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4. GIULIANNA
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2025-05-13 18:51:14
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His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 165. MATTEO
The night feels heavier than usual. The wind outside hums through the olive trees, a low, steady whisper that sounds almost like warning.I haven’t told Giuli about Enzo’s plan. Not because I want to lie—but because I know how she’d look at me if I did. That quiet disappointment in her eyes, the kind that slices deeper than any knife.So I keep my mouth shut. I let the silence between us stretch, let it wrap around this house that’s pretending to be a home.Rossa tucks Sofia into bed before dinner’s done. She always hums the same lullaby, the same one Giuli used to hum when things were simpler—when the world hadn’t yet decided to take everything from us.Giuli sits by the balcony afterward, a book resting on her lap, unread. The golden light spills over her face, softening the shadows under her eyes.“Long day?” she asks when I step out.“Always,” I reply, my voice lower than I intend.She doesn’t look up. Just nods, fingers brushing the pages. “I meant what I said earlier. You need t
His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 164. MATTEO
Giuli doesn’t speak to me yet. She’s calm—too calm. The kind of silence that screams louder than shouting.Sofia sits between us, her small hands holding a spoonful of porridge, humming a tune Rossa taught her.And Rossa, as always, moves through the kitchen with grace. Smiling. Warm. Effortlessly blending into the routine like she’s always belonged here.But I can feel her eyes flick to me every few seconds.Just brief enough to seem natural, just sharp enough to make my skin crawl.When Sofia laughs, Rossa joins in, soft and motherly. I almost believe it again.Almost.By noon, I’m already out of the villa. The drive to the docks is long, but it’s what I need—space, noise, distance.Giuli stayed behind with Sofia. She told me to “let it go,” but I can’t. Not when everything inside me screams that something’s off.I park near the old warehouse where Enzo works his operations—our safehouse for things that shouldn’t exist on paper.The sea wind hits hard, bringing the smell of rust and
His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 163. MATTEO
It’s strange how peace feels like a performance.Every laugh, every calm breakfast, every moment where Giuli and Sofia smile—it’s all part of a show I’m not sure I know the ending to anymore.And lately, it’s her I can’t take my eyes off.Signora Rossa.She moves through the house like she’s always belonged here. Folding laundry, singing softly as she cooks, whispering lullabies to Sofia as if she carried her blood. She’s perfect—too perfect.Giuli trusts her again. I can tell. She wants to believe the story—the diary, the innocent explanation, the warm words. I want to believe it too, God knows I do. But something in me doesn’t sit right.The kind of wrong that keeps me awake even when Giuli’s asleep in my arms.It’s midnight now. The house is quiet except for the ticking of the old clock in the hallway. Giuli’s breathing slow beside me, one arm draped over my chest. But my eyes are open.I can’t stop thinking about that damn notebook.Earlier today, Rossa was too calm. Too composed.
His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 162. GIULIANNA
The light poured through the villa’s arched windows, soft and golden, touching everything it met — from the ivory drapes to the small porcelain cup in my hands. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and coffee. It was calm, almost perfect — the kind of morning that used to mean peace. But lately, peace felt too quiet. Almost deceptive. Sofia’s laughter echoed faintly from the garden where Signora Rossa sat with her. I could see them through the window — Sofia in her pale yellow dress, her cheeks rosier than ever since her recovery. She was holding a small paintbrush, giggling as she showed her drawing to the woman who had cared for her since birth. Rossa smiled, that same motherly smile I used to find comforting. She brushed Sofia’s hair back gently, said something that made my daughter laugh again, and for a moment… everything looked normal. “Vedi? She’s getting stronger,” I murmured, half to myself, half to the man standing behind me. Matteo didn’t answer immediately. He was leani
His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 161. GIULIANNA
Morning spills into the villa like honey through the curtains. Sofia’s laughter echoes faintly down the hall, bright and unguarded, the kind of sound that should ease every worry in my chest.But it doesn’t.I stand at the doorway of her room, watching. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, her thin arms covered in the long sleeves I insist she wears even in the warmth. Rosa sits beside her, weaving a braid into her dark hair, her lips moving softly with a story I know I once heard in my own childhood.“And the brave knight,” Rosa says, her voice low and melodic, “fought not for glory, but for the heart he cherished. For love.”Sofia giggles. “Like Daddy?”Rosa’s gaze flickers, just for a breath, toward me standing in the hall. Then she smiles, soft and practiced. “Yes, cuore mio. Like your Daddy.”Something twists inside me. The warmth should comfort me. Instead, it burns.Matteo appears behind me, silent as ever, one hand brushing my lower back in quiet greeting. His eyes fix immed
His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 160. GIULIANNA
The hospital doesn’t smell like leather and smoke, like power and threats. It smells like antiseptic and warm linen, the kind of place where the world narrows to the sound of a heartbeat monitor and the small breaths of someone you can’t afford to lose.Sofia’s room is on the top floor, away from the noise of the city. Matteo holds the door open for me, his hand lingering on my lower back as if he knows I need anchoring before I step inside.She’s sitting up in bed, her dark hair falling over her shoulders, skin still pale but brighter than the last time I saw her. The blanket is pulled up to her chest, and a stuffed bear—too childish for her age, but precious because Matteo bought it during one of his late-night visits—sits tucked under her arm.“Daddy!” Her voice lifts, small but full of light.Matteo crosses the room in three long strides. For all the power he commands in the streets, it’s here—kneeling beside her bed, kissing her forehead—that he looks undone. “Principessa,” he mu
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