Undressed By The Mafia God

"Yeah," Vee said dryly, "irritatingly so." She looked towards the stairs, and the humour faded. "But another woman between us? I don’t like someone else telling me what you need."

Luca’s gaze softened. "Neither do I."

"Then why?"

Luca leaned closer. "Like she said, you call the shots. You decide how far this goes. Tonight, love, I am your slave."

*****

Luca stood in the middle of the room Marceline had prepared. He looked around once, slowly. A wide bed stood against one wall. A chair had been placed near the centre of the room.

On the dresser, Marceline’s tools of trade had been arranged.

Floggers.

Paddles.

Cock rings.

Feathers.

Silk ties.

Leather cuffs.

Some pieces he recognised because he and Veronica had similar things in New York. He drew in a breath and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt.

Marceline was prepping Veronica elsewhere. He had no idea if his father’s stunt was going to work but he was willing to give it a try.

Soon, Marceline came into the room. She had changed. Gone was the elegant suit, the pencil skirt, the professional who looked like she could bankrupt a man. In her place stood a woman dressed in a black jumpsuit.

Luca suspected the outfit was meant to give her some sort of power. Unfortunately for her, he barely glanced. "Where is my wife?" he asked.

Marceline walked to the dresser without answering immediately. Her hand moved over the arranged tools. When she picked up the flogger, it settled in her grip as naturally as a pen. "That is the only thing you get to say without permission for the remainder of the night." She turned to him. "Your wife will be in when she feels ready."

Marceline would have been a fool not to know exactly what kind of man stood before her. Men like him did not break easily because they had been trained to believe breaking was something that happened to lesser people.

His father had prepared her. Massimo Genovese had described his son efficiently. Proud. Dangerous.

But Massimo had also given her the one thing Luca did not know he had surrendered.

His weakness.

Veronica.

Love was too pretty a word for what Luca carried. This was devotion tangled with obsession. A husband who believed every wound on his wife’s body was supposed to pass through him first.

That weakness would be exploited tonight to reach him. At least, that was the theory. Marceline positioned herself behind him, the flogger hanging at her side like an extension of her arm. He was not afraid of pain. That much was obvious.

Luca would have to be led to the place he had been avoiding. And Marceline, despite years of experience, found herself almost curious enough to call it excitement.

She was dying to see if she was actually worth her salt. The door opened. Veronica entered. Luca’s breath stopped in his chest.

She looked majestic. The fitted bodice of her outfit shaped her boldly.

His wife.

His Bambola.

His undoing.

His salvation.

Luca’s mouth lifted. Usually, the old him would have responded instantly. His cock would have been hard before he had time to think, all this ritual nonsense thrown to hell while he crossed the room, took her in his arms and fucked her with the same brutal hunger she had always known how to meet.

But the old him did not arrive. His smile remained, but it hurt.

"You look gorgeous," he breathed finally.

The flogger cracked across his back hard. Luca barely flinched. He had endured far worse, and pain from Marceline meant nothing while Veronica stood in front of him looking like a queen he had no right to touch until she commanded it.

His eyes stayed on his wife.

"Did I say you could speak?" Vee asked, raising a brow. Luca noticed her glance at Marceline for approval.

You’re doing great, girl... you don’t need her... Luca held Veronica’s gaze, willing her to understand the words he could not say. He saw the uncertainty flash in her eyes after she looked to Marceline. She was trying to follow the instructions. Trying to hold power over him without letting that power become cruelty.

He shook his head in response to her question. His natural dominance rebelled instantly. But another part of him needed to stop leading. His dominance and his damage went to war inside him.

"Get on your knees now!"

Luca dropped to his knees. His eyes stayed on hers as he lowered himself. She was the only thing in the room that mattered.

She was the power here. "Lose the shirt." Her voice was steadier now.

Good girl.

The words stayed behind his teeth. Again, Luca obeyed. He reached for the remaining buttons and opened them one by one. Fabric slid from his shoulders, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the bandages still hugged his arm.

He pushed the shirt away and let it fall aside. Veronica walked closer. Luca thought she was coming to him.

Instead, she stepped around him. She stopped directly in front of Marceline.

"I don’t care what this eventually solves," Veronica said. "But you look at my husband some kind of way or your fingers touch my husband any kind of way, I will make sure that desire is the last thing you ever feel." Veronica leaned in a fraction. "Your last breath will be taken in this house. Are we clear?"

Marceline gave a small nod. "Crystal."

Luca smiled. He could not help it. This was supposed to be about him. His pain. His shame. Yet somehow, his wife still found a way to shine. His pride in that moment could not be measured. His marriage was not normal.

Thank God.

Veronica turned back to him. The hardness in her face softened when her eyes met his, but she did not drop the role. "If and when you disobey my instructions. I will have you punished."

Marceline moved slightly behind him. "Pick a safe word."

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