Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 33

Chapter 33: "Notably Strange"

Silence slammed into the ballroom so abruptly it felt physical.

Micaela Accardi’s face twisted instantly — not into elegant outrage or restrained offense, but something uglier.

Raw, visceral fury.

Stripped bare and no longer interested in manner or civility.

Beside Aren, Natalia stared openly.

Farther down the table, Lucilla’s smile vanished in a single blink, while Corinna seemed to freeze mid-breath.

Even Chiara, for the span of a heartbeat, looked genuinely caught off guard.

Then, the whispers began.

Quiet at first.

Then louder.

Faster.

Spreading through the ballroom like a spark running across spilled oil.

"Did she just call Isidore Accardi ’master’?"

"Oh my God. So the rumors are true!"

"She just admitted it publicly—"

"She’s literally his purchased pet—"

The room detonated all at once.

Women leaned openly across tables to speak into one another’s ears.

Reporters bent their heads over phones and notebooks with frantic urgency.

Camera flashes burst relentlessly from every direction, capturing every second of the scandal unfolding in real time.

Lucilla now looked seconds away from achieving spiritual ascension through sheer media ecstasy.

At the edge of the commotion, Corinna saw a golden chance to shine. Without hesitation, she stepped toward the table, vicious delight already blazing across her face.

"My God, Ariana Lombardi," she announced loudly, making sure the entire ballroom could hear her. "I genuinely thought your new style meant you’d finally developed some shame."

She pressed a hand dramatically against her chest, as though personally wounded by the collapse of public morality.

"But apparently, I was very wrong."

Laughter rippled immediately through the room.

Corinna’s smile widened with deeper satisfaction. She turned elegantly toward the audience and spread one hand, as though presenting a stage performance.

"My dear ladies," she declared grandly, "I present to you the bravest and most shameless woman in Borgata."

The ballroom erupted.

Some women covered their mouths while laughing hysterically. Others made no effort whatsoever to pretend they were civilized at all.

Several reporters were now typing so quickly their fingers looked blurred. Even Natalia looked away to conceal the curl of satisfaction at the corner of her mouth.

At the center of it all, Aren stood very still.

Her expression did not change. No panic, no humiliation. Only that quiet, attentive stillness that had unsettled trained killers before.

’The people here are... notably strange.’

Her gaze drifted slowly across the ballroom, taking it all in.

Faces twisted with delight.

Women mocking someone they barely knew.

People recording humiliation like entertainment.

For the briefest moment, something softer crossed her features.

’Brothers used to laugh at me often.’

’But not like this.’

’Not this... cruelly.’

Very quickly, Aren reached a conclusion.

’This is an inefficient use of attention.’

Her focus shifted away from the women entirely and toward the servants circulating through the ballroom. The Ombra operative was supposed to be disguised among them.

Her gaze moved rapidly from one server to another as they crossed between tables, carrying silver trays with lowered gazes.

’Not this one.’

’No concealed weapon shape.’

’Nope.’

’No combat stance.’

’Not him.’

’Not him either.’

Her attention sharpened further, narrowing into the cold focus she used on battlefields...

Until Chiara suddenly stepped directly into her line of sight.

Chiara addressed the room loudly enough to reclaim everyone’s attention at once.

"Excuse me," she said, distress woven so skillfully into her voice it sounded almost sincere. "I hate interrupting everyone’s fun, but as hostess of this luncheon, I must ask for respect toward my guest."

Her expression softened with regret as she turned toward Aren.

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