next morning, my burner phone rang. It was Vincenzo.

“Viktor’s workshop,” he commanded, his voice empty of emotion. “One hour. Katerina needs a new piece. You’re designing it.”

“I refuse.”

“This isn’t a request, Chiara. Don’t make me have my men ‘ask’ you again.”

He hung up.

An hour later, I was in the basement of the abandoned factory.

Vincenzo and Katerina were already there.

“Viktor,” Vincenzo said to the workshop’s owner, a legendary Russian weaponsmith. “This is Chiara. The best art forger in Chicago, and the best weapons expert. I need her to create a one-of-a-kind sidearm for Katerina.”

Viktor’s eyes lit up. “Art and arms! I like it!”

He led us to a workbench covered in black velvet, laid out with rare metals and gems.

Vincenzo came to my side. His voice was a low whisper, just for me. “I want you to build her the perfect gun. Use the same specs as my Glock. The one you built for my hand.”

My breath caught.

“I know you remember every detail,” he went on, his voice cold. “The 7-degree cant on the grip, the 2mm trigger pull, the platinum front sight that catches the faintest light in the dark. Replicate all of it. For her.”

I understood.

He wanted me to cut open our past, take the trust and blood we’d built, and gift-wrap it for another woman.

It was a hundred times crueler than another tattoo.

“Chiara?” Katerina came over, her voice sweet and innocent. “Can you help me? I’ve always wanted a gun engraved with my and Vincenzo’s initials. Wouldn’t that be the most romantic token of our love?”

I looked at her innocent smile, at Vincenzo’s unyielding stare. I forced a smile of my own.

“Of course.”

I picked up the stylus, but my hand was shaking.

I drew the streamlined frame, the perfect balance, every detail that had once been ours.

My hand was drawing, but my heart was bleeding.

“Brilliant!” Viktor admired the blueprint. “This is a work of art!”

“How long?” Vincenzo asked.

“Three weeks,” Viktor replied. “If Miss Chiara is willing to oversee the production.”

Oversee it. Watch another woman hold a “love token” made from my past with him.

“No.”

I stood up abruptly, my voice hoarse.

Everyone stared at me.

I took the design I’d just finished, and in front of everyone, I tore it to shreds.

“I don’t build fucking love tokens for your new whore!” I threw the pieces on the floor, releasing a rage that had been building for what felt like an eternity.

Vincenzo’s eyes turned dangerous. “Chiara—”

I turned to leave.

“If you walk out that door,” his voice was a threat, “don’t force me to use the family’s rules on you. You know what happens to traitors.”

I looked back at him, my eyes cold. “Then try me.”

I walked out without another glance, Katerina’s terrified scream and Vincenzo’s roar of anger chasing after me.

Back at my safe house, a gold-embossed invitation was waiting at the door.

“You are cordially invited to the engagement party of Mr. Vincenzo Russo and Miss Katerina Petrov.”

I stared at the beautiful card, imagining them picking it out together.

Then my phone buzzed. A photo from Marco.

Vincenzo was at my favorite private shooting range, coaching Katerina.

In her hands was the custom SIG Sauer P226 that used to be my favorite.

I flicked open my lighter and held the flame to the corner of the invitation.

I watched it burn. Watched their names turn to black ash, and with them, the last shred of hope I had.

I dialed my father’s encrypted number.

“Papa.”

“Is it time?”

I watched the invitation turn to ash. My voice was ice.

“It’s time. We do it tonight.”