Every Mafia's Favorite Girl

Caio grabbed the medic’s wrist and snatched both vials from his hand the moment the man brought them over.

He held them up to the light, rotating the small glass cylinders between his fingers as he inspected every detail.

The seals on the caps were unbroken, the solution was perfectly clear, and the formula was high-grade, with no hidden sedative or other suspicious additive.

Only after he was satisfied did he return the vials to the medic.

"Inject her. But if anything bad happens to her — anything at all..." His voice lowered into a dangerous murmur. "I don’t care which House you serve. You’re done for life."

The threat made the man visibly tremble.

"Y-Yes, sir."

He turned toward his medical kit to retrieve the syringes, but his hands were no longer entirely steady.

He had administered injections hundreds of times to hundreds of Marchetti men without giving it a second thought.

He had just never done it with two Dons from other Houses watching his every movement, much less with a threat to his life hanging over his head.

When Caio saw that the medic could barely hold the syringe without his fingers shaking, his patience nearly snapped.

He stepped forward and positioned himself between the medic and Aren.

"Step aside. Give me that."

The poor medic looked as though someone had just thrown him a lifeline.

"Y-Yes, sir!"

At once, he placed the two syringes back into the kit and stepped aside entirely.

Caio wasted no time.

He pulled on a pair of gloves, took the alcohol swabs, and carefully cleaned the injection site on Aren’s upper arm. His eyes followed hers as she watched every movement he made with open curiosity.

"Look at me," he said softly. "Don’t look down."

Aren let out a small laugh.

"It’s not my first time getting a shot."

He lifted her chin with two fingers regardless.

"I know."

Gently, he pinched the muscle of her upper arm to numb the area before sliding the first needle into her skin. Keeping his hand steady, he depressed the plunger, withdrew the needle, and immediately administered the second injection beside it.

It didn’t take long for the drugs to reach her bloodstream.

Within the first minute, Aren felt a wave of chemical heat spread from the injection sites, traveling up her arm and along her neck before settling heavily in her head.

The sensation was strange, almost feverish in itself. Yet unlike the sickness that had been consuming her, this warmth carried a deliberate force behind it, as though something inside her body had suddenly been commanded to wake up.

Caio discarded the spent syringes into the medical tray. Keeping one hand anchored at the back of her neck, he leaned closer and studied her face.

"It should work quickly with this formula. How do you feel now?"

Aren blinked several times, concentrating on every subtle change in her body.

"I... I think I can feel it working already. It’s working very quickly."

"Good." He pressed a kiss against her forehead, steadying her. "In fifteen minutes, you should feel it reaching its peak."

Just as Caio predicted, only a few minutes later, the blurry fog clouding Aren’s vision began to clear. Her heart pounded faster as her blood pressure rose, forcing the cold sluggishness from her limbs, while the violent shivering gradually subsided.

Throughout it all, Gian Lombardi, standing beside the stretcher, was perhaps the most shocked person in the room.

He hadn’t missed the way Caio had deliberately done everything he could to reduce the pain for his daughter.

He certainly hadn’t failed to notice how gentle every movement had been, as though Caio were handling something precious and fragile.

For one brief moment, the Lombardi Don was reminded of how his daughter had once described Caio Sartori as "kind" and "a good listener."

’So it is true...’

’Caio Sartori didn’t actually feed my daughter any strange drugs...’

’He’s become an entirely different breed around her now...’

’...How?’

The questions remained unanswered, and Gian kept them to himself. Instead, he stepped closer and took Aren’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Ariana, do you want something to eat? Something to drink? You should refresh yourself before you compete. I’ll have the men prepare something for you now."

Aren’s eyes brightened instantly at the offer.

"Ah, that’s a great idea, Father!"

Her words nearly tumbled over one another as a dozen thoughts seemed to rush through her mind at once.

"The Marchetti kitchen serves plenty of great pastries and tea, so you don’t have to send anyone far! Can I... can I have the berry galette? Oh! And there’s the lemon cheesecake as well! Oh, and Father, you should try the apricot croissant too! They’re all amazing!"

Then, suddenly realizing how much she had asked for, Aren clasped one hand over her mouth.

"I... I mean..." Her cheeks flushed a deep red. "Just anything that’s available is fine... I don’t mind."

Gian could only stare at his daughter.

He couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this excited over sweets. In fact, he’d heard her complain more than once about how anything sugary would ruin her perfect little waist.

Yet, watching her practically light up simply because she’d been offered a few pastries stirred something unexpectedly warm inside him.

Reaching up, he squeezed her shoulders reassuringly.

"An apricot croissant sounds delicious, Ariana. I’ll get you both the berry galette and the lemon cheesecake..."

His gaze drifted toward Caio, who was still quietly steadying Aren, and his voice suddenly became slightly awkward.

"I... suppose Don Caio here and your friend Jordan could use some sweets as well."

Aren’s shyness vanished at once. A smile broke across her face like sunlight breaking through a winter sky.

"Thank you very much, Father!" she exclaimed, somehow more energetic than she had any right to be. "I’ll wait here with Don Caio!"

Gian never seemed to tire of seeing that bright smile on his daughter’s face. Pushing himself upright, he glanced at Caio once more.

"I’ll be back in a minute."

Caio merely offered him a measured nod.

"She’ll be safe with me."

Gian nodded, satisfied by the certainty in Caio’s voice. Then he turned and headed through the infirmary door, several Lombardi subordinates following close behind.

Just moments after Gian left, Jordan entered through the door, now dressed in a different outfit: a fitted white long-sleeved top tucked into matching tactical pants.

In his hands, he carried a neatly folded set of the exact same uniform.

"Ariana," he called as he approached the stretcher. "Sorry I made you wait. Here’s your uniform for the last round."

He placed the folded clothes carefully across her lap, then his expression tightened with concern.

"Have you taken the injections? How are you feeling now?"

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