Undressed By The Mafia God-Chapter 180: Jesus Fucking Christ

He groaned torturously. "Bambola..." he murmured, pushing her head gently, urging her to just take him already before he embarrassed himself and spilled too soon.

Her lips closed around him, sliding down, hitting the back of her throat.

"Fuck!!!" he grunted, his cock pulsing, swelling even harder with every inch she took. Vee continued her teasing torture, her head bobbing with rhythm and purpose, as if she wanted to swallow all of him, making the tension between them unbearable and intoxicating.

"Jesus fucking Christ!!!" he gasped, his body taut with the tension of impending release. "Damn, girl!"

Her tongue lay flat against him as she pulled back with a satisfying pop, teasing him, making him ache for more.

"God, no!" he growled, pushing her head back down, a shiver of reckless joy running through him as she took him in again. The heat of anticipation coiled tight in his stomach, threatening to shatter restraint, and he felt his balls squeeze with every movement.

His fingers fisted her hair, holding her head steady, his grip demanding, guiding her. "I’m cumming, love," he warned. With one final, guttural grunt, he drove himself deep, spilling inside her just as she had requested.

Vee gagged against him, his cum spilling from the corner of her lips, her breath uneven as she tried to steady herself. "God! Fuck! God! Shit! Fucking Christ!" he cursed, throwing his head back, his entire body shuddering from the force of it. His cock slipped from her mouth, spent but still semi-hard, twitching faintly as the aftershocks rolled through him.

He let out a breathless, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "You just get better and better," he murmured.

He shifted down slowly until he was eye level with her, his gaze locking onto hers with a dark, lingering intensity. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her mouth, his thumb brushing her lip afterward.

Vee shifted slightly in his arms, careful despite her weakness, curling further against his chest. She felt pride in that moment with him. Pride in herself, pride in him, pride in them. In whatever twisted, dangerous thing they were becoming together.

"God, I cannot wait to fuck you," Luca said.

She let out a soft breath. "Me neither," she admitted. "I missed you."

Luca adjusted his hold on her. "Come, love," he murmured. "I’ll get you to the car. Marco will drive you."

He shuffled off the bed, pulling his pants up. He carried her through the courtyard, his steps betraying none of the agony clawing at his back with every movement.

"Doesn’t it still hurt?" Vee asked. She couldn’t unsee it—the lashes, the blood, the way his body had been broken earlier.

Luca glanced down at her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the strain in his eyes. "It does," he admitted. "But it still won’t keep me from my duties, love."

She rolled her eyes faintly. "You’re so cheesy."

"I suppose I am," he chuckled softly.

Above them, the Don stood on the balcony of his suite.

He watched in silence. Watched the way Luca carried her. Watched the way the girl leaned into him.

And it terrified him.

The Don’s jaw tightened, his grip firm against the balcony railing as a memory surfaced uninvited—himself, years ago, looking at a woman the same way. Loving her the same reckless, consuming way. Believing, foolishly, that love could exist in a world built on power and fear.

It had cost him everything.

And now... Luca stood at the edge of that same ruin, smiling, not yet in full understanding of the price.

"This is how it begins," the Don murmured to himself.

Love like that was never gentle when it left.

It did not fade quietly or loosen its grip with mercy. It tore. It clawed. It hollowed a man out until all that remained was the echo of who he used to be. And when it was gone, truly gone, it left behind a wound so deep it felt sacred—untouchable, unhealable by anything mortal.

It took something divine, something unnatural, to stitch a soul back together after that kind of ruin.

The Don knew this. He had lived it.

And that was what terrified him.

He stood still on the balcony long after Luca disappeared, his gaze fixed on nothing and everything all at once.

When this world broke Veronica... because it would... just as it had broken Luca’s mother, what then?

How mad would Luca go when she left too?

Because they always left.

"Why," he murmured, "does love always come at the wrong time?"

*****

The bell above the door gave a soft, tired jingle as Valentina flipped the sign to closed.

She had planned to stop by the hospital—to see Veronica one last time before she was discharged. She was healing well. She reached for her bag when headlights cut through the glass window.

Ricardo stepped out of the car like nothing had happened, like two weeks of silence meant nothing, like she hadn’t spent nights staring at her phone wondering if she had somehow imagined the entire relationship.

Valentina crossed her arms, leaning against the counter as he walked in.

The bell chimed again.

"Look who finally remembered I exist," she said dryly.

"I told you, I’ve been busy—"

"Ah yes," she cut in smoothly, holding up a hand. "Work. The magical mistress that keeps you too occupied to send a single text but somehow still allows you to breathe, eat, and sleep."

"Val..." Ricardo started.

"Have I done something wrong?" she asked.

Ricardo shook his head quickly. "No... no, it’s not that." He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. "It’s just... look... work has been incredibly crazy. I... I don’t have the time for a relationship."

Valentina blinked, her brows knitting together. "Excuse me?! I’m sorry, I must have misheard you, because it sounded like you just said you don’t have time for me."

"Val—"

"No," she cut in sharply, stepping out from behind the counter now. "Say it properly."