Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 153

Chapter 153: "You’re All On Your Own"

Nazario’s face twisted into an even deeper grimace at Jordan’s words.

Yet, his expression turned downright miserable when his gaze shifted toward Aren, who stood several paces away with her machete lowered, her posture completely relaxed.

She looked harmless again.

Almost absurdly so.

As though she hadn’t just executed a lightning-fast feint and delivered a cut so precise that Nazario had been utterly incapable of countering it.

Nazario’s eyes narrowed until his eyelids trembled.

’What the hell is going on with this woman?’

’Did Jordan somehow teach her to use a machete this well in such a short time?’

His teeth clenched until his jaw ached.

’And now they want to injure me badly enough to force me out of the match?’

’No fucking way.’

The very thought filled him with a shame that years of winning the Marchetti Trials might never be enough to erase.

One defeat was one thing.

Being driven from the final round by a woman who supposedly didn’t even know how to use a machete was something else entirely. It would leave a filthy mark on the record he had spent years perfecting for his father.

Before Aren could even respond to Jordan’s proposal, Nazario snarled,

"In your dreams, you two cowardly losers! I challenge you! Come fight me at once if you dare!"

He pivoted sharply on his back foot and lunged straight toward Aren— his entire body carrying the unmistakable intent to maim.

Yet...

Aren stood there without moving.

The sight made the relaxed smile vanish from Jordan’s face entirely.

"Ariana, watch out! Parry!"

Jordan lunged toward her at once, already preparing to intercept the attack, but Nazario was faster.

He was only a few steps away when he dropped his center of gravity, twisting his body low as his machete swung outward in a vicious horizontal arc aimed directly at Aren’s ribs.

The blade came sweeping toward her.

Yet instead of stepping backward—

She dropped.

Lower.

Lower still.

She slipped beneath the blade so smoothly that it passed over her head by mere inches. Then, without hesitation, she pivoted directly into the force of Nazario’s charge.

Slash.

Nazario’s eyes widened.

A strangled sound escaped his throat as pain tore through him.

"Hng—!"

Blood spattered onto the pristine white canvas.

Another collective gasp swept through the warehouse as dozens of hands flew to mouths in disbelief.

Aren’s blade had found Nazario’s thigh.

One clean cut.

The fabric of his white trousers immediately darkened as crimson spread across the wound.

Nazario’s momentum carried him past her before he could stop. He staggered several steps, shock flooding through his body.

’She cut me again.’

He refused to accept it. Refused to let himself hesitate. He pivoted sharply, determined to return the strike before Aren could recover.

He swung his machete toward her with all the force he could muster.

But when he turned—

Aren wasn’t retreating.

She was already looking directly at him.

Her eyes were cold.

Focused.

Completely devoid of the nervousness he had expected from her.

Before Nazario could react, a flash of steel crossed his vision, aimed precisely at the place where he had intended to strike her.

The ribs.

Slash.

’Fucking traitors... switching sides as quickly as a pack of rats on a sinking ship.’

’Fine.’

’Sit there and watch me slice this bitch into pieces.’

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