Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 24

Chapter 24: "I Also Like Drugs A Lot"

Accardi District.

7:30 PM, Wednesday.

By the time the Sartori car glided into the underground parking structure beneath the destination tower, Borgata’s nightlife was already in full swing.

Inside the back cabin, Aren sat beside Caio with her notebook spread carefully across her lap, her pen moving steadily across the page.

Caio stole a glance at her.

The crimson dress she wore tonight spilled around her legs like dark wine against the black leather seats, giving her a quiet, almost otherworldly presence, yet she didn’t quite seem to notice any of that.

Her entire focus remained deadlocked on him and whatever she was scribbling down.

He looked away, adjusting the cuff of his black sleeve as he delivered the final part of her briefing.

"Remember," he said evenly, "Ariana hates oysters and fish. Not casually. She hates them enough that most upscale restaurants in Borgata already know it."

"Understood."

"And drinks," he continued. "She prefers cocktails over wine. Strong cocktails. Sazeracs. Negronis. If you order a martini, make it extra dry."

Aren paused mid-writing.

"...Saze... what?"

Caio turned toward her, skepticism plain on his face.

"You don’t drink much, do you?"

Her face brightened instantly.

"I’ve had white wine," she announced proudly. "And apple cider."

For a long moment, Caio simply stared at her.

"Go for anything except white wine and cider tonight," he said at last.

Aren’s expression fell.

"But white wine tastes really good..."

He released a slow breath through his nose. Against his better judgment, the edge in his voice softened.

"...You’re only allowed to drink white wine when it’s just you and me."

Aren blinked. "Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Oh."

She considered the matter carefully. Finding no reason to argue, she nodded obediently.

"Okie!"

The word hit Caio like psychological warfare.

Beside him, Aren was already deadpanning back to her notepad, scratching out a fresh line: No white wine and cider in public.

She glanced back up.

"Anything else?"

"Leo and the others will remain outside the restaurant entrance," Caio replied. "If something goes wrong, fire one shot and they’ll storm the building."

Aren nodded thoughtfully.

"Should I order dinner for them afterward?"

"No."

Her shoulders drooped slightly.

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

The car finally came to a smooth stop.

A few moments later, the elevator carried them toward the rooftop level. When the doors slid open, warm light and soft jazz spilled into view.

The rooftop overlooked nearly the entire Accardi District skyline.

Wednesday night crowds filled nearly every table.

Couples laughed over wine.

Servers moved gracefully between tables balancing trays of wine and desserts.

Near the entrance, Leo and the security detail spread out naturally without drawing attention, while Caio entered the restaurant with Aren at his side.

The moment they stepped inside, heads began turning automatically.

Not toward Caio.

Toward Aren.

The crimson dress alone commanded attention long before anyone recognized her face. Once they did, whispers immediately spread through the restaurant like sparks catching dry paper.

"...That’s Ariana Lombardi."

"Who’s the man she’s with?"

"He’s so young and handsome—"

"She changes lovers like changing clothes."

At the far end of the dining room, a heavyset man in a navy suit rose quickly from his chair and approached with a practiced smile.

"Don Caio," he greeted, already extending his hand.

Caio stepped forward to meet him halfway.

"Mister Lamon."

The two men shook hands firmly.

Pietro Lamon appeared composed enough at first glance, but the restaurant lighting revealed a faint sheen of sweat gathering around his temples.

His gaze shifted quickly toward Aren.

"Lady Ariana," he greeted smoothly.

Before she could react, he lifted her hand and pressed a courteous kiss against her knuckles.

"A pleasure, my lady."

Aren managed a slightly flustered smile.

"Thank you very much."

Across from them, Caio’s expression remained perfectly neutral.

Internally, however, a considerably less diplomatic thought surfaced.

’Take your hand off her before I remove them permanently.’

Fortunately for Pietro Lamon’s continued existence, he released her hand almost immediately.

"Well now, Don Caio," Pietro laughed politely. "You’re full of surprises tonight. I didn’t expect you to bring Lady Ariana."

A faint smirk touched Caio’s mouth.

"Didn’t you complain during our last meeting that bringing security implied I didn’t trust this partnership?"

Pietro laughed a little too quickly.

"Very thoughtful of you, Don Caio."

He gestured toward the prepared table overlooking the skyline.

"Please. Have a seat."

Aren’s gaze drifted past Caio toward the table waiting near the glass edge overlooking the skyline. Just as he took a step forward, she reached out and caught the sleeve of his jacket.

Caio looked down immediately.

"Problem?"

Aren leaned closer.

"Sorry," she whispered. "That table position is bad."

His brow lifted almost imperceptibly.

"Convenient sniper sightlines from those buildings," she murmured, eyes flicking toward two nearby skyscrapers. "Especially the northwest corner. Could we use a private room instead? I noticed several on the way in."

Caio looked at her for exactly one second.

Without a question, he turned smoothly back toward Pietro.

"Mister Lamon, why don’t we get a private room instead?"

At that exact moment, a subtle shift swept across the restaurant.

A nearby couple stopped laughing mid-conversation.

A waiter carrying panna cotta froze halfway across the floor.

Two guests glanced briefly toward Pietro before immediately looking away again.

Then, just as quickly, everything resumed as though nothing had happened.

Music.

Conversation.

Movement.

The waiter hurried toward the kitchen with visible tension in his shoulders.

’Oh.’

’They serve panna cotta here.’

’Interesting.’

’Last meeting he fought every clause like a starving dog protecting scraps.’

’Tonight he’s suddenly cooperative.’

’Like a man desperately trying not to upset someone.’

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