Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 118

Chapter 118: "She’s Watching Me"

The atmosphere inside the warehouse shifted the moment the previous contestant cleared the course.

A hush swept across the galleries, anticipation steadily replacing the buzz of earlier conversations.

Marchetti soldiers unconsciously straightened where they stood.

Distinguished guests leaned forward in their seats.

Even the contestants waiting for their own turns abandoned their conversations, their attention drawn toward the starting platform.

Over the speakers, the Head Coordinator’s voice boomed across the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen..."

"Please welcome to the platform..."

"Jordan Marchetti!"

"Three-Time Champion of the Marchetti Trials!"

The spectator galleries erupted.

Thunderous applause rolled through the stands as hundreds of Marchetti soldiers and employees surged to their feet.

One voice shouted Jordan’s name, then another, until the entire warehouse seemed to vibrate beneath a chorus of cheers welcoming the Marchetti heir onto the platform.

Jordan stepped into view beneath the spotlight.

He acknowledged the ovation with a calm nod, but his attention wasn’t truly on the crowd.

Instead, his gaze drifted upward, searching through the haze of the arena lights until it found the private spectator gallery.

’She’s watching me.’

A ghost of a smile touched his lips — so faint and fleeting that it disappeared before the broadcast cameras could ever catch it.

High above in the gallery, Aren leaned back in her small chair in the corner, her eyes glued to the nearest screen.

Although she couldn’t possibly notice the tiny smile meant only for her, simply seeing Jordan standing confidently beneath the spotlight was enough to bring a gentle smile to her own face.

Several rows in front of her, however, the atmosphere was far colder.

Seated among the distinguished guests, Giovanni Porto glanced sideways at Eduardo Marchetti.

"You think Jordan will keep up his performance today, Don Eduardo?"

Eduardo’s gaze remained fixed on the starting platform.

"With how distracted he’s been lately... I am not entirely certain."

He exhaled slowly.

"But he is still my chosen heir. We shall see."

Beside them, Natalia Porto sat with impeccable composure, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she watched Jordan’s face fill the enormous display screens overhead.

For the briefest moment, something dark stirred behind her eyes.

Something almost resembling guilt.

It lasted no more than a heartbeat before it disappeared beneath the unwavering certainty that had guided every one of her decisions.

Down below, the Head Coordinator’s voice rang through the loudspeakers once more.

"Jordan Marchetti."

Jordan settled into position, one hand hovering beside his holster.

"Ready."

"Start!"

The digital timer flashed green.

Jordan exploded forward.

He launched into The Ascent with explosive acceleration, his powerful strides carrying him toward the towering wall of stacked shipping containers draped in climbing nets.

As hidden panels sprang open, steel targets burst from the metal walls on either side.

In Natalia’s mind, this was where everything should begin.

The sabotaged ammunition should throw off Jordan’s accuracy from the very first shot. Every missed target would add precious seconds to his final time. Every penalty would chip away at the flawless image he had spent years building.

Instead—

Jordan’s pistol cleared its holster in one smooth, blinding motion.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Steel plates crashed shut one after another. Every target appeared only to vanish beneath another impossibly precise shot.

Not one missed.

Across the gallery, Natalia’s serene smile slowly faded.

Her eyes narrowed by the smallest fraction.

’...Impossible.’

She had personally overseen the sabotaged ammunition.

Every modified round should have drifted just enough to destroy his accuracy. Yet every bullet struck exactly where it should.

Several rows away, Aren’s smile quietly widened as she watched Jordan tear through the course.

Her eyes tracked every movement with equal parts admiration and careful analysis.

’Jordan’s fast, and he’s still as powerful as ever.’

’His explosive strength is unmatched... but Nazario still has the advantage in pure movement speed.’

’If they face each other inside the Dark Room, Jordan may struggle to keep up during close pursuit.’

’I’ll need to be very careful assisting Jordan there.’

On the massive screens, Jordan was already charging into The Factory Floor.

He vaulted effortlessly over waist-high barriers before dropping into a slide beneath tangled industrial piping.

Rubber rounds screamed past overhead as automated turrets tracked him relentlessly, yet every dodge flowed naturally into another precise shot.

The crowd barely had time to applaud one impossible maneuver before he was already entering the final sector.

The Dead Zone.

Without wasting a single second, Jordan sprinted into the narrow mock city street, towering wooden and steel structures hemming him in on both sides.

His eyes swept constantly across the maze, searching for the final series of pop-up targets.

One emerged.

He fired.

CLANG.

Another.

CLANG.

CLANG.

FLASH.

’...What did I just see?’

"He’s going to do it!"

"Jordan Marchetti is ahead of the current record!"

"If he keeps this pace, he’s going to break it!"

"Jordan Marchetti!"

"Zero hits taken!"

"Zero targets missed!"

"Final time..."

"One minute..."

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