Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 45

Chapter 45: "Who Do You Suspect?"

The detention level occupied an entire floor buried deep beneath the Sartori estate.

The deeper they descended, the colder the air became, carrying with it the sterile stillness of a place designed to contain dangerous men and darker secrets.

Caio walked at the front of the group, black gloves stretched taut across his hands.

Beside him, Aren adjusted the protective mask Leo had handed her moments earlier.

Her gaze swept over everything — the security cameras mounted along the ceilings, the reinforced checkpoints, the armed soldiers standing watch at every corridor — with the same quiet focus she brought to any unfamiliar environment.

Leo followed a step behind them with a tablet tucked beneath one arm.

Privately, he considered himself fortunate to still be alive. The murderous look Caio had given him after interrupting that bedroom scene had been enough to haunt him for years.

Caio, meanwhile, appeared perfectly composed.

The expression he wore was the one expected of a Don — calm, controlled, unreadable. Internally, however, only he knew how much irritation simmered beneath that flawless facade.

Another group of prisoners had died under his watch.

Another investigation had been cut off before reaching its source.

And perhaps most infuriating of all, Aren’s first attempt to kiss him of her own accord had been interrupted just milliseconds before her lips could meet his.

His gaze drifted toward her for a brief moment.

She was busy stretching the oversized protective gloves over her smaller hands, while studying the security infrastructure with wide, calm eyes and her usual slightly distant expression.

The sight eased his irritation.

Slightly.

Only slightly.

When they finally reached the last security checkpoint, Caio broke the silence.

"Who found them?"

"One of the soldiers assigned to the lower rotation, Boss," Leo replied. "Shift change happened twenty minutes ago. He opened the inspection corridor and found all of them already dead."

Caio’s expression darkened.

"And the interrogations?"

Leo exhaled slowly through his nose.

"Same result as every other attempt."

That answer told Caio almost everything he needed to know.

"The interrogations," he pressed. "Did they give us names?"

"Yes, Boss."

"Useful names?"

"No." Leo shook his head. "Every lead ran straight into a wall. False identities. Dead ends. Shell companies. The same pattern we saw with the previous assassination attempts."

Caio released a slow breath through his nose.

At this point, the pattern had become almost insulting. Every time they managed to capture assassins alive, the trail ended exactly the same way.

When Caio spoke again, irritation had tightened his voice.

"You brought them all into one room?"

"They’re already gathered together for examination, Boss," Leo answered immediately.

"Good."

The final steel door slid open.

Cold silence greeted them.

The soldiers already stationed inside stepped aside at once, making room for their Don and his second-in-command. More than a few glanced curiously toward the Lombardi heiress following right behind them.

The sight waiting inside was ugly.

Several bodies lay tangled together where they had collapsed. Others looked strangely peaceful, as though they had simply drifted to sleep. Near the center of the room rested Pietro, his lifeless eyes fixed on the ceiling.

What made the scene unsettling was the complete absence of violence. There were no gunshot wounds, no stab wounds, no visible signs of struggle.

Only death.

Caio crouched beside Pietro first.

One gloved hand turned the dead man’s jaw while the other examined his throat, wrists, and the exposed skin near his collar.

"What’s the preliminary assessment?"

"We believe it was poison," Leo replied.

"Any sign of injection?"

"None that we can find. Nothing obvious in the cell, either."

"Food?"

"Possible. It could also have been a needle, a dissolved compound, or something inhaled. We won’t know until the lab finishes its examination."

Caio’s jaw tightened.

His fingers continued their methodical inspection, searching for puncture marks, discoloration, swelling. Anything that might reveal how the toxin had entered the body.

"No foam," he murmured. "No cyanosis. No evidence of convulsions."

He moved on to the next corpse.

Then the next.

Every examination yielded the same frustrating result.

Nothing.

"No indicators that tell us what kind of poison was used," he concluded at last.

Leo nodded grimly.

"That’s the problem. There’s no obvious route of delivery. It happened the same way with the last two bodies from the earlier attempts. They were dead before they displayed any classic symptoms."

Several steps away, Aren listened quietly while observing the investigation with calm fascination.

She leaned slightly toward Pietro’s body, studying the dead man’s face.

There was no dramatic foaming at the mouth. No grotesque discoloration. No visible clue to explain how death had arrived.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of her. She extended one gloved finger toward Pietro’s cheek.

Caio caught the movement immediately.

"No!"

The single word cracked through the room like a whip.

Aren startled and looked over.

Caio was already on his feet and crossing the distance between them, disapproval flashing hot in his eyes.

"Don’t touch anything," he said firmly. "It could be dangerous."

Aren blinked, confused rather than offended.

"I’ll be careful. I have gloves."

"Still no." His response came sharper this time. "We don’t know how it was delivered or what form it takes. Until we know more, you don’t touch anything."

Aren looked from him to the body and back again, then nodded and withdrew her hand.

"All right."

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Jordan Marchetti.

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