Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 10

Chapter 10: "Let The Dog In"

The Accardi District stood at the heart of Borgata — a cold forest of steel and glass skyscrapers that cared nothing for beauty, only power.

On the 82nd floor of the tallest tower, Isidore Accardi’s private office overlooked the entire city like a kingdom laid at his feet.

Inside, the room was minimalist and immaculate.

One desk.

One chair.

Floor-to-ceiling windows.

Nothing unnecessary.

Isidore sat behind the desk, eyes fixed on his tablet, his fingers unmoving.

Across the room, Isaac Accardi — Don of House Accardi — leaned against the glass, arms crossed. The city sprawled beneath him like something he already owned, yet his expression remained unimpressed.

"She was trash, Isidore," Isaac said bluntly. "A drug-addled socialite who couldn’t balance a checkbook, let alone keep a secret."

He turned slightly, enough to cast his younger brother a hard look.

"Why are we even considering this?"

Isaac was still seething over Isidore’s participation in the bidding at the Summit. However, he knew Isidore never moved a muscle without a thousand calculations behind it.

He had chosen to remain patient until they were behind closed doors. Now, they were behind closed doors.

Isidore, for his part, didn’t look up.

"Trash," he replied, flat and clipped, "can be recycled into something useful."

Isaac exhaled sharply, frustration clear in his voice. "You keep talking in riddles. Would it kill you to speak plainly for once?"

Isidore finally lifted his gaze — a sharp, one-second glare — before returning to his tablet.

’Why must people waste breath? ’

’The logic was clear.’

’Yet Isaac needed it mapped out.’

’Being Don made him dumber by the day.’

"I had my analysts compile everything on her from the last forty-eight hours," Isidore said at last. "The woman who walked into the Summit is not the same woman who was dosing in Sartori’s bed three days ago."

Isaac’s gaze narrowed.

"So you’re saying she’s sober now." He shrugged. "Fine. That’s... impressive, I guess. It still doesn’t make her an asset."

"It makes her a Trojan horse."

The words landed cleanly. Isidore offered nothing more.

Isaac let out a humorless laugh and shook his head. "There you go again. Next time, remind me to hire a Consigliere who speaks in full sentences."

Isidore granted his brother another glare. A brief one — half a second, he counted.

"No one questions a Lombardi socialite. She can walk into any ballroom, any gala, any bedroom in Borgata without raising suspicion."

Isaac’s expression shifted, irritation giving way to thought.

"If there’s a breach," Isidore continued, "it won’t lead back to us. It will lead to her. A Lombardi girl everyone already assumes is brain-rotted."

Isaac went completely still.

He turned the idea over in his mind, testing it at different angles, looking for flaws. When he found none, a slow grin spread across his face.

"That," he admitted, "is clever."

’Of course it was.’

The thought passed through Isidore’s mind without weight.

"And what do you need from me?" Isaac asked.

Isidore didn’t hesitate. "Leak that my contract with her is sexual in nature."

Isaac’s brow lifted slightly, already amused.

"A purchased indulgence," Isidore went on, indifferent. "Something I acquired for personal entertainment."

The words carried no embarrassment. No shame. Only utility.

"A pet," Isaac said, tone light.

"If you prefer."

Isaac’s grin sharpened.

Before he could say another word, an electronic chime cut through the room.

The receptionist’s voice came over the intercom: "Sir, Miss Lombardi has arrived."

"Send her in," Isidore replied.

He didn’t wait for another response, yet two seconds later, the intercom clicked on again, the receptionist sounding less certain.

"There is... one small problem, sir."

Isidore’s finger stilled over the tablet.

"What?"

"There’s a dog," the receptionist said. "Miss Lombardi has asked if she could come in with a dog. Your permission, sir?"

"But..." the receptionist hesitated. "She insists the dog may feel... lonely outside. She apologizes for the inconvenience."

"Sir," the receptionist said quickly. "She’s heard you and apologized. She’s leaving."

’A billion dollars?’

’And she’s walking away over a dog’s feelings?’

Isidore’s finger hit the intercom button with a sharp click.

"Understood, sir."

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