Undressed By The Mafia God novel Chapter 535

Chapter 535: You Call The Shots

"Yeah," Vee said dryly, "irritatingly so." She looked towards the stairs, and the humour faded. "But another woman between us? I don’t like someone else telling me what you need."

Luca’s gaze softened. "Neither do I."

"Then why?"

Luca leaned closer. "Like she said, you call the shots. You decide how far this goes. Tonight, love, I am your slave."

*****

Luca stood in the middle of the room Marceline had prepared. He looked around once, slowly. A wide bed stood against one wall. A chair had been placed near the centre of the room.

On the dresser, Marceline’s tools of trade had been arranged.

Floggers.

Paddles.

Cock rings.

Feathers.

Silk ties.

Leather cuffs.

Some pieces he recognised because he and Veronica had similar things in New York. He drew in a breath and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt.

Marceline was prepping Veronica elsewhere. He had no idea if his father’s stunt was going to work but he was willing to give it a try.

Soon, Marceline came into the room. She had changed. Gone was the elegant suit, the pencil skirt, the professional who looked like she could bankrupt a man. In her place stood a woman dressed in a black jumpsuit.

Luca suspected the outfit was meant to give her some sort of power. Unfortunately for her, he barely glanced. "Where is my wife?" he asked.

Marceline walked to the dresser without answering immediately. Her hand moved over the arranged tools. When she picked up the flogger, it settled in her grip as naturally as a pen. "That is the only thing you get to say without permission for the remainder of the night." She turned to him. "Your wife will be in when she feels ready."

Marceline would have been a fool not to know exactly what kind of man stood before her. Men like him did not break easily because they had been trained to believe breaking was something that happened to lesser people.

His father had prepared her. Massimo Genovese had described his son efficiently. Proud. Dangerous.

But Massimo had also given her the one thing Luca did not know he had surrendered.

His weakness.

Veronica.

Love was too pretty a word for what Luca carried. This was devotion tangled with obsession. A husband who believed every wound on his wife’s body was supposed to pass through him first.

That weakness would be exploited tonight to reach him. At least, that was the theory. Marceline positioned herself behind him, the flogger hanging at her side like an extension of her arm. He was not afraid of pain. That much was obvious.

Luca would have to be led to the place he had been avoiding. And Marceline, despite years of experience, found herself almost curious enough to call it excitement.

His wife.

His Bambola.

His undoing.

His salvation.

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