The Don's Favorite lover Vanished (by Melissa Z) novel Chapter 19

**The Story of a Girl Who Loved a Man Made Entirely of Secrets**
**Chapter 19**

The car had scarcely rolled two blocks when a sleek black Maserati erupted from a narrow side street, its tires screeching in protest against the asphalt. It came to a jarring halt directly in front of my convoy, blocking our path.

Vincenzo, a whirlwind of urgency, leapt from the driver’s seat and sprinted toward my vehicle, his movements reckless and desperate.

“Dammit,” I muttered under my breath, frustration bubbling within me.

“Miss, should we take action?” My bodyguard’s hand hovered near his firearm, his instincts honed for conflict.

“No.” I lowered the window, allowing the cool night air to rush in, and fixed him with a frosty glare. “Let him speak.”

Vincenzo reached my window, his hands gripping the edge of the car door as he leaned in, breathless and wild-eyed. The urgency etched on his face was unmistakable.

“Why?” he demanded, his gaze piercing mine with an intensity that left no room for evasion. “Why can’t you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” I let out a harsh laugh, a sound laced with scorn. “Vincenzo, have you truly forgotten the depth of your betrayals?”

“I remember! I remember everything! But they were mistakes…” His voice was a mixture of desperation and regret, yet it felt inadequate.

“Mistakes?” I interrupted, my tone escalating with each word. “You treated me like a mere pawn in your twisted game! A human shield!”

His complexion drained of color, the weight of my accusation hanging heavily in the air.

“A mistake?” I pressed on, my voice rising in indignation. “At the engagement party, a grenade comes flying, and you throw me to the wolves again. Is that also just a mistake in your eyes?”

“I was thinking of Katerina at that moment…” he stammered, his excuses floundering.

“Thinking of Katerina?” I shot back, my gaze unwavering, each syllable cutting deeper. “You were only concerned about her safety, not mine!”

His mouth opened, but no words emerged, leaving him visibly shaken, trembling under the weight of his own guilt.

“You forced me to package up every fragment of our shared history, every instinct we forged together in battle, and hand them over to another woman as a so-called ‘token of love’!” I continued, my voice steady, yet seething with anger.

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