Undressed By The Mafia God-Chapter 120: Begin Earning Your Keep

Julian’s jaw tightened so hard the muscle ticked visibly beneath his skin. He bit his tongue.

Luca watched the exchange with a lazy composure. And then, without meaning to, he allowed the faintest smirk to curve his mouth. Even Luca did not fully understand why their father withheld recognition from Julian the way he did. Julian handled operations. Smoothed disputes. Oversaw shipments. He was competent.

But Don Genovese never handed him the reins to anything substantial.

"Any update on the Bastione ambush?" Luca asked, calmly redirecting the energy at the table.

Don Genovese leaned back slightly. "No. Their Don isn’t in the country. We wait. When he returns, we move. We get them all."

"Except Renato," Luca added.

Don’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Is he giving you problems in New York?"

"He wouldn’t dare."

Don Genovese’s chest expanded slightly with pride. "See?" He turned to Julian, gesturing toward Luca with his wine glass. "That’s why he gets to manage the famiglia!"

Julian’s fingers curled against the table edge.

"You," Don continued bluntly, "are just a love sick fool."

Julian’s gaze shifted slowly across the table.

To Bianca.

She sat there, hands folded elegantly in her lap now that her plate was empty. She looked every inch the obedient wife.

And yet.

Julian saw the humiliation.

Love sick fool.

Yes.

He had been.

For years.

Don Genovese continued speaking, detailing shipment routes and retaliatory strategies, already done with the emotional detour.

After dinner, the fracture lines dispersed quietly.

Julian excused himself first. He walked out with a controlled stride, pride bleeding invisibly behind him.

Don Genovese relaxed further into his storytelling mode. He laughed. Bianca laughed lightly when appropriate. Luca listened, nodding when required.

Then, with a dismissive flick of his fingers and a knowing smirk, Don waved them off.

"Go," he said. "Begin earning your keep. I expect good news soon."

As Bianca slipped her hand into Luca’s and led him toward the staircase, her fingers laced through his with hopeful firmness. To anyone watching, they were a portrait of unity. The golden couple ascending into candlelit promise.

But Luca knew one thing with chilling clarity.

He was not going to have a child with her.

Inside their suite, Bianca released his hand with a soft smile. "I’ll freshen up," she said gently, already moving toward the bathroom.

He crossed to the bar, reached for a cigar, rolling it between his fingers before cutting and lighting it.

Then he stepped outside.

The mansion opened inward. A grand fountain stood at the center of the inner courtyard, water cascading in a steady rhythm. Gardens framed the space in symmetrical perfection. Every suite had a balcony facing the others, an architectural reminder that privacy here was an illusion.

Conversations could travel if voices were raised high enough.

Luca settled into an inflatable sofa positioned along the railing. He leaned back, cigar glowing between his fingers, smoke curling upward into the cool Viennese night.

He exhaled slowly.

His mind wandered unwillingly.

To Veronica.

The cigar burned down to a stub between his fingers. He crushed it out carefully, watching the last ember fade.

The balcony door slid open behind him.

Bianca stepped out into the night dressed in another sheer nightdress. This one more daring than the first, transparent enough to reveal everything beneath.

Except there was nothing beneath.

Just skin and invitation.

Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, still faintly damp.

"Are you coming to bed?" she asked softly.

Luca turned slowly in his seat.

She was beautiful. No one could deny that. Sculpted perfection. Devoted.

Everything aligned for one outcome.

"In a minute," he murmured.

She stepped forward anyway, sliding onto his lap. Legs parted, she settled him between her thighs, the warmth pressing against him. "How long will you keep me waiting?" she whispered, lips brushing against the hollow of his throat. Her fingers reached for him, sliding his own hand between the wet folds of her desire.

"We are not having a kid yet, Bianca." He said.

"Just touch me." she moaned.

There was only one thing to do with a sexually frustrated wife. Fuck her. His free hand gripped her waist, drawing her flush against him, he sank his fingers deep into her heat.

Bianca’s gasp cut through the night air, melodic, and intoxicating. She tilted her head, teeth grazing the nape of his neck, lips pressing along his jawline, tracing the curve of his ear before finally claiming his mouth.

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, burying his face between her breasts with a confidence that had been growing since the moment they’d met.

His other hand moved, dragging the sheer fabric of her nightdress downward until it pooled around her waist. The sight of her bare skin in the dim balcony light stole what little patience he had left. He kissed, nipped, and explored, the curves of her body.

From the corner of his eyes, he caught a shadow, a flicker of the curtain in Julian’s suite. He pulled his fingers out of her with a controlled snap. He scooped her up into his arms, moving her swiftly into the sanctuary of their bedroom.

Her hands slid over his back, over the taut muscles he never let soften, drawing him into her orbit again even as he laid her down on the bed. Her dress lifted over her head. She pressed herself against him once more, shoving his t-shirt up and over his head, revealing the planes of his chest, the tension in his arms.

The room was silent except for their breathing.

Her hands roamed his chest and abs with reverent awe, tracing the lines of his sculpted body, fingertips teasing, pressing, exploring. Then, her fingers drifted lower, brushing against the waistband of his shorts. He stripped them off, positioning himself between her thighs.

The first stroke was seamless, perfect, and Bianca cried out at the sudden invasion. She had always known sex with Luca would be explosive but if her first time felt like this, the pain, the heat, then he could never top it. Her long nails dug into his skin, leaving faint crescents that burned slightly.

Her hands moved with urgency, one brushing over his back, the other gripping his ass, pulling him closer, deeper, insisting on every inch, claiming every fraction of him.

(brought to you by Jennifer Willard)

Okay, everybody pause....I can totally explain. Its simple guys!!! She is his wife! See? Very simple explanation. Lol