Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 89

Chapter 89: "Ridiculously Weak"

"No."

The single word sliced cleanly through the air before Aren could so much as part her lips.

The conversation died on the spot. Every head turned toward the voice.

Caio had caught up just in time to hear Nazario’s challenge. His measured stride carried him to Aren’s side with the quiet authority of a man who never needed to raise his voice to command a room.

His gaze settled on Nazario, glacial and unwavering.

"Ariana Lombardi is House Sartori’s property," he said, inclining his head toward Jordan. "This brat might not speak for her, but I do."

His voice hardened another degree.

"If any of you punks leave so much as a single new bruise on her, you’re picking a fight with House Sartori."

The effect was immediate.

The lively energy that had filled the training grounds seemed to drain away, replaced by a brittle silence.

Nazario’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, though he said nothing. Beside him, Oscar instinctively took half a step backward before he even realized he’d moved.

Even here, on Marchetti territory, surrounded by Marchetti soldiers, no one was foolish enough to challenge a Sartori Don head-on.

Aren looked up at Caio.

The stern set of his features hadn’t softened in the slightest.

Quietly, she drifted away from Jordan until she stood beside Caio instead.

"If I spar with Oscar," she murmured, lowering her voice so only he could hear, "it could be a valuable opportunity to broaden my experience. Oscar seems like a good opponent."

Caio didn’t even entertain the suggestion.

"Absolutely not. I brought you here to work, not to collect more injuries. No sparring. Not until every one of those wounds has healed."

Aren fell quiet.

She looked at him thoughtfully, carefully turning his words over in her mind.

’...Right.’

’Don Caio doesn’t like seeing me get hurt.’

’If I accept this match, it’ll only cause him unnecessary psychological stress.’

Her thoughts drifted briefly toward Oscar.

’...But he really does seem lonely.’

’Maybe I can arrange a spar with him another day instead.’

Having reached a conclusion, she looked back up at Caio with a small smile.

"Okie. No sparring today."

Stepping toward Nazario and Oscar, she offered them both an apologetic smile.

"I’ll have to decline. Perhaps we could arrange a spar another time, once I’m in better condition."

Nazario folded his arms across his chest, his expression barely shifting.

’...Seriously?’

’She’s backing out just because Caio Sartori told her to?’

’What is she supposed to be? Some obedient doll?’

Disappointed, he decided one last prod was worth the effort.

"What’s the matter?" he asked lazily. "Scared you can’t take a few punches from a sixteen-year-old?"

Aren merely blinked. The provocation failed to stir even the slightest ripple across her expression.

"It’s a matter of professionalism," she replied simply. "My client’s emotional well-being is closely tied to my physical condition. I can’t allow myself to cause my client additional emotional distress."

Behind her, Caio froze.

For several long seconds, he stared at the back of her head.

’...Did she just call me...’

The next word landed like a knife.

’...a client?’

Something in his chest tightened.

’Not your man?’

’Not your boyfriend?’

’Just... your client?’

The man who had just called her property minutes ago suddenly had a total system short-circuit.

’Hmph. Turns out she’s just a coward.’

’Father hired this woman as our consultant. Jordan even argued with Father because of her.’

’And this is all there is?’

’Boring.’

’She’s probably ridiculously weak.’

’Fine. I’ll just make fun of her during the Trials instead.’

"Sure... um... Miss Lombardi. We can always spar later, when you’re feeling better. Just... let me know."

Embarrassed by how stiff he’d suddenly become, Oscar hurriedly spun back toward the gathered soldiers, trying to reclaim some dignity before his men.

"Come on, fellas! Back to drills!"

The soldiers responded at once.

After offering respectful nods — and more than a few cautious glances toward both their Young Boss and the Sartori Don — they dispersed across the training grounds and resumed their exercises.

Only after they had gone did Jordan finally exhale.

"Sorry about my brothers." He rubbed the back of his neck with a weary sigh. "They’re young. And way too cocky. They’ll pick a fight with just about anyone."

Caio arched an eyebrow.

"Like you?"

Jordan met his stare without flinching.

"Like someone who couldn’t protect a lady."

"You insolent—"

Before either man could take another step toward reigniting their endless feud, Aren reached out and gently caught each of them by the sleeve.

"Please..." she said softly. "Can we just go inside?"

Both men looked down at the same time, their gazes settling on the small hands clutching their jackets.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then, almost in unison, they sighed.

"...Fine."

The tension eased just enough for the three of them to climb the front steps toward the main building together.

As they walked, however, Aren found herself glancing quietly over her shoulder toward the private gym where Nazario had disappeared.

’...Just now.’

’The way Nazario looked at Jordan...’

An uneasy feeling lingered stubbornly in her chest.

’There wasn’t any warmth in it at all.’