Semua Bab His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim: Bab 91 - Bab 100

His scent still clung to my skin like a cologne, smoke, sweat, sex and I wanted to bottle it, memorize it. He hadn’t let go of me once during the night. Even in sleep, his fingers were tangled in mine, his leg draped over mine like his body refused to believe I was real again.I turned slowly, careful not to wake him.His face was softer in the light. Less sharp, less haunted. He looked young here—almost boyish. Like the man I first fell for before the blood and the betrayals, before the family wars and the heartbreak. His lashes were thick and dark, resting against his cheeks, and his lips were slightly parted. He mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, and I smiled.He looked at peace.And God, did he deserve it.My fingertips brushed lightly over the scar that curved just beneath his collarbone. I remembered that one. I had stitched it myself years ago, swearing through tears that he’d never put himself in danger again. But he had. He always did. For me. For Sofia. For the peopl

I slipped out of bed and threw on one of Matteo’s button-downs from the floor, the fabric swallowing me whole. My legs were bare, but I didn’t care. My feet padded softly over the wooden floors, following the sound of giggles down the hallway. When I reached the kitchen, the sight made my heart twist. Matteo stood barefoot in front of the stove, shirtless, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. Sofia sat on the counter beside him, holding a small wooden spoon like it was a wand, her hair still a mess of soft curls from sleep. He cracked an egg one-handed while guiding hers with the other, his voice low and patient. “Good. Now stir gently, principessa. Not too fast. We don’t want flying yolks.” “I’m a chef now!” Sofia beamed proudly. Matteo grinned, eyes crinkling. “The best one I’ve ever had.” She giggled again and accidentally knocked over the pepper shaker. Ground black pepper spilled across the counter like confetti. “Oops,” she whispered. Matteo laughed. “Every g

Matteo looked at me then. Fully. And the expression on his face… it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t guilt. It was something rawer than either helplessness. A kind of ache I hadn’t seen in him since the first night we ran. “I can’t lose you again,” he said. “You won’t,” I told him. “But you have to stop keeping me in the dark.” He walked toward me slowly, each step heavier than the last, until he stopped beside my chair. He crouched down in front of me, resting his hands on my knees. His thumb brushed the inside of my leg like he wasn’t even thinking about it just needed to touch something real. “I didn’t tell you because if it is him… I’m not sure what I’ll become. And I didn’t want you to see that.” I cupped his face without thinking, fingers trembling slightly against the stubble on his jaw. “I’ve seen you at your worst, Matteo. You don’t have to hide from me.” He leaned into my touch. Eyes closed. Breathed me in like he needed it to stay steady. Then: “I don’t care if I have to burn

Still intact. I exhaled, breath fogging the air. I’d been preparing since the night Giuli let me back into that house. Since I held her in front of the fire, her body arching into mine like a lifeline. Since I kissed her and tasted everything I thought I’d lost. I knew peace wouldn’t last. I just didn’t think it’d come unraveled this fast. A twig snapped behind me. Not loud—but close. I straightened slowly, hand instinctively going for the switchblade in my coat pocket. My ears honed in. A breath. Another step. “Thought I taught you to walk quieter,” I murmured. Enzo’s voice answered behind me, winded. “You did.” I turned to find him leaning against a tree, scarf half-wrapped around his neck, a flask in hand. He took a long swig and offered it to me. “Whiskey. You look like you need it.” I took it, not because I wanted it, but because we both knew what was coming. And fire was better than fear. “You follow me out here just to babysit?” I asked, handing it back. “No,” he s

The cold didn’t bother me. My blood ran too hot.I flicked the cigarette off the porch, watched the ember spiral into the dark like a dying star. There was a stillness in the trees that didn’t feel right. Not the good kind. Not peace. The kind of quiet that came before a storm. Before a scream. The kind of quiet I’d grown to trust more than most people.I knew I should go inside. Crawl back into bed with her. Pretend, just for a little while, that the war wasn’t already moving in our direction like smoke through the cracks. But I couldn’t. That part of me, the one that never really came back from the blood and fire he wouldn’t let me.I reached under the porch bench and pulled out the steel case I hadn’t touched in a year. The hinges creaked, reluctant, like they knew what opening it meant. Inside: two modified pistols, a pair of knives wrapped in cloth, and a burner phone with three contacts. I stared at them like they were ghosts. Because they were. Ghosts of a man I’d buried when I