The Don’s Favorite Lover Vanished

---- Chapter 14 Chiara's POV Two years later. Florence. I stood at my studio's floor-to-ceiling window, watching the sunset over the Arno River. This was my new world. Quiet, elegant, far from the blood. "Bella, daydreaming again?" Alessandro, a man who'd been pursuing me, walked into the studio with a bouquet of white roses. He was a rising star in the art world. We'd met at a gallery opening. I was hesitant when he first asked me out. I wasn't sure I could ever face another relationship. But he was handsome, elegant, and most importantly, his world was as clean as a blank canvas.

He kissed my cheek and asked me to the opera that night. I smiled and accepted. ---- After he left, I went back to my workbench to continue restoring a portrait for a mysterious collector. The woman in the painting looked surprisingly like me. I picked up a scalpel and carefully began scraping away a layer of grime. Suddenly, my hand froze. In the bottom right corner of the canvas, hidden under layers of paint, a symbol slowly emerged. It was drawn in a special ink. Aphoenix rising from the flames. My blood ran cold.

"A forgery in my style, baited with my own mark..." I murmured, my voice chilling. "Vincenzo, you magnificent bastard. You still know me." The studio door opened. I didn't turn around. In the reflection of the glass, I saw a tall, gaunt figure standing in the doorway. ---- He wore a black trench coat, carrying the winter chill with him. "A fine restoration," a voice said-hoarse, weary, and laced with a sick kind of pride. "Just as I taught you." I turned slowly, the sharp scalpel still in my hand. Vincenzo Russo stood there.

He was so much thinner than two years ago, his cheeks hollow, his eyes spilling over with a wild madness. "Bella Fiore," he murmured, stalking toward me like a predator cornering his prey. "Beautiful Flower. A lovely name. But it's not yours." "T don't know what you' re talking about." My voice was flat. "Don't you?" He pointed at the painting. "Then how do you explain this? Did you think anyone else in the world would recognize your secret signature?" I didn't answer. I just tightened my grip on the scalpel. "Two years," he stopped three paces away, his gaze locked on me.

"I've been looking for you for two whole years." ---- "And now you've found me," I said coldly. "What do you want?" "T want you back." "Back where?" I shot back, my voice dripping with ice. " To my cage?" "Back where you belong." His voice was low and stubborn. I laughed. "Vincenzo, Chiara Rossi is dead. She died the night you threw her out." "No, she isn't," he snarled, lunging for me, his voice cracking. "She's standing right in front of me!" I stepped back, the tip of the scalpel pointed at him. "Don't come any closer." He looked at the blade in my hand.

A flash of hurt crossed his face, but it was swallowed by a deeper obsession. He reached into his coat and pulled something out. The black leather-bound notebook. ---- "J found your journal," he choked out. "I know everything." My heart sank. "I know you were trying to protect me," he held up the journal like it was his last salvation. "I know you never betrayed me. Chiara, I was wrong. I was so wrong. I..." "So?" I cut him off, my voice as cold as the blade in my hand. He froze. "You saw it. You know. You regret it," I stared him down, my voice flat. "So what?

You think that washes away the blood?" He opened his mouth, but no words came out. "Vincenzo," I put the scalpel down and walked toward the door. "The game is over. You can go now." "No!" He rushed forward and grabbed me from behind, his arms crushing me against him, like he was trying to merge me into his very bones. "T am never, ever letting you go again," he roared in my ---- ear, his voice a storm of desperation and madness. " Never."