Lahat ng Kabanata ng Claimed By My Ex’s Mafia Father in-law : Kabanata 271 - Kabanata 280

Chapter 272: Revenge And EcstasyElenas POVI woke with Valerio still deep inside me from the night before. His thick cock rested heavy and half hard between my thighs. The warmth of his release from hours ago still leaked slow and sticky down my skin. Sunlight cut through the heavy curtains in thin lines across our bed. The villa felt alive with quiet power. Livia slept safe down the hall with her nanny. Outside the city of Lagos waited for us to tear it apart. Vic the Blade had no idea what we had started. Matteo and his wounded little family were bait now. We would use them. We would let them bleed and draw the monster out while we cut every tendon of his empire from the shadows.Valerio stirred. His big hand slid up my bare back and gripped my hair gentle but firm. He pulled my face to his. Those dark eyes burned with the same fire that had claimed me years ago when I was still married to his son. The forbidden fire. The one that should have destroyed us both. Instead it made us u

Chapter 274: Dawn of Our Legacy Elena’s POV The first light of morning crept over the terrace like a lover’s whisper, turning the sea from midnight indigo to molten gold. Bougainvillea cascaded in violent purple over the pergola, heavy with dew, their scent mixing with salt and the faint smoke of last night’s olive-wood fire. I stood at the railing in nothing but Valerio’s linen shirt—unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, the fabric clinging to my still-damp skin from the shower. Below, the waves whispered against the rocks, steady as a heartbeat. I hadn’t slept much. Not since the war ended. Not since Vic’s blood stained the Calabrian hills and Valerio’s hands came back to me clean but forever marked. My body still hummed from him—every night, every dawn, he claimed me again as if the world might snatch me away if he stopped. Last night had been slow, deliberate. On this very terrace under a blanket of stars. Me riding him on the wide lounger, his hands guiding my hips, his mouth on my bre

Chapter 276: The First HuntElena’s POVDawn broke cold over Palermo. Gray clouds hung low, the kind that promise rain but hold it back like a threat. The villa felt different this morning—sharper edges, heavier silence. Valerio had been up before the sun, pacing the study with the photograph in his hand, staring at the boy’s face as if he could burn the truth out of it.I found him there when I came down, barefoot in one of his shirts again, the fabric brushing my thighs. My stomach fluttered—not nausea this time, but something fiercer. Awareness. Our child already knew danger was circling.He looked up. Eyes shadowed. Jaw tight.“You should rest,” he said.“I should be with you.” I crossed the room, took the photo from his fingers, studied it again. The boy—Matteo’s ghost made flesh—had the same cruel mouth, the same calculating eyes. But there was hunger there too. Hunger I recognized. The kind that comes from being told you’re nothing, then handed a name that could make you everyt

Chapter 279: Shadows in the GardenElena’s POVThe garden smelled of wet earth and night-blooming jasmine after the rain finally broke. Livia had fallen asleep hours ago, her small body curled under the quilt with the stuffed wolf tucked against her chest. I stood on the terrace overlooking the sloping lawns, arms wrapped around myself against the chill that had nothing to do with the wind.Luca was down there now, sitting on the low stone wall that separated the olive grove from the lawn. Alone. No guards within twenty feet—he had earned that much tonight. His bandaged arm rested in his lap. He stared at the dark sea like it owed him answers.Valerio came up behind me silent as always. His heat wrapped around me before his arms did. Chin on my shoulder. Breath warm against my ear.“He’s still breathing,” he said quietly. “That’s more than I expected to give him.”I leaned back into his chest. “He bled for us. Took a blade meant for your men. That counts.”“Counts,” Valerio repeated.

Elena’s POVThe courtyard smelled of sun-warmed stone and gun oil. Dawn light slanted across the training ground where Marco had set up targets—old tires stacked, wooden dummies painted with rough faces. Luca stood in the middle wearing a plain black t-shirt and cargo pants, sweat already darkening the fabric at his back. He held a Glock in both hands, stance wide, breathing controlled.Marco circled him slow. “Again. Faster draw. No telegraphing.”Luca nodded once. Holstered the pistol. Waited for the signal.Marco clapped once.Luca moved—clean, quick. Pistol cleared leather, sights aligned, three shots in under two seconds. Center mass on the dummy. The echoes cracked across the hills.Marco grunted. “Better. Still slow on the second target.”Luca lowered the gun. Wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm. The stitches were gone now; only a faint pink line remained. He glanced toward the terrace where I watched from the railing, coffee in hand.I gave a small nod. He dipped his he