I Ran Away Carrying the Mafia King’s Child Chapter 06

I Ran Away Carrying the Mafia King’s Child Chapter 06

The drive back to Velmora felt endless, like dragging on for an entire century.

The car heater was cranked up high, yet the atmosphere inside was ice cold.

I leaned against the window, staring blankly at the night scenery blurring past, not saying a word.

Massimo sat right beside me, equally silent. The heavy, brooding aura rolling off him was almost

suffocating.

I lost track of how long we’d been driving when my stomach started churning again, out of

nowhere.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, fighting hard to hold back the nausea.

Then the man next to me moved.

He pulled out a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, then rummaged in the storage compartment for a pack of soda crackers and held both out to me.

His movements were stiff, his expression still unreadable and sharp.

I stared at him in daze.

“What are you looking at? Eat,” he snapped in a gruff command.

I took them silently and nibbled the crackers slowly.

The dry crumbs scraped down my throat, yet they effectively settled my queasy stomach.

The car never headed downtown. Instead, it wound up into an exclusive luxury mansion district halfway up the mountain.

A standalone villa stood glowing with warm lights, a line of servants waiting at the gate.

“Where is this?” I asked warily.

“Your new home.” Massimo tugged me out of the car, his tone cold and unyielding.

He led me inside. The interior was lavishly furnished yet eerily empty, devoid of any warmth.

“From today on, you live here. You are not allowed to step foot outside these gates without my permission.”

He nodded toward a poised middle-aged woman nearby. “This is your nutritionist. She’ll handle all your meals. Those are the maids-they’ll take care of your daily needs.”

I was utterly speechless. Three people followed me even to the bathroom. This was nothing short of

house arrest.

I chose silent defiance and refused to cooperate.

I wouldn’t drink a single sip of the herbal pregnancy soup the nutritionist prepared.

I wouldn’t touch a bite of the fancy meals the maids set out.

All I craved was the messy seafood soup I’d cooked for myself back in the small coastal town.

By the third day, Massimo finally lost his patience.

He kicked my bedroom door open hard, holding a food tray in his hand.

“Riley, do you insist on defying me at every turn?”

I glanced at whatever was on the tray. The soup smelled burnt, and the ingredients inside were chopped into lopsided, uneven chunks.

“What is this?”

“You wanted soup, didn’t you?” He slammed the tray down on the table. “I made it. Drink it.”

I looked at his face-the clear look of I lowered myself to cook for you, so you’d better eat it or else –and suddenly I wasn’t scared anymore.

“Since Don Romano personally cooked for me, I suppose I ought to try it.” I picked up the spoon and

took a sip.

It was unbearably salty with a weird aftertaste.

Still, I swallowed it without changing my expression.

Then I looked up at him. “It’s nice. Though I think you mixed up salt with sugar, and you didn’t scrape all the fish scales off either.”

Massimo’s face flushed bright red instantly.

He snatched the bowl away, took a sip himself, then bolted straight to the bathroom at lightning speed.

I listened to him retching inside, and for the first time, I thought this intimidating man was actually

kind of ridiculous.

When he came back out with a dark, stormy expression, I was leaning lazily on the sofa, one hand

resting gently on my belly.

The little one inside seemed to sense something and gave me a soft tiny kick.

A tender smile tugged unconsciously at my lips.

Massimo’s gaze locked onto my stomach, his Adam’s apple bobbing once.

He walked over and sat down beside me, his movements awkward and rigid.

“…Did it move?”

I ignored him.

Yet he looked utterly fascinated, reaching out tentatively, wanting to touch my belly.

His mix of curiosity and nervousness was nothing like his usual domineering self.

Just as his fingertips were about to make contact, I spoke up.

“Stay away from me.”

His hand froze mid-air, and his cold, distant mask slipped right back into place.

“Riley, don’t push your luck.”