Undressed By The Mafia God novel Chapter 4

Chapter 4: What’s Your Proposition?

"Interesting that you mention Scalese," Luca said calmly. He moved then, crossing the room. "You just recruited the underground guard?"

"Yes?" Marco answered, uncertainty flickering.

"I need to know," Luca continued, "what part of his training entails bringing uncleared guests into my office." One corner of his mouth lifted. A smile, if you didn’t know him. A death sentence, if you did.

"None, Luca."

"Good." Luca turned slightly, gesturing to the desk. "Your pizza arrived." He paused, then added casually, "And kill the fool."

Marco nodded once and turned to leave.

Luca returned to his desk, settling back into his chair. The smell of Nonni’s food finally hit him properly then.

Nonnina sighed heavily as she placed the plate in front of him. She knew better than to interfere in mafia business. She always had. But knowing didn’t stop wishing.

She looked at the man who filled rooms with fear. And she saw the boy she had rocked to sleep.

This wasn’t the life she had wanted for him.

But it was the life carved into his bones.

Every firstborn Genovese was raised for one purpose. To dominate. To become legend.

To be the Mafia God.

"Eat," she said softly.

Luca smirked faintly, picking up his fork. "See? That’s soft love."

She shook her head, lips twitching. "Stupid boy."

As he ate, her gaze lingered on him with quiet worry—because somewhere between blood, power, and his dark desires, she feared he was still starving for the one thing the mafia couldn’t give him. Soft love.

*****

Marco and Luca arrived at the Scalese home the next morning unannounced. He enjoyed the way surprise unsettled people, how it stripped away rehearsed confidence and left only fear. Predictability was a courtesy he rarely extended.

Instead of summoning Vito Scalese to Commissioned, Luca had decided to go to him. To invade his space. His sanctuary. His illusions of safety.

Months ago, Vito had come crawling to him. To the devil. To ask for a favour.

Heritage Slice, he’d said, was stealing customers. New ovens, better prices, louder marketing. Luca remembered leaning back in his chair, bored, half-listening.

It wasn’t a favour Luca usually granted. But boredom was dangerous, and at the time, Luca had been deeply, viciously bored. So he’d taken care of the problem. And now, like all deals with the devil, the bill had come due.

Marco pushed the door open. Luca stepped through without breaking stride. He scanned the space once and moved straight to the living room couch and sat, crossing one ankle over the other, settling in.

Marco disappeared down the hallway.

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