Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 38

Chapter 38: "Highest-Value Asset"

The line of black Sartori vehicles still waited outside the Grand Heritage Hotel like a funeral procession abandoned beneath the afternoon sun.

Leo stepped forward first and opened the rear passenger door himself.

Caio entered without a word.

Aren slipped inside after him.

The instant the door shut, the atmosphere inside the vehicle changed completely. Cold air lingered between them, heavy with the kind of silence that existed moments before violence.

Three long seconds passed.

Then, Caio turned toward her sharply.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

His voice stayed low. Controlled. Every syllable clipped with the precision only truly furious men possessed.

Aren blinked at him, visibly confused.

"Are you talking about... the luncheon?"

"Yes!" he snapped immediately. "The fucking luncheon!"

He dragged a hand harshly down his face, irritation and fury grinding together beneath his skin.

"Why did you even accept that invitation?" he demanded. "What exactly do you know about Chiara Leone? About any of those women in that room?"

His temper sharpened further with every sentence.

"One wrong answer! One strange reaction! Then what? Half the Borgata underworld starts hunting you down and your House loses everything before you can even repay the debt!"

Aren listened quietly through the entire lecture, gaze lowering in thought.

’He’s angry that I attended.’

’I can’t tell him about the Accardi mission.’

’But I can tell him about the other reasons.’

With complete sincerity, she answered,

"I accepted the invitation because I heard the food was very good."

Caio stared at her.

Blankly.

Aren continued in the same calm tone, entirely unaware she was driving his blood pressure toward homicide.

"The invitation letter also looked very pretty. And I tried to behave carefully."

Caio leaned back slowly against the seat.

For one long moment, he looked like a man whose soul had physically separated from his body.

’Food.’

’The invitation was pretty.’

’Christ alive.’

Very quickly, he came to a life-altering conclusion: this was not a psychological battle he could win.

Instead, he redirected toward an entirely different problem.

"You left my estate without informing anyone," he said flatly. "Not a single word to the staff. Not to Mrs. Pecora. Not to Leo. Not to me."

At the mention of Mrs. Pecora, Aren’s shoulders drew inward apologetically.

"I’m sorry," she said quietly. "Mrs. Pecora looked very busy. I thought interrupting her to announce I was leaving for lunch would be rude."

"And what about me?" Caio demanded at once, eyes narrowing.

Aren blinked at him.

"You and Leo were busy working."

His jaw tightened.

"That," he said sharply, "is exactly why phones exist. So send me a message. A text. Anything."

Aren looked mildly puzzled by the intensity of his frustration.

"You always seem tired lately," she said honestly. "And you haven’t joined me for dinner for days now."

Her gaze dropped toward her lap, voice softening with quiet regret.

"I thought you were very busy. I just... didn’t want to disturb you over something minor."

Caio went completely still.

The hot, burning rage in his chest stumbled violently against those words, completely deflating.

’She was worried about bothering me?’

He had been the one deliberately avoiding her since Wednesday night.

Avoiding her face.

Avoiding dinner.

Avoiding the suffocating memory of her beneath him in his bed.

Meanwhile, she had simply assumed he was overwhelmed with work and didn’t want to burden him. The guilt hit him with absurd force, tangled together with several other emotions he deeply didn’t wish to unpack right now.

For several seconds, he said nothing at all.

Then he leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, two fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose.

"Fine," he muttered tiredly. "Whatever. What do you want for lunch? I’ll take you somewhere else."

No answer came.

Caio frowned.

"Aren?"

He opened his eyes.

...And realized her attention had completely drifted away from him.

She was staring through the tinted window toward the street outside. More specifically, toward a narrow alley beside the hotel.

Caio followed her line of sight automatically. The alley looked empty. Nothing but shadowed brick walls, scattered trash bins, and strips of sunlight slicing between buildings.

His brow furrowed.

"What are you looking at?"

Aren never looked away from the window.

"I’m very sorry, Don Caio," she said quietly, "but I need to go out for a bit."

He turned toward her slowly.

"...What?"

’Unbelievable.’

’I’m Don Caio’s highest-value asset...’

’Asset protection is paramount to the client.’

’New objective: cut down operation time by half.’

’Return before client experiences unnecessary psychological stress.’

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