Undressed By The Mafia God

Veronica was already walking. There was a particular kind of determination in her stride. Luca followed.

The front door opened under Veronica’s hand. Warm light spilled over the space. The house was furnished already.

In the living room, seated on the sofa was a woman. She was beautiful. Her dark hair was swept into a neat bun, with a few curls left loose around her face. She wore a fitted jacket over a blouse and a pencil skirt that ended just below her knees. Her legs were crossed elegantly, hands resting on her lap, posture perfect. She looked like a lawyer.

"Mrs Genovese, I presume."

Veronica lifted her chin. "Yes. I am." Her gaze swept over the woman once. "Mistress Marceline. I hear you are a professional dominatrix."

Luca closed the door behind them very slowly. The night had gone to hell.

Marceline’s mouth curved. "I hear the tone, ma’am. I choose to ignore it. Please sit. This is not a session we can have while standing."

Luca stepped further into the room. "Marceline..."

The woman’s eyes shifted to him. "Mistress Marceline," she corrected.

Veronica laughed. "Oh, this should be fun." She crossed to one of the chairs and sat. Luca remained standing beside her. Veronica turned back to Marceline. "So what exactly do you do?"

"I cannot begin to tell you the full scope of what I do," Marceline said. "There are clients who come to me for control. Others for surrender. In this case, Don Genovese has asked me to help Luca confront his buried feelings....I have reviewed your history."

Veronica’s expression sharpened. "You have our history?"

"I came to the conclusion that this session has to include you, Mrs Genovese."

"Why?" Luca asked, voice low.

"Because she is the one you failed."

"he didn’t fail me..."

Marceline smiled and looked up at Luca. "Didn’t you?"

Veronica felt the change in him. The slight withdrawal. The shadow passing behind his eyes. He sighed and moved towards the sofa beside her. She was the one he needed to speak to. Not the domineering dominatrix sitting opposite them as if she could command him.

"Did she say you could sit?" Marceline asked.

Luca stopped.

Veronica’s head snapped towards the woman. "Excuse me?"

"Tonight, his control is yours. His will is yours," Marceline continued. "He does only what you ask him to. He breathes only when you command it."

Veronica blinked. Of all the things she and Luca had done, and God knew they had done many things, this seemed to be the most ridiculous.

They had loved each other in anger, in hunger. Luca could be demanding. Veronica could be reckless. Together, they had turned desire into warfare.

But this? It felt like the woman was talking about a machine and not a man. ’Good luck, ma’am. The engine is traumatised.’

"I..." Veronica began.

Nothing intelligent followed. Veronica then chose to ignore her. She turned to Luca, reached for his hand, and held on to his fingers. Then she pulled him down beside her.

Veronica faced her husband fully, her grip tightening around his hand. "You didn’t fail me, Luca. You hear me? You didn’t fail me," she repeated.

"Mrs Genovese," Marceline said, "if you want my help, you have to listen to me and trust my methods."

Veronica turned slowly. "I do not remember asking for your help!"

"No," Marceline agreed. "Don Genovese paid me handsomely to help you."

"A decision I am beginning to question."

Marceline leaned forward slightly. "Your husband needs to speak his pain. He won’t unless you ask him to. Do you ask him where it hurts, or do you both pretend love is enough to silence it? Luca has control in every part of his life. His work. His men. Even his grief is controlled." Marceline looked at him. "But pain that is never given language does not disappear. It finds the body."

"I’m not going to sit here and watch you decimate and emasculate my husband," Veronica said, her voice shaking with fury. "Are you crazy?"

Marceline stood. "And yet...it is what he needs." Her gaze settled on him. "To feel broken. To surrender control. To be punished. Then, and only then, will he be unburdened." Marceline picked up a slim folder from the table. "I’m going to go upstairs to prepare. You both should talk about this. I’ll be waiting."

Then she walked out.

"Why aren’t you saying anything?" Veronica asked.

He lifted his gaze to hers. "Because she is right."

"What... what are you talking about?" Vee stammered.

"I did fail you," Luca said.

"Baby..." Vee moved closer. "You—"

"Bambola. It might not seem that way to you," he said, "but it is how I am wired." Luca’s gaze dropped briefly to their joined hands. "I have been constantly thinking of the things I could have done differently. Every second. Every hour. I think of the things I regret. I think of the moment I should have known. The signs I should have seen. The men I should have killed sooner. The places I should have checked first. It tortures me."

"Luca..."

"I think of our baby and I—" He stopped.

Vee’s eyes filled, but she refused to cry.

"It’s my fault," he said finally. "Everything. I promised to protect you. Vee...I have to do this. This cannot go on. If this is how I deal with it, then so be it."

Vee shook her head. "You don’t have to be punished to heal."

"Maybe I do."

"I love you, all of you."

"I know."

"Then why are you talking like you are less of a husband?"

"I love you, and I know you love me. Not once have you made me feel anything less than perfect." He exhaled sharply. "But what kind of husband doesn’t get hard at the sight of his wife?"

"Oh, baby," she whispered. "What is she going to do?"

"I don’t know. I have never used her service. I never saw myself actually needing her service," he said. "In case you haven’t noticed, I am the dominant one."

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