Every Mafia's Favorite Girl

Caio stepped out of the car looking thoroughly pissed.

His sharp gaze landed immediately on the procession of black sedans rolling through the front gates of the Marchetti compound, led by the unmistakable sports car he had committed to memory for several reasons involving timed explosives.

He had left the Sartori estate early that morning, reluctantly pulling himself away from Aren’s bed and the lingering warmth of her body.

His plan had been simple: finish work as quickly as possible, arrive at the Trials ahead of time, and steal a few quiet moments with her before the competition began.

Instead, she had somehow arrived escorted by the entirety of House Lombardi. More importantly, she was riding in Jordan Marchetti’s car.

Without taking his eyes off the vehicle, he spoke flatly.

"Leo, do you think that punk’s windshield is bulletproof?"

Leo somehow managed to keep his expression perfectly straight.

"Given House Marchetti’s profession, I’d say there’s a very good chance it is."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice with cautious restraint.

"But, Boss... may I remind you we’re standing in the middle of the Marchetti compound?"

Caio let out a slow, irritated breath.

"...I’m aware."

He slammed the car door hard enough to make several nearby guards flinch before striding directly toward the sports car as it rolled to a smooth stop.

Around the courtyard, soldiers, staff, and contestants alike stared openly at the unprecedented gathering.

Normally, the annual Marchetti Trials attracted very few outside spectators. House Porto occasionally attended, but even they arrived with no more than a handful of vehicles.

Today was different.

It looked as though both House Sartori and House Lombardi had descended upon the compound in force, and everyone present seemed to know exactly why.

Their attention instinctively shifted toward the tiny blonde figure climbing out of the sports car.

Aren spotted Caio immediately.

She had already seen him through the windshield while Jordan drove in, and the instant her feet touched the ground, she broke into a sprint.

"Don Caio!"

Caio startled at the sight of her racing toward him while traffic was still moving through the driveway. His brows knitted together, and he closed the distance himself, meeting her halfway before she could run any farther.

"Hey," he scolded, though there wasn’t a trace of real anger in his voice. "Don’t run so fast. One of those cars might lose its brakes and hit you."

Aren only smiled brighter before throwing herself into his arms. Resting her cheek against his suit jacket, she murmured softly,

"I’m always careful. Stop treating me like I’m precious. Did you drive here straight from work?"

The grim expression melted from Caio’s face the moment he felt her against him. His arms closed around her, enveloping her completely, as though shielding her from the rest of the world.

’But you’re precious to me.’

Lowering his head, he brushed a lingering kiss across the crown of her hair.

"Yeah. Just a boring lunch with stubborn suppliers." His voice softened. "Did you have a good visit with Gian?"

"I did." She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I brought him my newest batch of ice cream, and he promised the restaurants will start serving it next week. Then I’ll finally know whether people like my ice cream."

"Mm. They’d better."

He pressed another kiss to her forehead.

’And if they don’t... I’ll pay them a visit.’

He had barely finished the thought when approaching footsteps drew his attention.

Looking up, he saw Gian Lombardi walking toward them, flanked by a disciplined column of Lombardi guards.

Beside Gian walked Jordan Marchetti, whose expression had darkened so thoroughly that he looked as though he had swallowed a mouthful of broken glass.

The warmth lingering inside Caio cooled slightly at the interruption, though he made absolutely no attempt to release Aren from his embrace.

Instead, he straightened just enough to acknowledge the newcomers with a respectful nod.

"Don Gian."

Gian returned it evenly.

"Don Caio. It seems my daughter invited you here to spectate as well."

His gaze lingered not on Caio, but on his daughter. She was clinging to the Sartori Don with unmistakable affection, while Caio held her just as protectively.

It was nothing like the relationship Gian remembered witnessing between them, and the realization quietly surprised him.

Caio, unlike Jordan, showed no intention whatsoever of behaving like a courteous prospective son-in-law.

"She invited me personally," he replied matter-of-factly. "I couldn’t possibly decline."

Having fulfilled every obligation courtesy demanded, Caio promptly ignored the rest of the gathering.

Guiding Aren gently by the shoulders, he turned her away from the others before leaning close enough that only she could hear him.

"Care to give me a moment before you go?"

Aren blinked up at him, momentarily puzzled. Then, recognizing the intimate note in his voice, realization slowly dawned across her face.

"Now?" she asked just as quietly.

"Now." His answer came without hesitation. "I had to leave early this morning for this. Wouldn’t you give me a kiss before you disappear again?"

She tilted her head, trying to reason with him.

"I knew you had to leave, so I kissed you lots before you went."

A quiet sigh escaped him.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" he murmured. "It’s never enough."

Only then did Aren catch the faint thread of dissatisfaction beneath his calm tone. Color slowly bloomed across her cheeks as she shyly looked away.

"...I know a private spot."

That finally earned the smile he had been waiting for.

"That’s my girl."

Without releasing her, Caio glanced over his shoulder toward Jordan, a triumphant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Why don’t you take Don Gian inside, Marchetti heir? I imagine your father’s dying to know why House Lombardi is here today."

Jordan met that smirk evenly.

"And leave Ariana here alone with you?"

"We have something to discuss," Caio replied smoothly. "Private matters."

Jordan’s gaze sharpened.

"Something that can’t wait until later?"

Caio’s smirk only deepened.

"It could never wait until later."

Jordan’s expression darkened, but he refused to rise to the provocation. Instead, almost unconsciously, his gaze drifted toward Aren, who cautiously peeked out from behind Caio’s shoulder.

Their eyes met for only an instant before she immediately ducked back again, as though embarrassed to have been caught checking on him.

A helpless smile tugged faintly at Jordan’s lips despite the storm building inside him.

’She’s... checking on me?’

’...Why is she so confusing today?’

Burying the questions for another time, he turned toward Gian.

"Don Gian, there’s still plenty of time before the final machete match. Would you like to look around first, or shall I take you directly to the competition warehouse?"

"Oh?" Gian looked mildly surprised. "I thought Ariana mentioned another round before the machete fight. What was it called again? The Dark Room?"

Jordan nodded.

"The Dark Room." His expression grew more serious. "It’s... different."

"How so?"

"It has never been broadcast live," Jordan replied. "The course is intentionally kept dark, and the fighting is considerably more violent than the public events. The best spectators can do is wait outside the exit where the final three contestants emerge."

"I see."

Gian nodded thoughtfully, though a heavy feeling settled over him, knowing his daughter was about to enter something so violent that not even House Marchetti would broadcast it.

"Well, that doesn’t matter," he continued, trying to keep his voice even. "I’m here to support my daughter, regardless of which round she reaches. Just lead the way."

As he turned, his gaze drifted back toward Caio and Aren one last time.

Having witnessed the exchange from beginning to end, the seasoned Don required very little imagination to understand the situation before him.

’A love triangle, with my daughter standing squarely in the middle of it.’

’And apparently, she’s grown attached to both of them.’

’...This is going to become a tremendous headache.’

"I’ll see you again in a little while, Ariana," he called warmly.

Aren instantly poked her head back around Caio’s shoulder and waved enthusiastically.

"Ah, yes, Father! I’ll be with Don Caio for a bit, then I’ll come find you inside!"

The moment the words left her mouth, Caio wasted no more time. Guiding her away from the gathering, he casually signaled Leo to handle the Sartori convoy before disappearing with her toward a quieter corner of the compound.

Behind them, Gian reached up and gave Jordan’s shoulder a reassuring pat.

"Don’t worry, young man," he said with quiet amusement. "The situation isn’t nearly as hopeless as you think."

Jordan looked at him in surprise, embarrassment crossing his face.

"It’s... it’s not what you think, Don Gian. Ariana and I..." He hesitated awkwardly. "We haven’t actually started dating."

"I see." Gian hummed thoughtfully before smiling to himself. "But does that really matter? From where I’m standing... Ariana is far more fond of you than you seem to realize."

Jordan’s eyes widened.

He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or conflicted.

Given the strange distance that had settled between him and Aren since yesterday, those words should have been difficult to believe. Yet hearing them from her father filled his chest with a quiet warmth.

"...Thank you, Don Gian."

Straightening his posture once more, he gestured toward the warehouse.

"Please... let me show you inside."

As he turned to lead the way, he found himself silently hoping Gian was right.

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