Undressed By The Mafia God-Chapter 119: Save Me A Seat

She smiled when she saw him.

"I’ll meet you downstairs," he said. "Save me a seat."

She stepped closer, adjusting the towel at his hip as if it needed straightening, she just needed an excuse to touch him again.

"You won’t be long?" she asked softly.

"No."

She nodded once and turned gracefully toward the door. "I’ll be waiting." Bianca smiled exuberantly and stepped out of the room. Her heels clicked against the marble hallway. They were slender, sharpened things, black and lethal in design. Functional as a murder weapon, literally. One well aimed stomp and a man would remember her forever.

Luca stood in the quiet aftermath of steam and roses. He moved toward the closet, fingers brushing against suits. He pulled out a fitted short. A plain t shirt. Soft cotton.

Just as he moved toward the door, he noticed the travel duffel placed neatly by the bench. He crouched, unzipped the smaller pocket, and retrieved the small box tucked inside.

He had remembered to place it there that morning in New York.

Like he could forget.

He opened the box.

Inside lay a delicate piece of white lace.

Veronica’s underwear.

He wrapped it around his palm slowly. Then he brought it to his nose and inhaled. He closed his eyes for a brief second. A selfish second. Then he folded the lace carefully and slipped it into the pocket of his shorts, pressing his hand over it. He straightened.

Dinner awaited.

When he descended the staircase, the sound of male voices drifted upward. The dining hall was lit in gold. A long table of dark wood stretched. Crystal glasses. Heavy silverware. Plates arranged.

His father was already seated at the head of the table.

Beside him, a glass of red wine rested untouched.

Julian sat a few seats down. Bianca occupied the opposite end from him, poised, radiant, composed.

He took his seat beside Bianca.

Bianca’s fingers brushed his under the table.

Don Genovese bowed his head, and the entire table followed. "In the name of the Father," he began. He thanked God for provision, for the abundance laid before them, for Luca’s safe return from New York. He thanked Him for unity. For strength. For the preservation of legacy.

Luca kept his head lowered, eyes closed. Bianca folded her hands perfectly.

"Amen," Don Genovese concluded.

"Amen," they echoed.

Silverware chimed against porcelain. Plates were filled. Wine poured. The food was rich. Roasted meats, Crisped rosemary potatoes, glazed vegetables.

Their father spoke as they ate. News from extended families flowed naturally. A cousin had just welcomed twin boys. A second cousin was engaged to a banker’s daughter. Achievements were listed. Promotions. University honors.

Then he pivoted.

"And Bianca’s family," he continued, glancing warmly at her. "Your cousin Sofia, yes? A healthy son. Already ruling the house. Strong boys are blessings," Don Genovese nodded.

The direction of the conversation was subtle but unmistakable. Heir. Continuity. Bloodline. The future sitting invisibly at the table with them.

Julian wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back slightly. "I’m sure Luca’s whore would carry a child before Bianca here even begins to dream of it."

Whore.

Luca’s fork paused mid motion.

Then tightened.

He knew bait when he saw it. Julian’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. A dog waiting to see if the chain would snap.

Luca inhaled once through his nose.

Bianca simply cut another piece of meat and placed it in her mouth.

"Yeah," Don Genovese said after a moment, setting his glass down. His gaze shifted to Luca. "About that. Who is this woman?"

Luca set his fork down carefully. "Company," he said. "Nights in New York get lonely."

Julian smirked.

Don Genovese barked a short laugh, amused. "So you have just one woman for lonely nights." He shook his head. "Didn’t think that was possible."

The laughter lingered for a beat longer.

Bianca lifted her wine and took a sip. Her lashes lowered slightly, hiding the storm behind them. She did not interfere. A good wife absorbed. Observed.

But her mind raced.

"Be careful though," Don Genovese said, slicing into his steak. "American women always want more than you can give."

Luca kept his eyes on his plate, cutting his food into even pieces. "You mean like Mother?" he asked.

Don Genovese chewed, swallowed, dabbed his mouth with his napkin before answering. "Exactly like your mother." He took a sip of wine. "Seen her lately?"

"She doesn’t want anything to do with me."

His mother was not spoken of often. When she was, it was with sharp edges. An American woman who had wanted nothing to do with the familia. She had left.

And in this family, leaving was a form of treason.

"I don’t think Luca needs any more company than me," Bianca said softly, finally stepping into the current. "I can always accompany him back to New York."

"It’s not safe yet," Luca replied before his father could speak. "Too many eyes on Commissioned right now."

"Do you need my help?" Don asked.

"No," Luca answered immediately. "I can handle it."

"Handle it fast. You need an heir as soon as possible." His gaze flicked toward Bianca, then back to Luca. "He needs to be trained to take over Vienna when I am gone."

"What?" Julian’s voice cut through the room. "What?" he repeated, louder now. "An unborn child has a shot and I don’t?"

"We don’t shout at dinner tables, son," Don Genovese said evenly.

"What am I supposed to do? Sit here and take this disrespect?" His eyes burned now, fixed on their father. "I am the first son, Dad," he continued. "And yet you hand everything to Luca on a silver platter. What did I ever do to you?"

Luca finally lifted his gaze.

Julian’s anger was not new. It had lived in him for years, fed quietly by comparisons, by subtle preferences, by the way Don Genovese addressed Luca about business. Luca, the strategist.

Don Genovese placed his knife and fork down with careful precision. "If you are going to argue at dinner, leave," he said, "or I will have you flogged."

(brought to you by Jennifer Willard)