Undressed By The Mafia God novel Chapter 311

Chapter 311: You Still Haven’t Changed

Over the years, he had meticulously crafted his escape routes with that singular promise in mind. Every operation, every raid, every potential disaster included a path that would ultimately lead him back to her. It was the one constant in a life defined by chaos.

So when he finally arrived at her door, shoddily held together after the failed attack, he was certain those were his final moments. Blood soaked through his shirt, each breath a laborious effort. The world around him had blurred into a haze of pain and fading consciousness, but the sight of that door—her door—held him together.

When it creaked open, the first expression on Carol’s face was one of pure shock, her eyes widening as they took in the battered figure leaning heavily against her frame. That shock, however, quickly transformed into irritation, her brows knitting together.

Even on the brink of death, he found her reaction endlessly amusing. The look on her face was priceless. He would almost die over and over again if it meant witnessing that exact expression every time.

He had been in and out of consciousness for what felt like an eternity, drifting through fragments of memory and pain. But this time, as his eyelids fluttered open, there was a strange clarity. His eyes seemed willing to stay open, if only for a little while longer.

The room around him came slowly into focus. Every breath was a reminder of his mortality, every ache a testament to the years he had spent living on borrowed time.

A faint, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. He was not the man he once was. The strength, the invincibility, the reckless confidence of his youth had given way to the undeniable truth of age. He was getting too old for this shit.

What was he thinking? Leading a raid at his age. But then, this failure was not his fault. Massimo Genovese had survived for far too long to miscalculate so disastrously. The raid had been precise, the strategy flawless—until it wasn’t. Someone had betrayed him.

And the list of suspects was very, very, very small.

"You still haven’t changed." Carol’s voice drifted into the room. She appeared carrying a bowl of warm water and a towel. "Don first, man later," she continued, setting the bowl on the bedside table. "I can practically see your brain working. Plotting revenge already, are we? You’ve barely escaped death and you’re still thinking. Honestly, Massimo, you’re exhausting."

Massimo shifted his head slightly to look at her. "I thought I was dying," he rasped, his voice rough from disuse.

"Well, you’re not," Carol replied briskly. She dipped the towel into the bowl, wringing it out before pressing it gently against his shoulder. "And now that you are fully awake," she added, "you can do us all a favour and go back to the hole you crawled out from." She continued to fuss over him, running the damp towel over his chest and arms, muttering under her breath as she worked. "Do you have any idea how far I’ve gone in the world to get away from you? New city, new life, peace and quiet—then you show up bleeding all over my doorstep like some cursed stray cat."

Massimo heard none of it. Her words faded into a distant hum as he focused solely on the movement of her lips. The familiar cadence of her voice, the expressive way her brows arched when she was annoyed, the warmth hidden beneath her sharp tongue—it was all achingly familiar. Twenty-one years had passed, yet she remained unchanged, as vibrant and infuriating as ever.

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