Lahat ng Kabanata ng CLAIMED BY THE DON: Kabanata 101 - Kabanata 110

ELENA’S POV I stepped out of the shower dripping wet, my skin still tangling from the cool water and the lavender-and-vanilla oil I’d poured into the bath. The bathroom smelled like a luxury spa; expensive, intoxicating, exactly the way I wanted to smell for him tonight. Pregnancy books kept warning that sex drive could crash, that husbands sometimes pulled away when the bellies of their wives grew round, that marriages drifted once the baby arrived. I refused to let that happen to us. I was Lorenzo DeLuca’s spoiled princess now. I intended to stay that way forever. I didn’t bother with lingerie, it felt like too much fabric between us. Instead I wrapped myself in the black silk robe he’d bought me during our honeymoon trip, the one that clung to every curve and barely reached mid-thigh. I left it loosely tied so it would fall open the second he touched me. I heard the low growl of the Maserati rolling into the underground garage. My pulse jumped. He was home. I dropped the robe

ELENA’S POV Sunlight poured across the living room floor and turned everything golden. I sat curled on the sofa between Mamma Rosa and Papa, my bare feet tucked under me, and one hand rested on the gentle swell of my belly. Breakfast plates sat empty on the coffee table—cornetti crumbs, half-drunk espresso cups, the faint smell of almond paste still lingering. For the first time in months the house felt full in the right way: laughter, teasing, the kind of warmth I used to dream about when I was still sleeping on a thin mattress in my biological parents’ home. Mamma Rosa smoothed a strand of hair behind my ear. “So you want to go back to work?” I nodded. “After the baby’s born. I miss attending to patients. I miss feeling like I’m building something that’s mine.” Papa leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Smart girl. A woman should never stop wanting to build her own legacy. But Lorenzo, he’s a tough wall. You’ll have to convince him gently.” Mamma Rosa snorted. “Gently? That bo

ENZO’S POV TWO MONTHS LATER White light seared through the darkness first. It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t peaceful, it was just a blinding and merciless white light that made my skull feel cracked open. I floated in it, my lungs felt heavy, my body felt weightless and wrong. I didn’t feel pain yet, only a vast, echoing nothing. Then voices. A woman praying in Italian, low and frantic, rosary beads clicking like tiny desperate heartbeats. “Signore… per favore… aiutaci… proteggi la nostra famiglia… proteggi Lorenzo…” “Lord... please... help us... protect our family... protect Lorenzo…”Mamma Rosa. Her voice trembled on every word, and cracked on my name. I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell her that I was here. I wanted to tell her to stop crying. My tongue felt thick and dead. My throat closed around ash. More voices layered in. Calling me, soft at first, then louder and panicked. “Lorenzo… Lorenzo, tesoro, apri gli occhi…” “Lorenzo... Lorenzo, honey, open your eyes…” I remembe

ENZO’S POV The garage lights buzzed overhead while Matteo slid behind the wheel. I dropped into the passenger seat without a word. No army, no convoy, just the two of us. Revenge didn’t need witnesses, it needed silence, precision, and me. He started the engine. The low growl filled the concrete space. I stared out the side window at the city sliding past in streaks of neon and shadow. My phone rested heavily in my palm, my thumb hovering over Elena’s name. I knew what would happen if I pressed the call button. It would go straight to voicemail. Her bright, teasing and alive voice would greet me the way it always did. “Hey, it’s Elena. Leave a message and I’ll call you back when I’m done being fabulous.” I closed my eyes. The recording played in my head anyway, over and over. Her laugh at the end. The little kiss sound she added because she thought it was cute. I didn’t press the call button. Matteo kept his eyes on the road. “First stop is the club in Porta Venezia. Valentina’s

ENZO’S POV The bass throbbed through the floorboards and up into my bones as I sat in the shadowed VIP booth overlooking the main floor. Lights sliced across sweating bodies, strippers twisting around poles with mechanical grace, hips rolling to the same relentless beat. I swirled the whiskey in my glass, ice clinking softly, and stared down at the chaos without really seeing it. Five years had carved lines into my face, dulled my eyes, but the ache in my chest stayed sharp as the day I watched that car go up in flames. Matteo sat beside me, nursing a single beer he hadn't touched in twenty minutes. He knew better than to drink when I was like this. Across the low table, three men in tailored suits that cost more than most people's cars leaned forward, voices raised to cut through the music. Vincenzo "Vinny" Russo led the pack, gesturing with a fat cigar as he talked about shipments, territories, and the usual blood money mathematics. I nodded when I had to, letting the words wash o