The Don's Favorite lover Vanished (by Melissa Z) novel Chapter 12

**The Story of a Girl Who Loved a Man Made Entirely of Secrets – Chapter 12**

Three hours had passed, yet the church remained steeped in a grotesque miasma of blood and gunpowder. The foul odor clung to the air, wrapping around me like a shroud, each inhalation a reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

Even now, the wound on my chest continued to bleed, a steady trickle that felt almost insignificant compared to the searing torment gripping my heart. The physical pain paled in comparison to the anguish that clawed at my soul, a relentless reminder of betrayal.

Before me, two of my men held Katerina, forcing her to kneel on the cold, unforgiving stone floor. The dagger lay ominously beside her, a silent witness to the treachery that had unfolded.

She trembled, her once-glorious blonde hair now a tangled mess, matted with blood and dirt. The regal princess I once knew was gone, replaced by a quivering figure filled with desperation.

“Vincenzo, please… don’t kill me…” Her voice cracked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she crawled toward me, her movements frantic. “Dimitri made me do it! I love you, I was just so scared…”

“Love?” I questioned, my tone low and measured, almost a whisper. I looked down at her, my heart heavy with disbelief. “Your love is a six-month plot devised with your family to see me buried six feet under?”

I crouched beside her, forcing her chin up so our eyes could meet. I wanted her to see the fury that simmered just beneath the surface.

“Your love is orchestrating an ambush to eliminate Chiara?” My voice trembled, a dangerous edge creeping in as I struggled to contain the rage threatening to explode. “Do you even realize how close you came to succeeding? Do you know that I… I pushed her right into the explosion you meticulously planned?!”

The last words erupted from my lips like a furious storm, each syllable a dagger twisting deeper into my own heart.

For a fleeting moment, fear flickered in Katerina’s eyes, but it was swiftly overpowered by a venomous jealousy that twisted her features.

“She deserved it! She was a ghost who wouldn’t leave you alone! I just wanted her to disappear!” Her voice dripped with venom, a stark contrast to the sobs that had preceded it.

“Disappear…” I released her chin, stepping back to create distance. I let out a bitter laugh, a hollow sound that echoed in the cavernous space. I was the fool, the executioner of my own fate.

I hadn’t wielded the dagger myself, but I had orchestrated this tragedy. I turned to Marco, my voice steady but laced with exhaustion. “Take her to the ‘Confession Room’ underground. I don’t want to see her face again, nor do I wish to hear her voice.”

The ‘Confession Room’ was a place of darkness, a pit where we cast our most treacherous traitors. It was a fate worse than death for someone like her, a pampered princess who had never known true suffering.

As they dragged her away, her screams and curses faded into the distance, swallowed by the depths of the dungeon.

Two days later, Marco returned with grim news. “Boss, Katerina… she’s gone. The lock on her cell was picked. The guards are dead. It must have been Petrov’s loyalists.”

I listened, my expression betraying nothing. “Did you send men after her?”

“We did, but…”

I cut him off, my voice weary and defeated. “Forget it. Let her run. I don’t give a damn. Bring everyone back. Find Chiara.”

Marco paused for a heartbeat, then nodded. “Yes, Boss.”

On the third day, I locked myself in her old studio, the remnants of our shared past suffocating me.

I unleashed my fury, smashing every piece of Russian decor, tearing down the curtains, and upending the piano. Each crash reverberated in the silence, a cathartic release of my pent-up rage.

In the midst of my destruction, I stumbled upon a hidden safe embedded in the wall. My heart raced as I punched in her birthday, the numbers feeling foreign on my fingertips.

Click.

The safe opened, revealing not weapons or intelligence, but a black leather-bound notebook.

I flipped it open to the first page, her neat handwriting jumping out at me.

“Jan 15 – Something’s off with the Petrov family’s money flow.”

“Feb 20 – Intercepted Russian comms. They’re talking ‘cleanup.’ Target… us?”

“Mar 10 – It’s confirmed. The marriage is a trap. They want to swallow the Russo family.”

My hands began to tremble as I read, the implications crashing over me like a tidal wave.

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