All Chapters of The Dons Forbidden Wife: Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

Martina’s pov“No more war rooms, Martina..” Dante tells me while trying to seat for dinner .I look up at Dante across the table, the warmth in the dining room wrapping around us in a way that almost feels unfamiliar, like this kind of quiet isn’t something we’re used to anymore.“What?” I ask, a small smile pulling at my lips.“No more war rooms,” he repeats, leaning forward, reaching for my hand before I can even respond. His fingers close around mine, warm, steady, grounding. “You’re done with that for now.”I raise a brow. “Done?” I echo lightly. “You’re removing me from power already, husband?”His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile fully. “I’m protecting my wife,” he says, firm but calm. “And my child.”My chest tightens at that.I still feel like I’m getting used to the words, like if I say them too loudly, something will hear and take it away from me again.I shift in my chair, my free hand moving to my stomach without thinking, resting there gently, almost cautiously.Dant

Dante’s POV“Easy… I’ve got you.” I try to pacify her even though I I’m a bit thrown off guard.Martina’s weight leans heavily into me as I guide her out of the dining room, one arm locked around her back, the other gripping her hand like if I let go for even a second, she’ll slip away from me. Her steps are uneven, dragging more than walking, her body still shaking in small, uncontrollable tremors.“Just a little further,” I murmur, tightening my hold when she stumbles slightly.The hallway stretches ahead of us, long, familiar… and suddenly wrong.Every shadow feels deeper than it should be. Every corner feels like it’s hiding something. This house, my house… the place I built to be untouchable, now feels like a trap I walked her straight into.My jaw tightens.I adjust my grip, almost lifting her at this point, not trusting her legs to hold her up anymore.“Stay with me,” I say quietly, glancing down at her.She nods, but it’s weak, delayed.We pass guards stationed along the corri

Marcos pov The interior of the warehouse felt like a tomb, the air stagnant and thick with the smell of the diesel generators. I sat in a high-backed chair, my fingers tracing the cold, serrated edge of a combat knife. Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, a spring waiting to snap. The burner phone on the crate beside me let out a sharp, electronic chirp. I picked it up before the first ring finished. "Report." "The gates are opening, Marco," the voice on the other end whispered, my ghost inside the Romano walls. "A three-car convoy, they’re Armored SUVs and Blacked out. They’re moving fast, heading for the private strip on the north side." A slow, jagged smile pulled at my lips. I looked over at my mother, who was watching me from the shadows, her eyes reflecting the same dark hunger. "She’s running after receiving my gift.” I said, the words coming out as a low, satisfied growl. "Dante thinks he can tuck his little 'Queen' away across the ocean. He thinks a piece of

Martina’s POV“We’re beginning our descent, My Queen.” Matteo says to me .I’m curled on my side on the narrow jet berth, one hand pressed hard against my stomach like I can physically hold everything in place. The hum of the engine fills the cabin, steady, constant, but every small shift in the plane makes my body tense.I don’t move nor answer, I just breathe… slow, careful, like if I do it wrong something inside me will break.Matteo is still there, I know without looking. He hasn’t left me the entire flight. He sits close enough that I can feel his presence, solid and quiet, like a wall between me and everything else.“Martina,” he says softly, not pushing, just checking.“I’m fine,” I whisper automatically, but my voice sounds wrong, thin and empty even to me.I tighten my hand over my stomach again.“Please, Just stay.” I whisper to myself.The plane shifts slightly, descending, and my breath catches. My fingers dig into the fabric of my dress as I try to keep myself steady.“W

Martina’s POV “…Matteo, why is that car still there?” I don’t look away from the window when I say it. The headlights are still cutting through the fog, steady, unmoving, like they’ve been placed there on purpose. My chest feels tight again, that same quiet pressure building under my ribs. Behind me, I hear his steps before I see him. He moves fast, crossing the room, his presence filling the space again like it pushes the fear back just enough to breathe. “I’m going down to the street, Martina.” I turn my head slightly, my body still half-angled toward the window. “Why?” “Because I don’t like anything I can’t explain,” he says, already reaching for his radio. His tone is calm, but I can hear the edge under it. “That car hasn’t moved in twenty minutes.” My fingers curl tighter against the edge of the bed. “You think it’s him?” “I don’t assume,” he replies. “I confirm.” He steps closer, lowering his voice just enough for me. “You’re secure here, the doctor is one floor down