Undressed By The Mafia God-Chapter 116: You Will Stay

They followed behind Don into the house.

They stood in the center of the vast living room, boots planted on rugs worth more than most men’s houses. The estate’s main salon stretched wide as a ballroom.

"I’d rather we talk now," Luca replied. "I’ll be leaving in the morning."

Don Genovese’s gaze hardened by degrees. "You are here," he said. "You will stay." His authority had never relied on volume.

The Don lowered himself into the central sofa, a piece custom-built in Florence, high-backed and imposing.

Julian remained standing at his father’s right.

"How is New York?" Don asked, crossing one leg over the other.

"It’s in good hands," Luca answered. His jaw flexed slightly. "Marco’s hands."

Don’s brows drew together. "Excuse me? He is still alive?"

"Of course," Luca replied, irritation flickering openly now. "He has done nothing wrong. So I don’t understand why you sent Ricardo to replace him."

Don’s eyes moved slowly to Julian.

"Is someone yanking my chain right now?" he asked quietly. "Or are you boys playing one of those stupid games with me?"

Julian’s throat tightened. "Dad..." Julian began.

Luca cut across him without looking. "I have told you countless times that you should not take Julian’s reports seriously."

Julian’s head snapped toward his brother. "What are you talking about?! My men..."

"Marco was working on a tip," Luca said. His height matched Julian’s, but where Julian carried restraint, Luca wore volatility. "He received information that Bastardi was planning to double cross us. He did what he had to do," Luca continued. "Because he couldn’t reach me."

"Why didn’t Marco tell your brother this?" Don asked.

"I gave him specific instructions," he said evenly. "Never to give Julian information directly. He may be my brother, but I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him."

"Luca!" Don thundered. "Do you forget in whose presence you are?"

Luca’s shoulders stiffened. His nostrils flared. He lowered his gaze, just slightly. He held his tongue.

Julian watched him struggle against himself. Luca had always burned hotter, hated faster. It was what made him magnetic. It was what made him dangerous.

"Go," Don said at last. "Rest. Come down for dinner."

Luca inclined his head once. "Yes, Father."

He turned, his coat flaring slightly with the movement.

"Luciano." Don’s voice halted him.

Luca stopped mid-stride. "Yes, Dad."

The Don rose slowly from his throne-like seat. "Fuck your wife before someone else fucks her for you." His gaze shifted, just briefly, to Julian.

Nothing happened inside these walls without Don Genovese’s awareness. Servants reported. Security reported. Silence itself reported. He ran the familia in Vienna with relentless precision, yet he still knew which son lingered too long in the corridor outside a certain bedroom. Which son’s eyes darkened at dinner when Bianca laughed too freely.

Julian felt heat crawl up his spine.

Luca’s wife had arrived at the estate about a year ago. Dark hair that spilled down her back in waves, skin pale against the heavy jewels she wore, eyes the color of aged cognac. She had been promised to Luca in an alliance that secured shipping routes and political protection.

"Yes, Father," Luca replied. He walked away without another word.

"You believe him?" Julian did not wait for the echo of Luca’s footsteps to fade completely before the question tore out of him.

"Do I have any reason not to? I know Luca. If Marco betrayed him, Marco would already be dead. I have seen him kill men for less."

It was fact.

Julian’s jaw flexed.

Yes, Luca could kill. He did it cleanly when necessary. Brutally when angry.

"And once again," Julian said, "you take the side of your golden son. You didn’t even mention the fact that he tried to stab me for some whore."

Don’s eyes hardened slightly. "Your brother will be punished for whatever it is he did to you. But at least let him get some rest," Don continued, irritation creeping in now. "Let him be with his wife for a change. Instead of you hovering around her like a desperate dog."

Julian felt heat climb up his neck. "Of course," he said smoothly. "Of course. The prince needs to rest."

The sarcasm did not hide itself.

"This competition you have with your brother is petty," Don said quietly. "You sound like a fucking child who wants more cookies. You should be out there watching your brother’s back," Don continued. "Instead you stand here trying to rip him apart. You have always wanted to prove you are better," he said. "Better than Luca. Better than me."

Julian swallowed hard.

Don stepped back at last, the conversation finished in his mind. "We are strongest when we stand together," he said. "Remember that."

He turned without waiting for response, walking toward the corridor that led to his private suite.

*****

Bianca had been waiting long before the car entered the gates.

Waiting her entire life.

She had been promised to him before she could form words properly, before she understood what marriage meant, before she knew that her future would be decided by men with heavy rings and heavier expectations. Their engagement had been inked between families when she was small enough to sit on her father’s lap, and from that day forward, her world had tilted toward one name.

Luciano Genovese.

She had loved him first as a story. The boy who would inherit empires. She would see him every once in a while whenever his mother would bring him to visit Vienna. When she turned sixteen, she had begun to love him as flesh and blood. Tall. Striking. Untouchable.

He never looked at her twice then, but she watched him. At dinners. At gatherings. At church. She memorized the slope of his shoulders, the controlled way he moved, the quiet violence beneath his charm.

Ten months ago, she had finally become his wife.

Ten months of sharing his name.

She stood in their private wing in the mansion, designed in muted golds and creams, with tall windows. The curtains were half drawn. The fireplace crackled softly. She had prepared everything herself.