Todos os capítulos de His Baby My Burden: The Mafia Rider's Claim: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

The crunch beneath my heel snapped me out of my daze. I froze mid-step, heart skipping as my gaze dropped. At first, I expected a stray receipt or maybe one of those crumpled notes I always forgot to throw away. But this paper was smooth. Crisp. Carefully placed where I couldn’t miss it. Matteo. I didn’t need to unfold it to know. Still, I did. Slowly. As if it might detonate. "There’s poetry in the way your body trembles, dolcezza. Even the way you breathe is a sin I want to commit." - M. Fuck. The words hit me like a shot of whiskey. Hot, fast, and paralyzing. My throat tightened, going dry as my heart banged against my ribs. It felt like his breath ghosted over my skin. Like he was right behind me, whispering it low and rough into my ear while his hand trailed along my spine. My knees weakened, a slow burn blooming in my core. Goosebumps scattered across my arms like tiny flares of need. I reread it again. And again. Four times, maybe five. Each time it carved deeper into me.

“You came all this way,” he said softly. “Just to see if I’d ruin you again.” I tried to pull back. He didn’t let me. Instead, he stepped into me, one arm snaking around my waist as the other guided my captured wrist above my head. His fingers flexed over my pulse point, where my blood thundered like a war drum. He leaned down, lips ghosting mine, just enough to ignite. “Your body remembers me,” he whispered. “Even if your pride pretends it doesn’t. You call me a parasite? No, dolcezza. I'm the cure to your growing arousal.” “Fuck you,” I breathed. “I will.” he said. “Isn't it nice that you speak for your thighs now?" His hand drifted lower. Just a brush along my hip, enough to make me shudder. I gasped and shoved at his chest with my free hand, and he let me go. But he didn’t step back. He just looked at me. God, he looked at me and I felt naked in a way I’d never known. “No more riddles,” I whispered. “No more games.” His eyes darkened. “Then tell me what you

Matteo’s hand slid from my mouth to my throat, gripping gently but firmly, like he could feel my pulse thundering beneath his fingers. His hips didn’t sto, no, they moved with a slow, punishing rhythm that made my knees shake. Each thrust was deliberate, tormenting, as if he wanted to leave a memory inside me with every push. My breath hitched. The thrill was maddening. The danger and the fact that someone could see and hear us made everything burn hotter, more desperately. I whimpered, but I didn’t pull away. “Let me kiss you,” he breathed against my ear, his voice low and sin-stained. His fingers twisted into my ponytail, guiding my head back until it rested against his chest. His breath ghosted over my cheek. “Let me ruin you.” And then our mouths collided. It wasn’t a kiss, it was possession. A devouring. Like he needed to taste every broken piece of me and make it his again. His tongue slid over mine, slow and deliberate, as his thrusts dipped into a deeper, more luxurious pa

Matteo didn’t just look at Emanuele, he looked at him like he wanted to burn a hole through him.That lazy, knowing smirk played on his lips as his eyes slowly dragged over the man beside me like he was assessing a roach that had crawled onto his carpet. And then, with maddening ease, he turned his attention away from Emanuele altogether.To me.And just like that, the room shifted.People noticed. Of course they did. The Bianchi and Ricci were never in good terms. You could feel the ripple in the air as if someone had dropped a lit match into a ballroom of dry leaves. The whispers started before we even moved. Heads turned. Curious eyes flicked between the three of us, between the fake date on my arm and I’d been ordered to entertain, and the one whose fingerprints were still pressed into the flesh of my thighs beneath this gown.Matteo reached for my hand without hesitation, like I was already his.I didn't resist.His fingers were warm as they curled around mine, and when he rais

The couture of bridal boutiques smells faintly of lavender and desperation. I know the aroma intimately, it’s what I can’t quite escape every time the tape measure slides around my waist, cutting me off from freedom. I stood on the pedestal, wrapped in ivory lace, protruding like a marionette ready for display. The tailor’s lips moved as he asked me again if the corset was too tight. Would anything feel okay anymore? I let my fingers drop to my sides. “No,” I lied. “It’s fine.” Inside I felt vacant as if my mind was a well, and someone had pulled the water bucket out years ago. Days since I remembered what happened in the woods.The suffocating panic as my pulse pounded against Matteo’s palm. The way he carried me, how he touched me like I was fragile, yet the only anchor holding him upright. The scary thing wasn’t that I remember everything from what happened before the accident. It was that I couldn’t share it. Not with Sofia. My heart still clenched when I looked at her image