Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 154

Chapter 154: "I Have No Other Option"

The pursuit was relentless.

For one suspended moment, the entire warehouse fell deathly silent before the silence shattered beneath a thunderous eruption of cheers.

Everyone present understood what they were witnessing:

The three-way fight had become a hunt, with two competitors relentlessly driving a single opponent toward defeat.

Aren effortlessly sealed off every avenue of retreat, forcing Nazario to remain within Jordan’s reach no matter which direction he tried to escape.

Meanwhile, Jordan wielded his machete with the same overwhelming power that had carried him to victory in the previous three Marchetti Trials.

Every swing was precise and merciless.

Each hack, slash, and downward chop was aimed at the most vulnerable points of Nazario’s body.

Whoosh!

CLANG!

The metallic shriek of blade meeting blade rang throughout the warehouse, followed at irregular intervals by the sickening sound of steel biting into flesh.

Slash!

CLANG!

Shlick!

Shlack!

CLANG!

Nazario had no opportunity to attack. He was doing little more than parrying, retreating, and bleeding.

Again and again, he was driven backward. His defenses grew increasingly desperate as shallow cuts appeared across his arms, shoulders, torso, and legs.

"Come on, you bastard!" Jordan shouted, pressing forward without mercy. "You wanted to win, didn’t you? Then try to beat the two of us right here in front of everyone!"

Nazario could only grit his teeth.

"Kurg—"

Blood had begun running into one of his eyes. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, breathing heavily as rage burned hotter than the pain.

"Shut the fuck up, you entitled suckers!" Nazario snarled. "I’m gonna slice the two of you in half!"

His mouth remained viciously loud, but his body told a very different story.

He was retreating.

Relentlessly.

Every few steps, another drop of blood struck the pristine white canvas beneath his feet. Soon, dozens of crimson stains were scattered across the ring, and Nazario’s once-white competition uniform was becoming saturated with red.

The sight was beginning to alarm even some of the spectators.

Among them, perhaps no one was more distressed than Eduardo himself.

He sat rigidly in his seat, both arms folded tightly across his chest, his breathing becoming increasingly uneven. He couldn’t make out every word being exchanged inside the ring, but he didn’t need to. The sight alone was enough to make his stomach tighten.

Beside him, Giovanni shifted uneasily in his seat.

"Hey, Don Eduardo... is this even allowed?" he asked. "Jordan and Lady Ariana are teaming up against Nazario instead of fighting each other."

Eduardo nodded grimly.

"It is perfectly allowed. Though it has happened only rarely throughout the history of the competition."

Giovanni winced as another clash of steel echoed through the warehouse.

"Ah..." His gaze returned to the ring. "Then Nazario is really out of luck right now. He hasn’t even landed a single strike yet."

He shook his head in disappointment.

"How unfortunate. And yet, I expected Nazario to be better than this. You said he believes nothing in the world has ever truly challenged him?"

A faint laugh escaped.

"Apparently... he has now."

Eduardo had absolutely nothing to say to that.

As a father, he knew better than anyone that Jordan possessed an enormous advantage over Nazario whenever a machete was placed in his hands. Still, Eduardo had never imagined seeing this.

His second son was being cornered.

Driven backward.

Forced to run.

And all of it was happening in front of nearly every influential member of the four Houses present.

Eduardo’s gaze lingered on Jordan’s expression as he relentlessly pursued Nazario. There was something frightening about the fury etched across Jordan’s face.

Eduardo’s brow furrowed.

’Why does Jordan seem so aggressive and furious today?’

’This is so unlike him.’

’At this rate, Nazario is going to be injured badly enough to be forced off the ring.’

The thought had barely settled when Jordan made another sweeping lunge. His machete came down with such force that Nazario had no choice but to meet it with everything he had.

CLANG!

The impact forced Nazario’s knees to buckle.

Before he could recover, Jordan kicked hard into his thigh.

"Argh—!"

Nazario stumbled.

A heartbeat later, Jordan’s boot slammed directly into his already battered chest.

"Ugh—!"

Nazario lost his balance and crashed onto his back.

His machete flew from his hand and skittered across the canvas.

CLINK. CLANG. CLUNK.

Before Nazario could even roll over, Jordan was already standing above him.

The tip of his machete came to rest right beneath Nazario’s chin.

’Yield?’

’No!’

’I can’t yield!’

’I can’t lose in front of all these people!’

’I’ve gotta prove that I’m better than this bastard!’

’I’ve gotta—’

CLING!

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