His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 141 - チャプター 150

The echo of their footsteps still lingers in the hall when silence finally takes over the room. My pulse is unsteady, my thoughts louder than any noise outside. Matteo’s arms are around me, grounding me, but even his warmth can’t shield me from what’s waiting the moment I step out that door.This house doesn’t feel like home. It feels like a stage, and every pair of eyes is waiting to see whether I’ll stumble or stand tall.I pull back from Matteo’s chest, just enough to look at him. His gaze is steady, protective in a way that makes me ache. He’d fight the whole world if I asked him to, but that isn’t what scares me. What scares me is that this time, the fight is mine.“Matteo,” I whisper, my fingers sliding from his wrist to his chest, pressing lightly over the steady beat of his heart. “They’re not wrong. I can’t stay in this room forever. I can’t keep hiding behind you.”His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t argue. He just studies me like I’m a puzzle he doesn’t want to solve because sol

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

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

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.

The night air outside the theater was heavy, pressing down with the weight of everything left unsaid inside. Matteo’s hand never left the small of my back as he guided me to the car. The driver stood ready, door open, eyes darting nervously toward the shadows.“Don’t look back,” Matteo muttered as he ushered me in. “They’ll take it as weakness.”I slid into the seat, keeping my spine straight even as my stomach twisted into knots. He followed, shutting the door with a snap that echoed like a gunshot.The car pulled away. City lights flickered past the window, but unease crawled along my skin. I could feel it—eyes on us, the silent promise of retribution.“They won’t wait long,” I whispered.Matteo’s hand found mine, his grip firm. “No. They’ll strike tonight. Count on it.”As if summoned by his words, headlights flared behind us. Too bright, too close. My pulse spiked. Matteo turned his head slightly, jaw hardening.“Driver,” he barked. “Lose them.”The car surged forward, tires squea