Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 136

Chapter 136: "How Exactly Is That Fair?"

Jordan twisted his body at the last possible instant, tucking into a roll before crashing hard onto the concrete floor.

Even so, pain shot through his shoulders and back, stealing the breath from his lungs.

’Argh... fuck.’

’The sections of pipe nearest the net are coated with oil.’

’I can’t traverse it directly.’

’I’ll have to build momentum before the oiled section and swing into the net instead.’

’Fuck whoever designed this course.’

Looking up, he saw the men had already reached the center of the chamber.

"There he is!" one shouted.

"Stop him!" another roared, lunging forward.

"Engage him now!" a third yelled as he charged alongside the others.

Jordan had barely regained his footing when the men descended on him.

Already seething from his failed attempt to reach the coin — and even more enraged by the sight of his own men turning against him — his temper snapped almost instantly.

"You wanna fight me?!" he roared. "Then fight me, you traitorous fuckers!"

His hand shot out, seizing one man by the collar before hurling him headfirst into another.

WHAM!

Before either could recover, Jordan’s boot slammed into a third man’s abdomen, folding him in half, while his elbow crashed into a fourth attacker’s jaw with bone-jarring force.

"Fucking filthy rats!"

"You dare betray House Marchetti?!"

"The House you swore yourselves to?!"

The center of the chamber erupted into violence. Bodies crashed against the reinforced chain-link walls with deafening clangs, while Jordan’s furious curses echoed through the maze.

Even so, more men kept pouring into the chamber.

Jordan couldn’t help frowning as yet another group charged at him through the crimson gloom.

’Fuck... just how many of them did Natalia plant in this maze?’

Still, Jordan hadn’t become the heir to House Marchetti without reason.

Every man who stepped within his reach was met with a savage punch or a devastating kick powerful enough to leave lasting internal injuries.

At last, after absorbing enough brutal blows and realizing the fight was hopelessly one-sided, the men abandoned their reckless assault altogether.

Some retreated just beyond Jordan’s reach and quickly huddled together, whispering frantically among themselves.

"Dude, this isn’t working."

"Where the hell is Mister Nazario?"

"Probably got dropped somewhere far from here."

"What do we even do now?"

"I don’t know, mate. Why don’t we just grab the coin first? Without the coin, the Young Boss can’t win. We still get the job done."

"Bloody good idea. Let’s get that damn coin."

Having settled on a new plan, they immediately scattered toward the chain-link walls instead of charging Jordan again.

"The coin!" one shouted.

"Get the coin first!" another yelled.

One after another, they hooked their fingers into the mesh and began climbing rapidly toward the ventilation pipes overhead.

Jordan spotted their intentions immediately.

"Bloody leeches," he muttered. "You’re not stealing my coin."

He lunged forward, grabbed the nearest climber by the back of his trousers, and yanked him violently to the floor before driving a crushing fist straight into his face.

THWACK!

Without missing a beat, Jordan seized another climber by the ankle and ripped him off the wall.

THWACK!

Unfortunately, when he looked up again, two men had already reached the overhead pipes. They swung forward hand over hand, excitement spreading across their faces as they closed in on the suspended net.

Then—

Slip.

"Argh!"

"Haaaargh!"

Just like Jordan before them, the moment their hands reached the oil-coated section of pipe, their grips gave way, and both men plunged straight to the concrete floor.

Unlike Jordan, however, neither had anticipated the fall. They crashed flat onto their backs with sickening force.

THUD! THUD!

"Argh... fuck..."

"What the hell was that?"

"Why the fuck is it so slippery?"

Jordan shot them a look of open contempt.

’Stupid suckers.’

Not wasting another heartbeat, he sprinted back to the nearest wall and climbed toward another ventilation pipe before anyone could recover.

This time, he knew exactly what awaited him. When he reached the section just before the oil-coated pipe, he stopped completely.

Tightening every muscle in his arms, he gripped the pipe with all his strength before beginning to swing.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Below him, the men on the floor watched with bated breaths.

On the fourth swing, Jordan released himself in one explosive motion.

"Hurgh!"

His hands slammed into the thick rope net.

He caught it.

The entire net jerked violently beneath his weight.

CREAAAK!

For one stunned heartbeat, every man below froze.

Some nearly erupted into cheers out of long-ingrained habit at their Young Boss’s incredible feat... before they suddenly remembered whose side they had chosen.

’What the—?’

POP!

POP!

SNAP!

THUD!

’Two.’

’Four.’

’Eight.’

’Eight fucking traitors out of the eleven soldiers who entered this round.’

’And God knows whether the other three are involved too.’

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