Undressed By The Mafia God novel Chapter 329

Chapter 329: Love Means Letting Go

"Me? What’s there to love about me, hmm? I look at myself and I have no idea. But you?" His eyes returned to Julian. "Who do you have, Julian? Who loves you? Even your own mother didn’t love you."

"Which one of our mothers left her son behind?" he shot back.

Luca considered the question, a shadow of sadness crossing his features. "Sometimes, love means letting go," he replied quietly. "You’d never understand that." He allowed himself to sink back into the bed, the tension slowly draining from his body. His thoughts drifted to Veronica. A pang of regret tightened his chest.

What have I gotten you into, Bambola?

For the first time, a fragile doubt crept into his mind. Perhaps loving him had condemned her to a life of danger and fear. Maybe... just maybe... it was time to let her go. Not because he loved her any less, but because he loved her enough to want a life for her that was free from bloodshed and betrayal.

He closed his eyes briefly, imagining her safe, far away from the chaos that defined his existence. Marco would do right by him—of that, he had no doubt. His brother would protect her with unwavering loyalty.

"Get lost, Julian," Luca said at last. "You’re beginning to bore me." He no longer had the strength—or the desire—to engage with him. He couldn’t speak anymore. His mind was consumed by a single hope: that Marco would keep Veronica safe, no matter the cost.

As the door closed behind Julian, Luca remained motionless. Even in captivity, his love for her was the one thing Julian could never take away. If he made it out of this, he would hand her a way out.

Only when Luca was certain he was alone did he allow himself to move, his eyes scanning the room for anything—anything at all—that could help him escape.

The restraints on his wrists appeared manageable, but the cuff around his ankle, secured firmly to the bed frame, was a different story entirely. Still, Luca Genovese had never been a man to surrender to circumstances. Pain was familiar to him, an old companion, and desperation had a way of sharpening his resolve.

His gaze landed on a tray positioned on a nearby desk. It held several syringes and a small assortment of medical instruments—scalpels, forceps, scissors. Salvation, if he could only reach it. Unfortunately, the desk was just out of arm’s length, taunting him with its inaccessibility.

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