Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 97

Chapter 97: "Why Are You Like This?"

For several long seconds, Isidore regarded Aren in complete silence.

He seemed to weigh her question with meticulous care, yet not a flicker of emotion disturbed the composed mask he wore.

Behind those cold green eyes, however, his thoughts moved with relentless precision.

’Subject analysis update.’

’Not only does the subject possess flawless mercenary capabilities...’

’She can summon absolute composure at will when the stakes are high.’

’Yet she continuously proves to be completely illiterate when it comes to basic vulgarity, human manipulation, social dynamics, and covert operations.’

The conclusion struck an unexpectedly raw nerve.

Irritation was nothing new to Isidore.

Every day, he dealt with incompetence, inefficiency, and people who squandered his time and resources.

Those shortcomings were predictable; they could be corrected through discipline, pressure, or replacement.

This was something else entirely.

The young woman standing before him was an equation that refused to balance — a contradiction that resisted every attempt at logical resolution.

’Why are you like this?’

The sheer irrationality of it grated against every instinct he possessed.

At length, he answered in the same level, detached tone.

"There are many matters I am not responsible for explaining to you."

Aren found the response profoundly unsatisfying. She met his gaze without flinching, unwilling to let the matter rest.

"You are, Master Accardi. For operational efficiency, I would appreciate greater transparency between both parties. Especially when the matter concerns me personally."

Before Isidore could reply, a composed feminine voice interrupted from behind them.

"Good evening, Mister Accardi. Miss Lombardi."

Both turned toward the newcomer.

The woman approaching wore a gown as black as polished obsidian, its elegant silhouette complementing the severe beauty of her long black hair.

Her dark, unreadable eyes swept calmly across the exhibition hall as she advanced with measured, unhurried steps, a small evening clutch resting lightly in one hand.

Aren recognized her almost immediately.

’Ylenia Ombra.’

She had seen the woman’s profile during her research into House Ombra. As the family’s heiress, Ylenia bore a striking resemblance to her father, Armando.

Where Armando projected effortless charm, however, Ylenia wore composure like armor.

Every movement was precise.

Every expression carefully restrained.

Only when her gaze settled upon the fading bruises on Aren’s face did the faintest crack appear in that flawless mask.

"Miss Lombardi," Ylenia said pleasantly, "I didn’t expect to see you at our Tech Expo."

Her attention shifted toward Isidore.

"Though I’ve heard quite a bit about how close the two of you have become lately. Perhaps Mister Accardi has brought you as his partner this evening?"

Isidore made no effort to elaborate.

"Miss Ombra," he greeted simply.

He had already spent enough time feeding the media narrative surrounding Ariana Lombardi. Elaborating now would only invite unnecessary scrutiny.

Ylenia neither seemed offended nor surprised by his curt response. She had clearly expected nothing else. Instead, she returned her attention to Aren.

"What happened to your face, Miss Lombardi?"

"Oh..."

Almost unconsciously, Aren lifted her fingertips to one of the fading bruises.

"Um... it’s..."

Her gaze drifted uncertainly toward Isidore.

"...Master Accardi did them."

Ylenia’s expression remained perfectly composed. Behind that serene façade, however, her thoughts accelerated.

’Instinctively touching the injury.’

’Looking toward the alleged abuser before answering.’

’Embarrassed discussing the subject.’

’She’s not lying.’

Yet even with that conclusion, a cold edge sharpened her gaze.

’Perhaps Isidore Accardi really is some hidden degenerate... but the Ariana Lombardi I remember never reacted like this.’

’She was completely comfortable with that sort of reputation.’

’The inconsistencies keep accumulating... just as they did at the Summit.’

’Something is very wrong.’

Satisfied with her observations, Ylenia looked back to Isidore as though Aren’s answer had never been given.

"I only wished to welcome our honored guests," she said with effortless grace. "Please enjoy the exhibition. If either of you requires assistance, my staff will be happy to help."

Isidore inclined his head.

"Appreciate the gesture, Miss Ombra."

With that, Ylenia excused herself, gliding toward another display where Isaac and Micaela were entertaining several influential businessmen.

Isidore watched until she was well out of earshot. Only then did he slip an arm firmly around Aren’s waist and guide her toward a quieter corner of the exhibition hall.

To anyone observing, the movement looked unmistakably intimate. Several nearby guests quickly averted their eyes, clearly preferring not to stare at Borgata’s newest scandalous couple.

Aren looked up at him in surprise.

"Um... Master Accardi? What are you doing?"

Without releasing her, Isidore tilted his head ever so slightly.

"Over there."

Keeping her movements subtle, Aren followed his line of sight over his shoulder. Almost immediately, recognition flashed across her face.

Standing behind the champagne bar was a dark-haired waiter carrying a fresh silver tray.

More importantly, she knew that face.

It was the same Ombra operative she’d seen at the luncheon — the one who had discreetly collected the stolen intelligence from Micaela.

"Remember him?" Isidore asked, barely above a whisper.

"Yes," Aren replied. "The Ombra operative from last time."

"My people investigated him. His name is Ruben. There’s a security card inside the left pocket of his jacket."

"A server-room access card?"

"And access to nearly every restricted area in the building," he added quietly. "Go ahead. Get close enough to scan it, and the dummy card will be ready."

"I currently have enough active contracts to repay that amount without difficulty. Besides..."

Her voice lowered.

"...if you knowingly withheld information that could personally harm me before having me sign the contract, then our agreement is effectively void from the beginning."

Isidore stopped completely.

For the first time that evening, genuine surprise flickered across his face.

"...How do you know all this?"

"Well..."

She smiled brightly.

"I just happened to read a lot of contracts."

Then, with remarkable speed, her expression cooled once again.

"Now, will you tell me or not?"

Isidore weighed the matter for a full ten seconds.

’Ridiculous.’

At length, he yielded.

"You shall have your answer once the mission concludes. Only if today’s mission objectives are successfully completed."

Though Aren wasn’t entirely satisfied, she finally nodded.

"Please remember your own words."

She tapped one of the earrings experimentally. A faint confirmation tone sounded inside her ear.

"Communications are working."

Looking back at him expectantly, she asked,

"Now what?"

Isidore’s attention shifted briefly toward Isaac, Micaela, and Ylenia across the room.

"I’m fairly certain Ylenia is about to draw Isaac elsewhere. That should create an opportunity for Micaela to meet Ruben somewhere upstairs."

His gaze settled on Aren once more.

"You follow Ruben to the exchange. Once the data transfer is complete, he’ll most likely proceed directly to the fourth-floor server room to insert the drive. That’s when you identify the server room."

"So once I reach the fourth floor, I should contact you?"

"Correct."

"Anything else?"

For a brief moment, Isidore simply looked at her. His eyes lingered on the dark green velvet of her gown.

A strange shadow passed silently through the depths of his gaze, remaining there for only an instant before sinking once more beneath the familiar mask of perfect composure.

"No," he said at last.

At that exact moment, movement caught his eyes.

Ruben emerged from behind the champagne bar carrying a polished silver tray, then began weaving through the crowd toward Micaela.

At precisely the same time, Ylenia seemed to be drawing Isaac away in the opposite direction, exactly as Isidore had anticipated.

’It’s starting.’

He released the firm hold around Aren’s waist at last.

"Target’s on the move," he murmured. "Go."