Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 104

Chapter 104: "Don’t Do It With Anyone Else"

On the other end of the call, an unnaturally oppressive silence had settled over the dining hall of the Sartori estate.

Within a five-meter radius of the head of the table, not a single subordinate dared venture any closer to their Don.

Caio Sartori sat exactly where he always did, one hand gripping his phone so tightly the casing threatened to crack beneath his fingers.

He had read every message Aren had sent.

Every.

Single.

One.

He had not overlooked the cheerful emojis.

Nor had he missed the line describing Isidore Accardi as "extremely skilled" at martial arts.

Slowly...

Very slowly...

Drawing upon every shred of self-control he possessed to keep himself from shouting, Caio finally spoke.

"Are you with that bastard right now?"

Aren blinked in surprise.

’He sounds... calmer than I expected.’

She had fully prepared herself to be shouted at.

"Um... yes," she answered cautiously. "I’m with Mas—"

She caught herself.

"...Mister Accardi. I’m already at the hotel. I have somewhere to sleep. Don’t worry!"

To Aren, it sounded reassuring.

To Caio, it sounded like pouring gasoline onto an open flame. The hand around his phone clenched until his knuckles whitened.

"Which hotel?" he demanded sharply. "I’m coming over to pick you up."

Alarm flashed across Aren’s face.

"Um... I’m sorry... But this is a request from Mister Accardi for my contract with—"

"That wasn’t a request."

Caio cut her off before she could finish.

"You’re not staying in some hotel with a random fucker in the middle of the night. You’re coming home. To me. To my estate. And if that son of a bitch so much as touches a single hair on your head..."

His voice dropped cold.

"...kill him immediately. I’ll deal with the consequences afterward."

Standing only a few paces away, Isidore heard every word with perfect clarity.

Especially the part concerning his immediate execution.

Without the slightest hesitation, he stepped forward and plucked the phone neatly from Aren’s hand before she had time to react.

Aren spun around in surprise.

"Ah— Master—"

Isidore merely raised one finger to his lips.

"Shh."

The quiet gesture carried effortless authority.

’I’ll handle this.’

Understanding settled over Aren almost immediately, and she fell silent.

Bringing the phone to his ear, Isidore’s expression cooled several degrees.

"It appears," he said evenly, "that I failed to make myself sufficiently clear the last time we met, Sartori."

On the opposite end of the line, Caio recognized the voice instantly.

The blazing anger vanished.

What replaced it was far worse.

Cold.

Focused.

Dangerous.

"You got a death wish, Accardi?"

Isidore ignored the question as though it had never been asked.

"Since you’ve apparently forgotten the Summit Protocol, allow me to refresh your memory. Every contract negotiated at that table is to be respected by every House. That includes respecting the contractor’s working hours. You will respect hers while she is serving House Accardi."

The mention of protocol darkened Caio’s mood even further. His challenge came flat and immediate.

"And her staying with you in some hotel fulfills that contract because?"

Isidore dismissed the question without acknowledgment.

"I have no obligation to explain any details to you. Unless you’d like every Sartori account with Accardi Bank to become inaccessible by morning, I suggest you wait until my contracted hours with her have concluded."

Caio’s temper finally snapped.

"Listen here, you mother—"

Clack.

The line went dead.

Isidore had ended the call without granting Caio another word.

Calmly, methodically, he powered Aren’s phone off before handing it back to her.

"He’ll call again. Leave it off until tomorrow."

Aren accepted the phone with visible hesitation, concern lingering plainly across her face.

"...I don’t think that was a very nice way to handle the situation."

Isidore’s tone remained composed.

"It was necessary. You work contracts for multiple clients. Ensure your other client understands the limits of his authority. He has no right to interfere with your contractual obligations."

Aren lowered her eyes, considering his reasoning with quiet care.

Viewed purely through the lens of professional conduct... it made sense.

At length, she gave a small nod.

"...I understand."

Even so, a quiet heaviness settled in her chest as she remembered the strain in Caio’s voice during the final moments of the call.

’...He sounded genuinely worried.’

’I feel guilty.’

Silence settled over the balcony.

Isidore watched the subtle change in her expression.

The way her shoulders sank.

The guilt she made no attempt to conceal.

He remained silent for several moments, studying her with his usual unreadable calm.

When he finally spoke again, his voice carried a quiet softness she had rarely heard from him.

"Signorina."

Aren looked up.

"Would you train me?"

Aren’s eyes widened as his earlier request came rushing back to her.

She shifted awkwardly, giving it the thoughtful consideration it deserved.

’Master Accardi has taught me patiently about covert tradecraft, social dynamics, and the customs of this world.’

’I’ve asked him to teach me more lessons in the future.’

’It’s only fair that I return the favor.’

Once she reached her decision, she looked up at him, a bright smile spreading across her face.

"Yes, I’ll do it. Please be patient with me. I’m not perfect at it."

Isidore fell silent beneath that smile.

For several long moments, he simply looked at her.

Before he could process the strange delay in his thoughts, Aren had already crossed the distance between them and slipped her hand around his arm.

"Come, Master Accardi," she said, gently tugging him toward the suite. "Let’s go inside. It’s getting cold out here, and... I think it’s better if we practice indoors."

Isidore still hadn’t found an appropriate response.

In the end, he merely inclined his head and allowed her to lead him back inside.

They had barely stepped into the suite when a soft chime sounded from the entrance.

Ding.

Clink.

’Is that... how you’re supposed to drink it?’

’Who drinks cognac in one go?’ he silently criticized himself.

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