Todos os capítulos de Married To The Mafia King, Pregnant With His Heir: Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 100

ElenaWe returned to the city in early January, engagement ring settled comfortably on my finger, and I found myself surprised by how quickly the practical realities of wedding planning intruded on what I'd naively imagined would remain a purely joyful process."Your mother called three times this week already," Nathan observed, watching me scroll through my phone during a rare quiet evening at my apartment. "I believe she has opinions about venue selection.""She has opinions about everything," I said, laughing despite genuine affection underlying the complaint. "Though I confess, I want her involved. She's waited a long time to help plan something joyful rather than something built around danger or crisis."We settled on a date nearly a year out, giving ourselves time to plan properly while continuing our demanding work schedules.And I found myself genuinely grateful when my mother offered to handle considerable logistics from the estate, understanding my limited capacity to mana

ElenaThe week before my wedding arrived with the particular chaos I imagined every bride experienced, though mine came with the additional complexity of a guest list that included former adversaries turned genuine friends, business partners who had once represented mortal danger, and an extended family whose complicated history made even seating arrangements require careful diplomatic consideration."Lorenzo confirmed he's attending," Sofia reported, reviewing her extensive spreadsheet with obvious satisfaction. "Along with his own children, who apparently remain quite close with Matteo despite the distance.""And Voss," I asked."Confirmed as well," Sofia said. "She mentioned wanting to discuss something with you directly when she arrives, though she didn't specify what."I felt mild curiosity at this, though wedding preparations left little mental space to dwell extensively on Voss's mysterious request.My mother arrived at my apartment three days before the ceremony, ostensibly t

ElenaI don't remember getting dressed. Sofia tells me later that I stood perfectly still for nearly twenty minutes while she and my mother worked at the buttons along my back.And that I didn't say a single word the entire time, which she found hilarious given how much I'd talked through every other stage of planning this day for the better part of a year.I remember fragments instead. The particular gold of the light coming through the chapel's narrow windows, the same light my mother had once described watching spill over a garden she believed she'd never learn to call home. The weight of the ivory ranunculus pendant against my wrist, the bracelet my father had given me at Christmas, worn deliberately today instead of any other jewelry.I remember my father's hand, steady under my own trembling one, as we stood together just outside the chapel doors."You don't have to be steady," he said quietly. "Nobody expects you to walk down that aisle unafraid. Your mother certainly wasn't.

VittoriaI found reasons to return to that same neighborhood over the following weeks, careful and deliberate excuses my chaperone never fully questioned.A need for particular ribbon only available at a specific shop, a sudden interest in attending mass at a church considerably farther from home than our family's usual parish.Antonio, I would learn, possessed the same particular patience in courtship that had defined our first conversation, never pressing, never assuming, simply present whenever circumstance allowed our paths to genuinely cross.As though he understood instinctively that anything more forward might frighten away something he seemed to recognize as fragile and easily broken."You've read it again," he said, the third time we found ourselves in comfortable conversation, this time in the modest garden behind the shipping office where he worked, a space considerably less grand than my own family's roses but somehow, in that particular season, more genuinely alive."I wa

VittoriaWe traveled for three days before I allowed myself to believe we had genuinely escaped, three days of careful, anxious movement through countryside I had never before seen, sleeping in modest inns under assumed names, watching every approaching traveler with people who understood exactly what pursuit might eventually look like."You're frightened," Antonio observed, on our final evening before reaching his cousin's household, both of us sharing a quiet meal in yet another unfamiliar inn's common room."I'm trying not to be," I admitted. "Though I confess, Antonio, I keep waiting for something terrible to arrive and prove this happiness was never genuinely possible for someone like me.""Someone like you," he repeated gently. "Meaning.""Meaning someone whose entire life was decided by other people's ambitions," I said. "I don't entirely know how to trust that I'm genuinely allowed to choose my own happiness now, rather than simply borrowing time before consequence eventually