บททั้งหมดของ Claimed By My Ex’s Mafia Father in-law : บทที่ 201 - บทที่ 210

Chapter 202: Birth and Fury Valerio’s POVThe private jet touched down in Florence under a bruised sky, rain sheeting sideways across the tarmac. Elena gripped the armrests during the landing, knuckles white, face pale. Twenty-three weeks now. Sofia had been restless the entire flight from St. Petersburg—kicks sharp enough to make Elena wince and press her palm to the swell, whispering apologies to our daughter for the turbulence, for the fear, for everything.Anya sat across the aisle, knees drawn up, staring out at the rain like it might wash Volkov’s blood off her skin. She hadn’t spoken much since the dacha. Only quiet questions about the compound, about security, about whether the nursery was ready. Elena answered each one softly, patiently, building the fragile bridge between them one word at a time.We transferred straight to armored SUVs. No stops. No exposure. The Florence estate gates opened before we even slowed. Guards snapped salutes. Floodlights cut through the downpour

Chapter 204: Frozen Horizons Valerio’s POVThe Florence estate felt heavier under the winter rain. It pounded against the slate roof like impatient fingers. Inside our bedroom the fire crackled low. It cast flickering shadows across the walls. Elena lay beside me. Her body curled into mine. Sofia slept in the bassinet nearby. Her tiny breaths were soft and steady. A rhythm that grounded me in this chaos.Anya had settled into the guest suite down the hall. She moved like a ghost at first. Quiet footsteps. Hesitant questions. But over the last few days she had started to open up. Sharing fragments of her life in St. Petersburg. The rundown apartments. The freelance translations. The constant looking over her shoulder. She reminded me of Elena in those early days. Fierce under the fear. Ready to fight.We had decoded the rest of the USB drive. More files. Coordinates pinpointing the Siberian facility where our mother was held. Ivan Petrov’s name kept surfacing. The shadow behind Volkov

Chapter 206: The Heat Before the Cold Valerio’s POVThe cell was a concrete box carved out of permafrost. No window. No heat. Only the low hum of a single bulb behind a metal cage and the constant drip-drip of condensation somewhere in the dark. My wrists were raw from the chains. Blood crusted where the steel had bitten deep. The graze on my side had stopped bleeding hours ago, but every breath pulled fresh pain across my ribs.I sat with my back against the wall, legs stretched out, forcing my mind to stay sharp. Petrov would come eventually. Or Anya would. Someone would want to gloat. Someone would want to break me. They would get neither.But right now, in the freezing dark, my thoughts kept sliding back to Florence.To Elena.The way she looked the night before I left. Skin flushed from the bath, hair damp and curling at her nape, wearing nothing but one of my black dress shirts unbuttoned to her navel. She walked into the bedroom barefoot. The hem brushed the tops of her thighs

Chapter 208: The Cold Claim Valerio’s POVThe Siberian facility felt more like a tomb than a prison. Thick concrete walls sweated ice. The air was so cold it burned my lungs every time I breathed. My chains rattled whenever I shifted, the metal cuffs cutting deeper into already raw wrists. Blood had frozen in thin lines down my forearms. The graze on my side throbbed with every heartbeat, a dull, angry pulse that kept me sharp.I hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. Not with Anya’s cold smile burned into my memory. Not with the knowledge that she had played us all. Elena would be coming. She would tear the world apart to get to me. And when she did, Anya would be waiting with a knife at her back.The cell door groaned open.Anya stepped inside alone. No guards. No rifle. Just her. Wearing the same black parka, hood pushed back. Her gray eyes—Elena’s eyes—were flat. Empty.She closed the door behind her. Locked it.“You’re still breathing,” she said. Voice soft. Almost gentle. “That’s good. Petrov

Chapter 210: The Breaking Point Valerio’s POVThe Siberian cold had become something alive, something with teeth that sank into every inch of exposed skin and burrowed deeper with every passing hour, turning my breaths into shallow, burning pulls that fogged the air in front of my face. I sat with my back pressed against the rough concrete wall, the chains keeping my arms stretched high and wide so that even the slightest shift sent fresh pain lancing through my shoulders and down my spine. The cuffs had long ago chewed through skin; dried blood traced thin black lines down my forearms like ink spilled by a careless hand. The graze along my side had clotted into a dull, angry knot, but every inhale dragged fire across my ribs and reminded me that I was still here, still alive, still waiting.I refused to let the numbness creep in. Pain was useful. Pain kept my mind clear, kept my focus pinned to the single truth that mattered: Elena was coming. She would tear through anything and any