Undressed By The Mafia God-Chapter 117: I’m Sure You’re Tired

Roses scattered across the ground in arcs leading from the door to the bed. Champagne chilling in a silver bucket. Soft music playing low enough to feel intimate. The bed turned down carefully, sheets crisp and inviting.

She wore a sheer ivory dress. It revealed more than it concealed. The curve of her waist. The softness of her hips. The full swell of her breasts barely contained beneath delicate lace. She had chosen it after hours of standing before the mirror, debating whether innocence or boldness would win his attention.

Tonight, she chose boldness.

Her long dark hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders. She had lined her eyes carefully, painted her lips a deep, inviting red. Every detail considered. Every insecurity buried beneath determination.

She wanted him to look at her.

The door handle turned.

Her breath caught sharply.

When Luca stepped inside, he filled the doorway without effort. Even travel-worn, he carried himself like a man who bent environments to his will. His height alone could make other men hesitate. His presence could silence rooms.

The light caught his face, revealing high cheekbones, a straight, uncompromising nose, lips that rarely smiled fully. And those eyes.

Cold, piercing, ocean-before-a-storm blue.

Even exhaustion did not dull him. If anything, it sharpened him. There was tension in the way he held himself.

His gaze swept the suite once. The roses. The champagne. The candles.

Then it landed on her.

Bianca’s rehearsed words dissolved instantly. All the practiced lines, the welcoming warmth she had whispered to herself in the mirror, vanished. "Luciano..." she managed to breathe. She took a small step forward. Her breasts pressed forward slightly, the neckline threatening to slip lower. She wanted him to see.

Wanted him to want.

He closed the door behind him slowly.

Bianca’s heart pounded against her ribs. She could feel it everywhere. In her throat. In her wrists. Between her thighs.

"Bianca..." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Bianca inhaled sharply at the contact. She reached for his hand immediately, cradling it with reverence, and bent to kiss the heavy gold ring that bore the Genovese crest. "Welcome home," she whispered. She helped him out of his jacket, her fingers brushing the hard line of his shoulders as she slid the fabric down his arms.

His body was solid beneath the tailored shirt. "How was your trip?" she asked, searching his face.

"Long."

She draped his jacket carefully over a chair, smoothing it automatically. She crossed to the small bar cart near the fireplace and poured brandy into a crystal glass.

"Have you seen Don already?" she asked, keeping her tone light.

"Yeah." His jaw tightened faintly. "But we still have more to discuss."

"I’m sure you’re tired," she said softly as she handed him the drink. "Your bath is ready. I made it soothing."

"Of course." Luca took the glass from her hand, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He swallowed the brandy in one steady gulp, the burn sliding down his throat. He handed the empty glass back to her.

Only now did he truly look at her.

The sheer dress. The deliberate vulnerability of it. The way it clung to her curves, revealing the smooth plane of her stomach, the fullness of her breasts barely restrained by delicate fabric. Her long dark hair cascading over bare shoulders. Lips parted slightly, expectant.

There was no escaping it.

He would not be getting out of this tonight.

It was expected.

"You look nice," he said.

Bianca’s face lit up, warmth flooding her expression. She stepped closer, and began to unbutton his shirt slowly. "I prepared for you," she murmured.

Luca let out a quiet chuckle, low in his throat. He tilted his head slightly as she worked the buttons open, revealing the hard lines of his chest beneath.

"You are always perfect," he said. "No hair out of place."

Her smile widened, pleased. "Thank you."

But inside, Luca’s thoughts did not echo praise.

It wasn’t a compliment.

It was an observation.

Bianca was immaculate. Composed. Trained since childhood to be the flawless wife of a powerful man. Raised to never embarrass him. Never question him in front of others. Even her jealousy was to be expressed privately.

She was everything a Don’s son should want. And yet...

He shrugged the shirt from his shoulders and let it fall carelessly to the floor.

Bianca’s breath caught again at the sight of him fully bared from the waist up. "Come," she urged gently. "Take a bath and we can head down for dinner." She laced her fingers through his and led him further into the suite, into the marble-lined bathroom where steam already curled in soft ribbons through the air. The space was expansive, lined with pale stone and gold fixtures, a sunken tub large enough to drown in comfort. Rose petals floated lazily across the surface of the water.

As they walked, her free hand drifted over his chest, fingertips grazing slowly downward. She traced the defined ridges of his abdomen, feeling the flex beneath her touch. This was her husband. Her king. The man whose name she bore.

She paused just long enough to unbuckle his belt. She pushed his trousers down his hips, sliding them along his powerful thighs until they pooled at his feet.

He stepped free of them and lowered himself into the water slowly.

Bianca slipped out of her sheer dress behind him. The fabric slid down her body, pooling at her feet. She remained in delicate lace. She picked up the loofah, dipping it into the scented water before kneeling beside the tub. She began slowly.

The sponge moved across his shoulders first, gliding over damp skin, over the broad expanse of muscle. She worked carefully, kneading gently, her fingers following behind the loofah to massage deeper. She moved down his arms, over his chest, lingering just slightly where his heart beat steady and strong.

Luca watched her through half-lidded eyes.

She was devoted. There was no doubt in that. Her hands slid lower, across his abdomen, tracing the firm lines there before drifting beneath the surface of the water. The bath rippled softly with the motion.

(This is to 100 power stones. On to 200 people. We can do it before Monday!)