Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 42

Chapter 42: "Explain"

The moment the elevator doors sealed shut, cutting them off from the chaos, shattered marble, and stunned onlookers of Accardi Tower’s lobby, Caio turned toward Aren.

"Explain," he demanded sharply. "What sort of contract did you sign with Isidore Accardi?"

The question came out harsher than intended, but he no longer cared.

For weeks, he had endured enough rumors. No matter how completely his days had been consumed by meetings, territorial disputes, negotiations, and political maneuvering, whispers from House Accardi had still found their way to him.

More than once, Sartori business partners had grown bold enough to mention the stories during meetings — stories about Isidore Accardi acquiring Ariana Lombardi.

Keeping her.

Using her.

Treating her like some private amusement hidden away behind the walls of Accardi Tower.

Every time, Caio had shut the conversation down with a single look.

One cold glance.

One warning.

Sharp enough to remind grown men of the difference between gossip and a death wish.

Caio himself had ignored the rumors because they were ridiculous.

’Fucking filthy rumors.’

’She’s under my roof.’

’She doesn’t even go out to see Isidore Accardi.’

That certainty alone had always been enough.

Until today.

The entire encounter in the lobby had felt less like a provocation and more like a deliberate punch aimed directly at his face.

And somehow, despite the molten anger still burning beneath his ribs, Aren only looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes completely devoid of guilt.

"I’m very sorry, Don Caio. As much as I am obliged to remain transparent with you regarding our contract, I cannot disclose details concerning my contract with Master Accardi."

The title struck Caio like another blow.

His jaw flexed.

"Will you stop calling him that?! At the very least, not in front of me?"

Aren stiffened, taken aback by his sudden rage.

"My apologies. I will refrain from doing so."

Then, almost instantly, her attention shifted elsewhere. She dipped a hand into the pocket of her dress and withdrew a small folded piece of paper.

Caio glanced toward it despite himself, his irritation faltering as he noticed the tiny, tightly packed lines of handwriting covering the page.

"What is that?"

Aren brightened immediately.

"My notes. I received many questions about Ariana Lombardi from news reporters when I arrived at the luncheon. Some of them asked things I couldn’t answer immediately."

She held up the paper.

"Would you please help me?"

The warm trust in her eyes cooled some of the rage threatening to consume him.

Only some.

"Fine." He released a rough breath. "What did they ask?"

Aren lowered her gaze to the paper with complete seriousness.

"What is... social media?"

Caio blinked.

His brow furrowed.

"There’s no social media where you came from?"

"Nope." She shook her head. "We had internet and other things. Maybe social media existed in my world too, but I never checked."

"Hm." He considered for a moment. "It’s a place where people share their faces and personal lives online. For fame. Attention. Validation. Entertainment. Emotional dumping. Wasting time. Take your pick."

Aren nodded thoughtfully.

"I see."

She glanced down at her notes again.

"Next question."

Her brow creased.

"What is... a fetish relationship?"

Caio nearly choked on nothing.

For a split second, he wondered if the reporters had collectively lost their minds.

’What the fuck?!’

’Which idiot asked her that?’

’I’m gonna skin the fuck out of—’

Almost immediately, Caio knew exactly who the question had been about and why it had been asked, and the realization alone was enough to reignite the anger inside him.

He turned toward her so quickly his neck protested.

"Aren."

His voice was deadly serious.

"From now on, I am assigning someone to handle all press questions for you."

Aren blinked rapidly.

"Hah?"

"Do not answer reporters. Do not answer journalists. Do not answer random people with microphones. Do not answer anyone asking ridiculous questions."

She blinked.

Then blinked again.

"But why?"

"Because I said so."

"Oh."

Aren pondered that for a moment.

’Good relocation of my attention,’ she noted. ’Less risk of exposing my identity.’

Eventually, she nodded.

"Okie!"

Caio dragged a hand down his face.

Violently.

The elevator descended into the underground parking level. When the doors finally slid open, Leo and the waiting Sartori soldiers straightened at once.

Their eyes moved from Caio’s bloodied face to Aren’s perfectly untouched appearance.

Confusion spread across every expression present.

"...Boss?" Leo ventured carefully.

"Don’t ask," Caio muttered.

That was the only explanation everyone received.

The ride back to the Sartori estate passed beneath a blanket of silence. Caio spent most of it staring out the window, while Aren spent most of it looking disturbingly content.

’Thank God.’

’Only the Don is injured.’

’Professionalism.’

’Professionalism.’

’Pretty please?’

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