Claimed By My Ex’s Mafia Father in-law のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 271 - チャプター 280

Chapter 271: Flames We Cannot ExtinguishElena’s POVThe villa was too quiet. Rain hammered the roof like bullets, and every drop reminded me that somewhere across Lagos, Matteo—the man who had once tried to bury Valerio’s entire family—was lying in a hospital bed with a bullet in his shoulder. My ex’s shadow still clung to him like cheap cologne. He wasn’t blood. He wasn’t even the father of my child anymore. He was just… the enemy. The one who had dragged Vic the Blade straight to our doorstep because he couldn’t keep his dick or his debts in check.I stood at the tall windows of our bedroom, Livia finally asleep down the hall, her little drawings of princesses and guns scattered on the floor. My silk robe clung to my skin, damp from the shower I’d taken to wash away the fear. Valerio’s footsteps were silent on the marble—he always moved like a predator even when he was exhausted. His arms slid around me from behind before I could turn. Hard chest to my back. The familiar scent of g

Chapter 273: Shadows Over Sicily Elenas POVThe villa in Palermo overlooked the Tyrrhenian Sea like a fortress carved from ancient stone. Whitewashed walls glowed under the Sicilian sun. Bougainvillea spilled purple over every balcony. Olive groves stretched down the hills toward the city below where narrow streets twisted like veins through the old town. We had fled in the dead of night after the first strikes. Private jet. Fake passports. A new life whispered in the wind as we landed on this island of blood and beauty. Vic the Blade still hunted Matteo back where it all began. Let him chase ghosts there. We had cut deeper. Frozen his money. Burned his guns. Freed his girls. Now the real war moved here to Italy where the roots of true Cosa Nostra ran deeper than any foreign shadow empire.Valerio chose Sicily for a reason. His family blood traced back to these hills. Old alliances. Old enemies. The kind of men who remembered favors and vendettas across generations. He said this was

Chapter 275: Whispers at the TableElena’s POVThe dining room of the villa smelled of slow-roasted lamb, rosemary, garlic, and the faint sweetness of cannoli cooling on the sideboard. Candles flickered in iron sconces along the stone walls, throwing long shadows that danced across the long oak table. Livia had been tucked in an hour ago, her small hand clutching the stuffed wolf Valerio had given her the day we arrived—her new guardian, she called it. The nanny slept in the adjoining room. The house was quiet except for the low murmur of voices and the distant roll of the sea.Don Salvatore sat at one end, silver hair gleaming under the light, his sharp eyes softened only by the wine. Beside him his consigliere, a quiet man named Enzo who spoke little but saw everything. Across from them two younger capos—cousins from the old families—watched Valerio with the careful respect men give a predator they’ve decided to ally with rather than challenge. Their wives were absent tonight; this

Chapter 277: Testing the BloodElena’s POVMorning light sliced through the shutters in thin gold blades, cutting across the breakfast table where Luca sat for the first time under our roof. He looked smaller in daylight, less like a threat and more like a stray dog waiting to be kicked or fed. Livia had already eaten and run off to the gardens with the nanny, her laughter drifting in through the open doors like something from another life.Valerio stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, watching Luca the way a hawk watches a mouse. I sat beside him, coffee untouched, stomach still unsettled from yesterday’s revelations and last night’s relentless claiming. My body ached in the best way, marked inside and out, but my mind wouldn’t quiet.Luca ate slowly. Toast. Jam. Nothing extravagant. He hadn’t asked for anything special. Hadn’t complained about the guards at every exit or the fact that his phone had been taken the moment we brought him inside.“You sleep?” I asked.He met my

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