Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 15

Chapter 15: "May I Demonstrate?"

Eduardo Marchetti stood at the front entrance of the main building of the Marchetti compound like a statue carved from stone.

His dark suit was immaculate, both hands clasped tightly behind his back. Not a single line of his face betrayed emotion.

Behind him, a line of suited men stood in perfect silence, shoulders squared, eyes forward.

The air itself felt tense.

For the past fifteen minutes, not one of them had dared step forward to defend the younger Marchetti.

At last, Eduardo spoke without turning.

"My son truly claimed he needed to deliver this order personally?"

Diego, one of his most trusted soldiers, stepped forward immediately.

"Young Boss insisted the capos would not have enough technical knowledge to answer Miss Lombardi’s questions."

Eduardo gave no visible reaction.

Only his fists tightened behind his back, yet every man present understood exactly what that meant.

Disaster.

Several long seconds passed before Eduardo spoke again.

"Was Jordan informed of tonight’s dinner with House Porto?"

"Yes, Boss. Lady Natalia informed him personally."

"Good." Eduardo’s voice softened by half a degree. "Make sure Natalia doesn’t know the Lombardi heiress visited this estate."

"Yes, Boss."

Silence settled once more over the courtyard.

A moment later, the front gates slowly opened.

Jordan’s silver car rolled in, tires crunching softly over the stone driveway.

The moment Jordan spotted his father waiting outside, his jaw tightened.

’Of course. Father had to come out personally just to make a point.’

Beside him, Aren sat quietly with Biscuit curled in her lap.

One hand absently scratched the little dog’s stomach while she watched the industrial buildings pass outside the window.

Warehouses.

Security towers.

Reinforced loading bays.

The entire estate looked less like a family residence and more like a fortified manufacturing compound.

"We’re here," Jordan said quietly. "The Marchetti compound."

Aren’s eyes drifted toward the line of armed men standing outside the main building, then toward Eduardo.

"Your father seems tense."

Jordan nearly laughed.

Instead, a bitter smirk tugged at his lips.

"That’s a generous interpretation."

The car came to a stop.

Jordan stepped out first, circled around, and opened Aren’s door before facing his father.

"Father," he greeted evenly. "Lady Ariana requested a personal inspection of the workshop facilities."

Eduardo ignored him completely.

His attention stayed locked on the platinum-haired girl stepping out of the car.

When his gaze dropped to the scruffy dog resting comfortably in her arms, his expression hardened further.

"Miss Lombardi," Eduardo greeted.

There was no warmth or welcome in his voice.

Aren approached him in slow strides, taking her time to study the man.

Jordan clearly took after him — same brown hair, same hazel eyes. But while Jordan looked more honed, Eduardo felt heavier and older, like a weapon that had been used many times before.

What caught Aren’s attention most were his hands: calluses, old scars across the fingers, fine marks around the wrists.

’A weapons specialist.’

Her eyes brightened immediately.

"Don Eduardo," she greeted with a polite nod. "Thank you for allowing me to visit the workshop. I’m hoping to select more suitable models for our security teams."

"Thank me?" Eduardo repeated flatly. "I approved nothing."

His gaze shifted sharply toward his son.

"Jordan informed me of your arrival only minutes beforehand. Apparently, he mistook that for permission."

Jordan’s shoulders stiffened slightly, though his voice remained controlled.

"Our contract with House Lombardi is valuable."

"You need not remind me," Eduardo muttered. His tone carried the restrained irritation of a man exercising enormous self-control.

Under different circumstances, he might have dragged Jordan aside and disciplined him in front of the entire estate for bringing the Lombardi disgrace onto Marchetti property.

Instead, he turned sharply toward the workshop entrance.

"This way, Miss Lombardi," he said. "Let us see what standards make you bold enough to reject equipment that has served your House for decades."

Without waiting for a reply, Eduardo walked inside.

His men followed instantly, disciplined and silent.

Jordan lingered behind beside Aren.

"Don’t take it personally," he said quietly. "My father speaks to everyone like that."

Aren and Biscuit looked up at him at the same time, blinking with matching expressions.

"I’m not offended," Aren replied honestly.

Her gaze drifted toward Eduardo’s retreating figure.

"But your father doesn’t seem tense anymore."

Jordan raised an eyebrow.

"No?"

Aren shook her head lightly.

"He seems angry."

This time, Jordan didn’t smirk.

Instead, something softer crossed his face for just a second.

"That," he said quietly, "is also a generous interpretation."

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

’She looks like... a child in a candy shop.’

"Ah, this one uses ceramic internal plating... The reduced weight is nice, but won’t it overheat faster during sustained rapid fire?"

The room went completely still.

Ricci looked like someone had struck him across the face.

Jordan stared openly.

Eduardo said nothing at all.

Aren continued calmly through the chamber, oblivious to the damage she was causing. She stopped in front of a knife display and crouched.

"Oh, this edge angle... optimized for fabric penetration rather than bone. Pretty clever."

Ricci finally found his voice, sounding strangled.

"Miss... How... how do you know that?"

Aren blinked up at him.

"Ah. I’ve used similar models before."

Dead silence.

Ricci’s brain appeared to shut down entirely.

Jordan’s expression had shifted from surprise into outright fascination.

Eduardo’s eyes narrowed another fraction.

At last, Aren stopped before two relatively modest weapons.

One was compact black handgun with a shortened slide. The other was a slim tactical knife with minimal guard protection.

"I’d like these two, please," she said politely.

Ricci hesitated instantly. "Miss, those are highly specialized close-quarters pieces..."

"Yes."

Aren looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

Ricci looked helplessly toward Eduardo.

At last, Eduardo stepped forward himself.

"And what ammunition would you pair with that handgun?"

"Nightshade JHP," Aren answered.

Eduardo looked almost pleased hearing it.

"Incorrect."

A faint edge of contempt entered his voice.

"Shield Raze rounds are superior."

Aren considered that seriously for a moment.

Then, she looked up at him.

"May I demonstrate?"

Eduardo stiffened almost immediately.

That answer interested him far more than anything she had said since entering the estate.

He turned toward Ricci.

"Prepare Range Three," he ordered, a smirk tugging at his lips. "For Miss Lombardi."