Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 123

Chapter 123: "One, Two, Three"

The private gym was as quiet as ever when Aren and Jordan stepped inside.

Throughout the walk from the warehouse, Jordan’s larger hand had remained intertwined with her smaller one.

Aren, meanwhile, kept her attention fixed straight ahead, so intent on reaching the gym that she had unconsciously ended up leading him for most of the journey.

Every now and then, she gave his hand a gentle tug whenever he lagged half a step behind.

The gesture was so unintentionally endearing that Jordan found himself unable to suppress the faint smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.

’She still hasn’t noticed...’

’At this rate, she might drag me across the entire compound without realizing we’re holding hands.’

Unfortunately for him, the precious contact ended the moment they crossed the threshold.

Aren slipped her hand free without the slightest hesitation and hurried straight toward the tall weapon locker standing in the corner.

"Jordan, are they in here?" she asked eagerly, already waiting in front of it.

Jordan could only chuckle under his breath. Weapons, it seemed, were both the perfect excuse to lure her away from the warehouse and the perfect distraction from him.

"Indeed, they’re all in there," he replied as he walked over to stand beside her. Unlocking the locker, he asked, "Would you like to start with machete training?"

Aren nodded so enthusiastically that her short hair bounced.

"Yes. Then we can move on to Dark Room training afterward."

"Alright."

Jordan reached inside and withdrew two identical blades. The dark carbon steel caught the overhead lights with a muted sheen as he turned one around and offered it to Aren, hilt first.

"Standard Marchetti issue," he explained. "No decorative filigree. No lightweight alloys. Just raw carbon steel."

Aren accepted the machete, her fingers closing around the leather-wrapped grip.

Its weight surprised her immediately.

Unlike the balanced arming swords or lightweight tactical knives she had wielded through countless missions in her previous life, this blade carried its center of gravity aggressively toward the broad belly near the tip.

It wanted to fall.

To chop.

To cleave.

Of all the weapons she had trained with, the machete remained one of the few she had spent relatively little time mastering.

Its medium reach forced the wielder dangerously close to an opponent before a decisive strike could be delivered — a distance that had always felt inefficient amid the open battlefields of her former world. It also rewarded explosive physical strength more than speed.

Almost unconsciously, her eyes drifted toward Jordan.

’Someone like Jordan was practically built for this.’

’Compared to him... Nazario’s lighter frame and speed-oriented style would struggle in a prolonged machete fight.’

At last, she gave the blade an experimental swing.

"It’s top-heavy."

"By design," Jordan replied as he unsheathed his own blade. "It’s built for impact, not delicate fencing. You don’t thrust with a machete. The tip is almost blunt. You chop, you draw-slice, and when you defend yourself, you block with the spine so you don’t ruin the cutting edge."

He rolled the weapon once through his hand with practiced ease before looking back at her.

"How much experience do you have with a machete?"

"Not much, really," Aren admitted honestly enough. "They’re not exactly suited for my frame."

"I thought as much." Jordan smiled as he set the empty case aside. "Then we’d better get you comfortable with it today. They’re among the hardest weapons to master, but once you can control steel like this, every other blade feels easier."

Aren’s eyes brightened immediately.

"Show me."

"Alright." His smile widened. "Let’s see your stance."

Aren planted her feet apart and raised the machete beside her shoulder. She deliberately exaggerated the angle ever so slightly, making herself appear less experienced than she truly was.

"Like this?"

Jordan shook his head almost immediately.

"Too high."

Without thinking, he stepped closer.

"Here, Ariana..."

His fingertips rested lightly against the back of her shoulder, easing it lower. Then he touched her elbow, rotating it inward by only a few degrees.

"If you carry it like a sword, your shoulder will burn out in two minutes under all that forward weight. Let gravity do half the work. The blade already wants to fall. Your job is simply deciding where."

His hands lingered only as long as necessary to guide her posture. Yet with every correction, the distance between them quietly disappeared.

Jordan noticed.

He noticed exactly how close they had become, how his chest was almost brushing her back, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her through the thin fabric of her clothes.

He also chose to say nothing.

Instead, an unfamiliar sense of peace settled quietly inside him as he continued refining her posture one careful adjustment at a time.

Aren, meanwhile, remained almost entirely oblivious.

Back in her previous life, her squadmates had corrected her posture countless times during training. This kind of physical guidance felt completely ordinary — routine, even.

Only when she turned her head, intending to ask whether they could finally begin, did the words suddenly catch in her throat.

Jordan was much closer than she’d realized.

His face was only inches away. So close that she could clearly see the amber flecks hidden within his eyes.

For all practical purposes, he was almost embracing her from behind.

’It’s strange.’

’Being close to Jordan feels completely natural... as long as I don’t stop to think about it.’

The smile slowly faded from her face.

’But eventually...’

’I need to stop being so close to him anyway.’

’I should start getting used to that now. Otherwise I’ll keep doing things like jumping into his arms in front of everyone.’

With that thought in mind, Aren gently stepped forward, slipping free of his reach before turning back with an apologetic smile.

"I understand the stance now. Let’s continue with the count."

Jordan stalled for a moment.

He didn’t miss the hesitation, nor did he miss the tiny step she had taken away from him.

’...Why did she suddenly move away?’

’Was I too forward?’

Only moments ago, she had walked comfortably beside him with their hands intertwined. Now she was carefully putting distance between them.

The realization prompted him to retreat a step of his own. He raised his own machete as though nothing had happened.

"We train using a three-count cadence."

He demonstrated the opening strike.

"One."

The heavy blade carved diagonally downward with a powerful whoosh.

"Two."

It flowed naturally into a horizontal draw-cut.

"Three."

The spine rotated into a firm defensive block.

He reset his stance.

"Again."

Aren mirrored each motion, deliberately introducing tiny imperfections into her form.

"One."

Her blade descended, a touch too much wrist movement here.

"Two."

She transitioned into the draw-cut, a slight delay there.

"Three."

The rhythmic whistle of steel gradually filled the gym as she repeated the sequence.

Jordan watched her with unwavering attention through every repetition.

To anyone else, she looked exactly like a beginner learning an unfamiliar weapon.

’She’s hiding it again.’

’...Another world.’

’Then I’ll make sure we know each other for a long time.’

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