All Chapters of SIN FOR ME, VIRGIN NUN: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

CHAPTER 131CELESTE:The doctor gave me a polite nod before Matteo gestured toward the cabin. “Inside. She’s been sick.”We moved back indoors, the warmth from the heater wrapping around me like a blanket. The doctor set his case on the table, snapping it open to reveal a set of instruments and small vials.“Please, sit,” he said gently.I obeyed, perching on the edge of the couch while Matteo stood by the window, arms crossed. Bruno lingered near the door, silent. The doctor took my pulse and asked a few questions about dizziness, sleep, and appetite. I answered each mechanically, eyes fixed on the snow drifting outside. When he asked about the vomiting, I hesitated.“Just this morning,” I said finally. “And… maybe once or twice before, but I thought it was nerves.”He nodded thoughtfully, taking out a small flashlight to check my pupils. Then he pulled a small plastic test kit from his bag.“I’ll need a urine sample,” he said quietly. “Quick test, just to rule out a few things.”I b

Chapter 133Christian:I pressed my hand against my eyes, but the tears came anyway, hot and furious. My body shook with the effort to hold them back.Matteo didn’t speak. He understood grief too well to interrupt it.When I finally found my voice, it was rough, low. “Where’s Celeste now?”“She’s safe. I moved her to one of the old cabins in the north.”“Does she know?”“About Esme, yes. About you, no. Not yet.”“Keep it that way,” I said. “If she thinks I’m dead, she’s safer.”“Christian—”“I said keep it that way.”There was a pause, then a quiet sigh. “All right.”We talked briefly about the men we’d lost, the cleanup, the routes Damian’s people had used. It was mechanical, businesslike, the only way to keep from breaking again.Before he hung up, Matteo said softly, “I’m sorry.”“So am I,” I whispered.The line went dead.I sat there for a long time, phone still in my hand, listening to the hum of the generator and the faint trickle of water through the stone walls. The pain in my

Chapter 135Celeste:I woke to the quiet hum of the cabin, the cold morning air seeping through the cracks of the wooden walls, and the faint scent of pine and smoke from the fireplace that Matteo had insisted I keep lit all night. My body ached in places I hadn’t known ached before; all the muscles I have been training were screaming at me with every slight movement. The pregnancy was already asserting itself with a harsh, unrelenting grip, my stomach twisting into knots that no amount of shallow breathing could untangle.I swung my legs over the side of the bed and pressed my hands to my face, trying to steady the nausea, the grief, and the rage, all tangled together into one heavy knot that threatened to choke me. Christian was gone. That truth had settled in me like cold stone, heavy and unyielding, and no amount of hope could lift it. Matteo’s reassurances rang hollow in my ears. Christian was alive; he was somewhere, safe, but I didn’t believe it. Not truly. Not anymore.I had n

CHAPTER 137CELESTE:The warehouse was cold enough that my breath lifted in faint white curls each time I exhaled. Maybe it was the open shuttered doors or the way metal always trapped a ghost of winter, but the chill suited me. It quieted the shaking under my skin. The place was enormous, with rows of unused freight containers pushed against concrete walls, overhead lights humming, and shadows tall and restless. More than a hundred men gathered before me, shoulders rigid, expressions guarded. Some of them had served Christian for years; some had only recently pledged loyalty. All of them looked like they weren’t sure what to expect from the woman standing at the centre of the room.Two months had already passed by, two months since I last saw Esme with blood trickling down her forehead, lifeless. Two months since I last saw Christian, with no idea if he was alive, if Damian had really finished him off in his revenge. But I couldn't think about that now. I had spent the last two mo

CHAPTER 139CELESTE:The wind smelt like saltwater and rust. It whipped my coat as we walked toward the entrance, where two men stepped forward. One nodded respectfully to Matteo, then eyed me with a flicker of hesitation before stepping aside.When we entered, the noise softened, not silent, but politely hushed. Fake civility. Everyone dressed in tailored suits or dark dresses, expensive but understated. A long rectangular table dominated the centre of the room, each seat labelled with the sigil of a family.Eyes turned toward me. Not with empathy. Not even with curiosity.Evaluation.Waiting for me to crumble.Waiting to confirm the rumour that I was fragile, temporary, and undeserving.I refused to give them a single crack.Multiple mafia families gathered around a massive round table, their guards stationed along the walls like silent statues.The air carried cologne, gun oil, and fake sympathy.As Matteo and I approached, every head turned.“Celeste,” Roman Santori, head of the S