Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 115

Chapter 115: "Advice"

Ricci’s promise of twenty minutes turned out to be a complete lie.

Jordan wasn’t released from his unexpected burden until exactly four hours and forty-five minutes after Ricci had practically abducted him.

By the time he finally escaped, sweat clung to his forehead, his shoulders ached with exhaustion, and guilt sat like a stone in his chest as he hurried back toward the private gym.

’God... I made her wait so long. She must be so upset with me now.’

He shoved the gym door open without breaking stride.

Then stopped dead.

’...What the hell?’

In the very center of the training mat lay his youngest brother, Oscar.

The young man looked utterly devastated — if not outright traumatized. His face had gone pale, his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, and he looked as though his soul had quietly departed his body several minutes ago.

Kneeling beside him with a look of profound regret was Aren. She held a towel in both hands, frantically fanning Oscar’s face as though trying to help him breathe again.

Jordan blinked.

Then blinked a second time.

Unable to make sense of the scene before him, he finally managed to speak, his voice coming out far smaller than intended.

"...What happened?"

Aren turned toward him immediately, her brows drawn together in distress.

"I’m very sorry. I met Oscar on my way back to the gym and asked him to spar with me while I waited for you. It seems... I may have overdone it a little."

Beside her, Oscar finally stirred.

Only barely.

One trembling finger rose weakly into the air as though lifting it demanded every ounce of strength he had left.

"R-Remind... m-me... to... to ne-never..." He struggled for breath. "...challenge her... to... to spar with me... ever again..."

The raised finger survived only another second before flopping lifelessly back onto the mat.

That was all it took.

A laugh escaped Jordan before he could stop it. Every trace of stress dissolved from his shoulders as he walked over, an unrestrained smile spreading across his face.

"You had a great time babysitting my brother, didn’t you? Come on. You must be starving. Let me take you out for dinner before I drive you home."

Aren’s entire face lit up.

"The bakery from last time?"

Jordan extended a hand toward her, unmistakable fondness softening his weary expression.

"The bakery from last time."

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

The first day of the competition, Aren arrived at the Marchetti compound at precisely 1:00 PM.

The sun blazed high overhead as contestants gathered outside the converted warehouse where the first round of the Marchetti Trials would soon begin.

Seated beside Jordan, Aren quietly watched streams of Marchetti soldiers, capos, and staff moving across the grounds. Some chatted animatedly in small groups, discussing tactics. Others stretched in silence, their expressions tight with concentration as they finished warming up.

Then the loudspeakers crackled to life overhead.

"Attention, contestants and spectators."

"Due to a technical error involving the name-tagging of the equipment, all weapons and ammunition have been centralized at the main preparation tables backstage."

"You will no longer receive a pre-assigned kit. Instead, your firearm and ammunition allotment will be issued directly by the quartermaster."

The announcement immediately sent a ripple of confused murmurs through the crowd.

Only Aren remained calm.

Turning toward Jordan, she asked quietly,

"Was it a very difficult task?"

Jordan released a weary sigh.

"Yeah. Normally, every weapon and ammunition batch is inspected first, then tagged to its assigned contestant. But somehow the inventory log got completely messed up."

He shook his head wearily.

"Ricci and I worked on it until early morning, but we couldn’t verify which batches had already been checked and which hadn’t. In the end, we decided the fairest solution was to inspect everything together, lay it all out on centralized tables, and distribute it from there."

Aren listened in silence, taking another bite of her sandwich, though her gaze lingered on the exhaustion etched across his face.

’I’m sorry...’

’I wish I could tell you Natalia’s men caused this... but I can’t prove any of it.’

"I’m sorry I couldn’t help much," she said quietly.

Jordan caught the guilt in her expression at once. Offering the most reassuring smile his fatigue would allow, he deliberately steered the conversation elsewhere.

"Hey, don’t apologize." He nudged her lightly with his shoulder. "Ricci and I figured it out in the end, didn’t we? Everything’s ready now."

His eyes drifted toward the enormous box of assorted cookies sitting beside her.

"But..." Amusement slowly returned to his face. "Are you planning to give every contestant here today a cookie?"

Aren followed his gaze.

A faint blush immediately colored her cheeks.

"Ah... no! No, I’m not!" she said hurriedly. "It’s... it’s for someone very important today."

Almost instinctively, she placed one hand protectively over the enormous box, as though that alone could somehow hide it from him.

Jordan’s smile slowly faded.

’Someone important...?’

’Here?’

’Someone who’s... not me?’

At once, his gaze wandered across the grounds until it settled on Oscar, who was laughing boisterously with several Marchetti soldiers near the far corner.

Jordan’s expression darkened by the slightest degree.

’...Don’t tell me it’s all for Oscar.’

Before even the slightest trace of jealousy could reach his face, he looked away and took an unnecessarily aggressive bite of his sandwich.

Silence settled comfortably between them once more as they continued eating side by side, each trying very hard to hide their own thoughts beneath quiet bites of lunch.

The peaceful atmosphere, however, was eventually interrupted by the measured click of heels against the concrete.

"I see you’re enjoying a lovely picnic before the competition with your new friend, Jordan."

Both of them looked up.

Natalia Porto approached with her customary poise, dressed in an elegant white dress that made her look every bit the refined heiress of House Porto.

Jordan’s mood immediately soured.

’I still haven’t talked to you about that whole "we’re already engaged" thing.’

Carefully smoothing every trace of irritation from his expression, he greeted her with restrained politeness.

"Natalia."

She inclined her head gracefully.

"Jordan."

Her gaze shifted briefly toward Aren.

"Lady Ariana."

Aren returned the nod without expression.

"Lady Natalia."

Natalia smiled pleasantly.

The silence that followed could scarcely have been more awkward before Natalia turned her full attention back to Jordan.

"My father, my brothers, and the representatives of House Porto have arrived. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too much to ask the Marchetti heir to come and formally greet them?"

Jordan released a slow breath through his nose. This woman had practically mastered using his responsibilities against him.

"Perhaps," he replied evenly, "it wouldn’t be too much to ask you to let me finish my lunch first."

Natalia nodded with effortless grace.

"Of course not."

As she turned to leave, her eyes drifted toward Aren one last time.

A faint, unreadable smile touched her lips.

"Good luck with the Trials, Lady Ariana."

Without waiting for a reply, she walked calmly toward the spectator area, the steady rhythm of her heels gradually fading into the noise of the gathering crowd.

Watching Natalia walk away, Jordan let out a quiet sigh. Whatever appetite and easy warmth he had been enjoying only moments earlier vanished with her departure.

"I’m sorry, Ariana," he said quietly. "Looks like I might have to leave again very soon."

"It’s fine," Aren replied softly.

After a brief hesitation, she tilted her head toward him.

"But... it seems to me that... things are very tense between the two of you."

Jordan glanced over at her.

"Yeah?"

Aren nodded gently.

"I thought Lady Natalia said you’d known each other forever."

’Don’t.’

’Not here.’

’Jordan is so cute.’

’...Why am I blushing?’

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