Undressed By The Mafia God-Chapter 129: I Do Not Answer To You

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself not to end the call first.

The call went unanswered.

Luca stared at the screen until it dimmed, his own reflection staring back at him. He swore under his breath and called again. He should stop. He should let her cool off. Let her process whatever storm she had decided to build around him. He leaned forward on the sofa, elbows braced on his knees, phone dangling loosely from his fingers.

He needed to see her. Needed to look at her face when she was angry. Needed to read the truth in her eyes rather than guess at it through silence. Needed to touch her, if only to reassure himself that she was still within reach. Without her, everything else dimmed. All background noise. He opened his messages and typed two words.

I’m sorry.

He stared at them.

It felt insufficient. Thin.

What did she want to hear? What did she need? Would she want explanations? Promises?

He swallowed. He would do anything. He sent the text.

The message delivered. No response.

His jaw flexed. Fine.

If she would not answer him privately, he would go through the front door.

He searched for the number and pressed call. The line rang twice before a bright, professional voice answered.

"Hello, this is Scalese Pizza, can I take your order?"

He recognized her immediately. Valentina. Even over the phone, there was sunlight in her tone.

"Hey, Val," he said, smoothing his voice. "Can I talk to your sister?"

There was a brief pause. "Who is this?"

"It’s Luca."

"Oh. I’ll just get her." The phone shifted. Muffled sounds followed. Voices drifting in and out.

Then, faintly, he heard her voice. "No."

Valentina murmured something he couldn’t fully catch. A softer tone, persuasive. A sister’s voice trying to broker peace. Another "No," quieter but no less resolute.

Footsteps returned. The line shifted again. Valentina came back on. There was no sweetness in her voice now. "What did you do?"

"I do not answer to you, Valentina," Luca said, voice cooling several degrees.

"You will," she replied without missing a beat, "if you want me to tell you how to get back in her good graces."

"I went on a trip," he said after a pause. "She didn’t like it."

There was silence on the other end, then a soft exhale. "Uh... okay. That’s manageable. Just show her you’re sorry," Valentina continued. "You don’t have to drown her in speeches. Do things that tell her you care about her feelings. That you respect them. And that you’re sorry. Actions speak way louder than words."

He was taking relationship advice from an eighteen year old. That was how far he had fallen. "Right," he muttered. He hung up before she could add anything else and immediately scrolled to another name. Marco. He had never executed such a campaign before. He needed help.

*****

At the pizza parlour, new ovens were being installed. Electricians moved in and out with tool belts clinking. A fresh coat of deep red paint was drying along the exterior walls. The old sign had been removed, replaced temporarily with a simple banner that read Renovations Underway.

Veronica stood outside. She was issuing instructions calmly but firmly. She barely had time to breathe. The renovation had been necessary. Sales had dipped. Equipment had aged. The place needed renewal. She needed distraction.

So when a man stepped in carrying an enormous bouquet of roses, she did not even look up at first. "Delivery for Veronica Scalese," the man announced.

Veronica continued scanning a clipboard. "Just leave it on the counter in the shop," she said absently.

The bouquet was absurdly large. Deep red roses, wrapped in black paper with a satin ribbon tied around the stems. The first bouquet had barely settled into its throne of dramatic apology when another delivery van rolled up.

Then another. And another.

Men in uniforms carried armfuls of flowers as if they were unloading produce. They didn’t ask questions. They simply placed towering arrangements along the storefront and walked off.

White lilies. Crimson roses. Orchids in sleek black boxes. Peonies bursting open. Within minutes, the sidewalk outside Scalese Pizza was less pavement and more botanical garden.

Her eyes swept the scene.

The shop’s exterior, freshly painted and still faintly glossy, was now framed in color and perfume. Bouquets lined the door. Floral stands flanked the windows.

Inside, Rosa pressed both palms to the glass, grinning.

Valentina stood beside her, waving exaggeratedly at Veronica.

"What the hell is he doing?" Veronica muttered under her breath. Trying to bury her in flowers?

The construction workers paused their drilling to take in the spectacle. One of them let out a long whistle. "Damn...Somebody’s gone full Shakespeare."

Pedestrians slowed their pace. A couple of teenagers stopped entirely, phones already lifted, recording.

Scalese Pizza Parlour, a modest neighborhood cornerstone fighting to modernize its ovens and boost sales, was about to go viral for reasons that had nothing to do with its dough recipe.

Veronica exhaled slowly, hands settling on her hips.

Another truck pulled up. This one was sleeker. Tinted windows. The driver stepped out and opened the back.

Veronica’s stomach dropped. "Oh no," she breathed.

Two men carried the first stack of shopping designer bags inside without greeting her.

Chanel. Gucci. Valentino. Hermès. The names practically hummed with expense. Delivery after delivery, each bag whispering excess.

Valentina’s eyes widened to comical proportions.

Outside, the crowd was growing.

Veronica pinched the bridge of her nose. This man. "This is insane," Veronica muttered.

Valentina went giddy instantly. She screamed. She squealed. She grabbed Rosa’s hands and jumped. Her dark curls bounced wildly as she darted between bags, already mentally dividing the spoils.

At least thirty percent of everything was going to be hers. That much was understood. Sister tax.

Outside, the sidewalk had transformed into a spectacle. People were no longer pretending to pass by casually. They were gathering. Phones lifted. Whispers floating.

Then finally, a courier came with a smaller delivery. A single envelope and a small velvet bag.

The noise around her blurred into a low hum. She accepted the envelope, her fingers steady despite the tremor simmering under her skin.

Scalese Pizza, a family business had become the backdrop for a public declaration of obsession.

Veronica pulled a small stool and sat down. Her legs felt weak. She had already spent a small fortune on his black card during the renovations.

Now this.

She stared at the envelope resting on her lap.

Guilt crept in.

Was she being unfair?

She could not just let it slide. She could not reward extravagance without addressing the wound. Maybe, a darker part of her thought, she should simply accept her place. The other woman. The hidden one.

She glanced inside the shop.

Valentina was in the back office now, stacking shopping bags, her laughter spilling. She looked radiant.

Well, at least he made her sister happy.

A small, reluctant chuckle escaped Veronica’s lips. She wanted him to suffer a little longer. Just enough to taste the sharp edge of what he had made her feel. She could not reduce herself to one of those women who went pliant at the mere sight of him. Women who folded when he entered a room, whose knees liquefied under the weight of his gaze.

She knew what he did to women. She had seen it. The authority in his posture. The calculated calm. The way his voice could press against skin without touching it. She felt it too.

But he did not need to know that.

Still, this... this was excessive.

Her fingers trembled as she slid a thumb beneath the envelope’s seal. The paper was thick, expensive. Of course it was. Everything about him was curated.

She unfolded the card.

’Kill me instead but don’t keep me from you.’

That was it.

Kill me instead but don’t keep me from you.

It was dramatic. It was manipulative. It was Luca.

Her hand slipped into the small velvet bag. Her fingers brushed cool metal. She pulled it out slowly.

A seven inch pocket knife rested in her palm. The handle was shaped like a cupid’s heart, lacquered in a glossy rainbow sheen.

She stared at it. Then a sound escaped her, something tangled between a laugh and a sob. "Crazy man," she whispered.

Of course he would frame his apology in violence.

The symbolism wasn’t subtle. If she wanted to wound him, here was the weapon. If she wanted to cut him out, she could.

He had given her the choice.

Or at least the illusion of one.

Her throat tightened.

She pulled out her phone almost instinctively. Her thumb hovered over his name. One call and this circus would end.

She glanced inside the shop.

Rosa stood behind the counter, calm as ever, sliding a pizza into a box while handling a customer’s change. But her eyes flicked up for a brief second and locked onto Veronica.

Rosa shook her head slowly.

A quiet reminder.

Stand your ground.

Don’t give in because he showed up loud.