Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 41

Chapter 41: "Master Sartori"

The violence did not stop with the first punch.

The instant Isidore’s head straightened from the impact, blood still scattering in thin crimson droplets across the marble floor, Caio lunged again.

This time, there was no restraint left in him.

The years of discipline, calculation, and political civility that had allowed him to rule Borgata’s underworld without drowning the city in open war had evaporated completely beneath the flood of rage boiling through his bloodstream.

His fist tore through the air, driving straight toward Isidore’s throat with enough force to crush cartilage.

Yet suddenly—

In a heartbeat—

Isidore moved.

Not clumsily.

Not desperately.

And nothing like a consigliere scrambling to defend himself from a stronger opponent.

With terrifying precision, Isidore slipped sideways at the very last second — just as Caio’s fist grazed past his shoulder by mere millimeters.

Before Caio could even register the miss, the counter landed.

A brutal strike drove straight into Caio’s ribs, the heavy impact echoing savagely through the quiet lobby.

THWACK!

Caio’s eyes widened instantly.

Not from the pain that lanced across his ribs like shattered glass.

From sheer shock.

’This motherfucker can fight?’

Nothing about Isidore’s cold, immaculate appearance suggested he possessed this level of violence.

In his tailored suit and silver-rimmed glasses, he looked like a man who destroyed lives through signatures and bank accounts, not with his bare hands.

Yet this—

This accuracy.

This sheer force.

This was the movement of a trained killer.

Caio staggered half a step backward before recovering instantly, adrenaline detonating harder through his veins as the realization hit him.

"YOU’RE A DEAD MAN, FUCKER—!"

He surged forward again with violent force, fist launching toward Isidore’s throat at a vicious angle.

Isidore only twisted aside with frightening calm, catching Caio’s wrist before driving an elbow sharply toward his jaw.

"We’ll see who dies first," Isidore replied coldly.

Even now, his face remained perfectly calm, as though they were discussing market projections instead of trying to murder each other in the center of his very own tower.

The two men crashed through a nearby desk hard enough to splinter the wood apart. Two minutes later, one decorative marble side table literally exploded apart after Caio kicked Isidore through it.

Within moments, the pristine ground floor of Accardi Tower resembled a battlefield.

Overturned furniture.

Broken marble.

Blood streaked across polished white stone.

Behind the reception desk, the receptionist had abandoned her professionalism entirely. She curled beneath the counter like a civilian trapped in an active war zone, hands trembling over her head.

"Oh my God," she whispered repeatedly, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—"

Around her, employees evacuated in panic, while security personnel stood frozen in complete paralysis.

No one — not one single person inside Accardi Tower — possessed the suicidal courage required to physically interfere when Caio Sartori and Isidore Accardi were trying very sincerely to kill each other.

Amid the unfolding violence and destruction, Aren stood several feet away.

Completely untouched.

Her eyes followed Isidore first.

’Oh...’

’Master Accardi knows how to fight?’

She watched the angle of his shoulders.

The precision of his footwork.

The efficient conservation of movement behind every strike and the lack of emotional overexertion.

’Perfect angle.’

’Good force control.’

’A professional.’

There were practically stars in her eyes.

Then, her attention shifted toward Caio.

His style was completely different. No restraint, no elegance.

Just raw aggression, like a predator trying to tear apart another predator through sheer murderous instinct and overwhelming force.

’Don Caio is not bad as well.’

Aren watched with fascinated focus, mentally cataloging strengths, weaknesses, movement patterns...

Until her gaze lowered toward the blood streaking down the side of Caio’s face.

’Wait a minute...’

Her thoughts halted abruptly.

’He hired me as his bodyguard.’

Another punch narrowly missed Caio’s head, smashing into marble hard enough to fracture stone.

’...I’m supposed to protect him.’

The realization snapped her instantly out of observation mode.

Without hesitation, she moved.

One second she stood near the wrecked reception desk.

The next, she launched herself directly into the fight.

Both men barely had time to react before Aren slipped between them and wrapped herself around Isidore from behind, restraining him with startling force.

The sudden contact shocked both men into stillness, their fists hanging mid-swing.

Before either could utter a single word, Aren leaned closer toward Isidore’s ear.

"I’m very sorry, Master Accardi," she whispered politely. "But I cannot allow you to injure my client."

Isidore’s thoughts stalled completely.

’What—’

He never finished the thought.

In one impossibly fluid motion, Aren shifted her hips, grabbed his arm, and threw him cleanly across the floor.

The movement happened so smoothly it bordered on unreal. Isidore hit the marble on his back, Aren landing atop him and pinning him in place before he could counter.

The force should have injured him, dislocating a joint or at least knocking the breath from his lungs. Instead, there was no pain, no damage at all.

She had redirected every ounce of momentum flawlessly.

Flat against the ruined marble floor, Isidore stared up in complete stillness at the small body pressing down on him.

His face remained perfectly calm. Inside, however, every instinct he possessed was cataloging the technique with frightening speed.

’Extreme precision.’

’Elite-level redirection.’

’Minimal collateral damage during restraint.’

’Military-grade.’

’No.’

A pause.

’Worse.’

Across from them, Caio’s murderous rage had cooled slightly the moment Aren intervened.

But then...

He saw her sitting on top of Isidore.

Pinning him beneath her body. Close enough that Isidore’s hand still rested against her waist from the earlier struggle.

Caio’s blood pressure skyrocketed at once and all over again.

"You’re really calling this fucker master?"

"We’re leaving. NOW!"

’Next time I see you, you’re fucking dead.’

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify