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94. GIULIANNA
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2025-07-11 23:34:30
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His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 148. GIULIANNA
The morning light creeps through the villa, gilding the marble floors, but it doesn’t soften the knot in my stomach. Sleep barely touched me. My body is sore, marked by Matteo’s fire, but my mind… my mind hasn’t stopped racing since the dock.The Adriatic shipment.The ambush was too precise. Too clean.I push away my untouched breakfast and slip into my father’s old study again. The desk smells of polish and dust, the faint ghost of tobacco clinging to the wood. Papers from last night still lie in a neat pile. I drag them toward me.Manifests. Guard rotations. Shipping schedules. On the surface, nothing screams betrayal. But the way the attackers moved—it wasn’t random. They knew where to strike, when to strike.Matteo appears in the doorway, silent. He watches me for a moment before stepping inside. “You’re digging.”“I can’t let it go,” I admit, flipping through the logs. “They weren’t amateurs. Someone gave them the map before we even left.”He leans against the desk, arms folded.
His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 147. GIULIANNA
The villa feels too quiet after a night like that. No crashing waves, no gunfire echoing across the sea, no shouts breaking through the dark. Just silence.I should be working. I should be going over the reports, pulling apart every detail of what happened out there. Instead, I sit in front of the mirror in my room, still in the same black dress I wore on the dock, hair loosened from the salt wind.I look like my mother, they say. I look like my father, they whisper. But staring at my reflection now, I don’t see either of them. I see a woman who almost let someone else write her story on the water tonight.The door opens without a knock. Only one man in this house walks in like he owns every corner of it.Matteo.He closes the door behind him, slow, deliberate. He doesn’t speak at first. Just studies me from across the room, arms folded across his chest, shadows cutting along his jawline. His silence feels heavier than words.Finally, he steps forward, his eyes never leaving mine in t
His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 146. GIULIANNA
The Adriatic has always looked calm from the shore. Gentle waves, sunlight cutting diamonds across the water, gulls circling as though nothing dark could ever touch it. But tonight, under a bruised sky, the sea is a different beast. Cold, restless, waiting.I stand at the edge of the private dock in Bari, the wind tugging my coat tighter against my body. The cargo ship is loaded, its steel hull towering above us. Containers stacked high hold what generations of my family bled for: power disguised as trade. Olive oil, wine, textiles… all legitimate. But hidden among them are shipments that matter more than any ledger could ever show. Weapons. Routes. Secrets.“Everything’s in place,” Matteo says beside me, his voice steady. His men move with silent efficiency, checking manifests, barking low orders, scanning the shadows for threats.I nod, though unease gnaws at me. This is the first of the three shipments the Vitales promised to protect. If anything happens, the entire deal crumbles b
His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 145. GIULIANNA
The air in the dining room is thick, not from the cigars some of the men light but from the weight of expectation pressing down on me. Don Carlo’s smile lingers, his fingers drumming the table softly as though he’s marking time until I falter.“You speak boldly for someone so new to the table,” he says finally, breaking the silence. “But boldness can be costly. Do you know what happened the last time your father tried to cut us out of Adriatic business?”The question is bait, sharp and dripping with poison. I don’t take it. “I know what happens when deals are made out of fear. They never last.”He studies me a moment longer before motioning to a servant. A bottle of red wine is uncorked, poured into crystal glasses. The sound is soft, almost soothing, but my hands stay on the folder in front of me, not the glass. Matteo hasn’t moved an inch behind me, though I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.“Tell me, Signora,” Don Carlo says, lifting his glass, “what is it you think we
His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 144. GIULIANNA
Florence feels heavier than I remember. The city lights are beautiful from the car window, but my chest is too tight to admire them. Every street we pass whispers of history, of power, of blood traded for wealth. It feels fitting that my first test begins here, in a villa older than some kingdoms, where walls have heard deals made in whispers and screams alike.Matteo hasn’t said much on the drive. He sits beside me in the back seat, his arm resting casually along the seat behind me, but his eyes never stop scanning—mirrors, windows, corners. Always alert. Always ready. The way he tenses every time the car slows reminds me this isn’t just business. It’s survival.I press the folder Romano gave me against my lap, flipping through the contracts one last time. Numbers, projections, percentages—they blur together under the weight of what they mean.The Vitale family. Old rivals. Slippery, opportunistic, dangerous. I’ve seen their name written in red ink in my father’s ledgers. And now I’m
His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim 143. GIULIANNA
The dining room may have emptied, but the air still carries the scent of judgment. I can feel it clinging to me, a reminder that every word I spoke earlier has already been dissected by the family like vultures circling fresh meat.But there’s no time to breathe, no pause between proving myself at the table and being thrown into the world that sustains the Bianchi name—business.By late afternoon, I’m led into my father’s old study. It still smells of leather and tobacco, the shelves lined with books he never read but displayed as symbols of power. The heavy desk is polished to a mirror shine, and for the first time, I’m the one sitting behind it. My chest tightens. This was once his throne. Now it’s mine.Matteo stands by the window, arms crossed, watching everything in silence. He doesn’t interfere, but his presence is a warning to anyone who thinks I’m alone in this.Zio Romano takes the chair opposite me, his silver hair slicked back, his tailored suit immaculate. He looks at me l
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