Semua Bab His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim: Bab 121 - Bab 130

Six months had passed. Half a year since what happened. Since the cellar. Since the whisper that changed everything, "They know she’s alive." Time didn’t heal everything. But it softened some things. We’d buried the chaos in layers of stillness. Moved to the edge of the world—a gray-stone cottage nestled in the fog-drenched woods of northern Scotland. Surrounded by rolling green hills, ancient trees, and skies that stayed overcast more often than not. It wasn’t a life of laughter and light. But it was safe. And for us, that was enough. Sofia thrived in it. The quiet. The space. The simplicity. She stopped flinching at loud sounds. Her appetite returned. The limp that once haunted her steps was now just a memory. The first time I heard her humming again—alone, in her room, drawing on the wooden floor with broken crayons—I nearly broke down on the stairs. She was healing. So Matteo and I tried to, too. Some nights, he still jolted awake, breath ragged, reaching for a gun that

The house was too quiet. Even with Sofia fast asleep in her room, even with the new baby nestled in her blanket, that silence…it wasn't peace. It was tension wrapped in stillness. It was the kind of silence that held its breath. I stood by the kitchen sink, watching Matteo from afar as he held the baby in his arms. The little girl hadn’t stirred since we brought her in. Her cheeks were still rosy from the cold night, but her breathing—steady and slow—proved she was warm now. Safe. For now. Matteo had changed her into one of Sofia’s old onesies. I remember folding that same fabric two years ago, laughing to myself about how tiny it was. And now, it was holding another child… a child left on our doorstep like a secret someone hoped we'd never uncover. "She’s out cold,” Matteo whispered, eyes still locked on the baby as he walked toward me. “Didn’t even wake up when I changed her diaper.” I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself. I hadn’t stopped shivering. Not from the cold—but

I didn’t know what made me snap first—the way his eyes lingered at the curve of my lips, the roughness in his voice, or maybe the slow drag of his gaze down my body like he was already imagining what I’d feel like again under him.Whatever it was, it undid me.And the second I moved, so did he.Matteo pushed me back against the bedroom wall like he’d been waiting years to do it again. His body pressed against mine—hot, solid, too real—and his breath hitched when I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer."Fuck, Giuli..." he groaned against my throat, voice low and ruined. "You have no idea what you do to me."His hands roamed down my sides, greedy and rough, until they settled on my hips. He tilted his head, eyes dark and wild with want. "I should be gentle with you, shouldn’t I?" he muttered against my skin. "After everything... but fuck, baby, I don’t think I can be."My breath caught when he shoved my leg up to his waist and gripped my thigh hard, grinding against me li

Enzo’s gaze darted toward me, pausing for just a flicker. It wasn’t judgment I saw in his eyes—it was something closer to worry. Regret. He looked like a man who didn’t want to be the bearer of whatever news he carried. And that alone made my stomach twist into something cold.Matteo’s grip tightened on my waist.“What’s going on?” he asked, tone clipped, wary.Enzo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned slightly to the side, and behind him stepped two people I hadn’t seen in almost a decade—but would’ve recognized even in my sleep.Matteo’s parents. The storm and the sun.His father looked like an older, war-hardened version of him but just broad frame, clean-cut beard, eyes sharp and assessing, as if he was always three steps ahead. His mom was smaller than I remembered, but still carried the kind of elegance you couldn’t fake. She wore her age like armor—pearls at her throat, a fitted navy coat, and that expression… the one women used when they were quietly bracing for chaos.

It had been nineteen days.Nineteen days of white walls and fluorescent lighting and beeping machines that never shut the hell up.Nineteen days of whispered prayers I didn’t believe in and cold coffee cups and doctors who couldn’t meet my eyes.And now they were saying she was gone. Not dead. But gone."Brain death is irreversible," the neurologist said, his voice flat, rehearsed. “The scans are clear. There’s no cortical activity. No response to stimuli. Her brain stem is functioning only enough to regulate her heartbeat. She’s on full life support, Giulianna. The machines are doing everything now.”I heard the words, but I couldn’t seem to process them. They just floated in the sterile air like smoke I couldn’t grab.Matteo was beside me, his hand clamped around mine. He hadn’t let go since we walked into the ICU that morning.Everyone else was already outside.The doctors. The nurses. My aunts and uncles who had flown in and were now sitting in the waiting area whispering behind t