Undressed By The Mafia God novel Chapter 88

Chapter 88: You Are A Sadist

"So you’re really not going to fuck me, Luca?" she asked, tilting her head to meet his gaze.

"I am going to," he said slowly, "but not for the wrong reasons. Not until you go on your knees and beg me to."

"So you want to humiliate me," she whispered. Her fingers traced the outline of his biceps.

"Is what you just felt humiliation?" he asked, tilting his head, the smirk dark and knowing, his eyes glinting with amusement and challenge.

"No." She had been undone, and yet she hadn’t felt humiliated; she had felt seen, exposed in a way that left her trembling and terrified and completely addicted.

"Then no," he said. "I’m going to take us both places we’ve never been before. I’m going to make it beautiful, inspired—but you will beg for that level of pleasure, my sweet. I love it when you beg."

There was fear and anticipation swirling in her, but beneath it all was an intoxicating pulse of surrender, of trust, of desire so sharp it left her dizzy.

Her body still trembled with the memory of the orgasm he had drawn from her, and yet the promise in his words ignited a deeper, darker flame. She wanted him. She feared him. She craved him. And every instinct in her body screamed that she would do whatever it took to feel that storm again, to trust him fully, to surrender entirely, even when it scared her to the bone.

"You are a sadist," Vee sighed. She shifted closer, curling into him. Her cheek rested over his heart again, listening to that steady, arrogant rhythm.

Luca’s chest vibrated with a low chuckle. "Don’t worry. You’ll get more creative with the names as time goes on." His fingers dragged lazily up and down her spine. "And I will keep punishing you. It’s what makes us so explosive together."

She closed her eyes and let herself drift, imagining a different version of this world. A version where there were no walls between them, no blood staining Luca’s knuckles, no enemies lurking in the dark corners of his life. Just Luca and Vee. Maybe arguments about groceries instead of life and death.

In that dream, his hands weren’t weapons. They were just hands.

In that dream, he didn’t sleep with a gun under his pillow.

*****

The next morning, Vee pushed open the door of the pizza shop and froze.

There was a line.

Not the usual trickle of neighborhood regulars. Not the two or three delivery drivers lingering near the counter. No. There was an actual line, stretching to the door, people checking their phones, murmuring, impatient.

"What the hell is going on?" she asked as she rushed behind the counter, tying her apron with fumbling fingers.

Rosa looked like she’d just come back from battle. Her dark curls were frizzing out of their bun. "I don’t know!" she snapped. "They just started coming. We don’t just have walk-ins, the delivery orders are insane too. Tony is buried in dispatch orders."

Tony, red-faced and sweating behind the computer, shot Vee a desperate look. Vee hurried into the kitchen to find the ovens roaring and the pizza chef dabbing at sweat.

This didn’t make sense.

This was viral-video, influencer-shoutout, miracle-on-Elm-Street level traffic.

Then it hit her.

Last night, she had talked about the shop’s struggles.

Vee stared at the growing crowd.

What did he do this time?

Did he buy advertising? Did he threaten someone? Did he make a call that bent the algorithm of the city to his will? With Luca, it could be anything. He operated in shadows she only half understood. He moved pieces on boards she didn’t even know existed.

And that terrified her.

Because part of her thrilled at the idea that he had done this for her. That he had woken up and decided her small, struggling shop would not struggle anymore.

But another part of her hated the implication.

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