Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 47

Chapter 47: "Mother-In-Law"

Inside the sitting room, Jordan sat rigidly on one of the sofas, both hands resting flat against his thighs.

Although none of the nearby maids dared stare openly, the frequency of their glances made it obvious that he had become the center of attention.

The reason was not difficult to understand.

Jordan Marchetti was simply hard to ignore. Though still young, he possessed the kind of presence that naturally drew the eye.

Broad shoulders stretched beneath the dark fabric of his clothes, and years spent working with machinery, weapons, and physical labor had carved powerful muscle across his frame.

His skin carried the bronzed color of someone who spent more time outdoors than in offices, while the sharp lines of his face held a rugged sort of handsomeness that felt entirely different from the polished refinement favored by Borgata’s elite.

Unfortunately, the severity etched into every line of his features discouraged prolonged admiration. Most of the maids who glanced his way quickly looked elsewhere.

Little did any of them know that the intimidating expression currently fixed on Jordan’s face had nothing to do with danger.

’What should I tell her when she arrives?’

’What am I supposed to talk about on the drive back?’

’The contract?’

’Weapons?’

’Workshop expansion plans?’

’Wedding venue?’

Jordan frowned.

’No. Wait. Wait, wait, wait.’

’Too early.’

’Way too early.’

His jaw tightened.

’Maybe ring size first.’

Across the room, several maids exchanged nervous glances. From their perspective, the Marchetti heir looked increasingly dangerous with every passing second.

A few moments later, the doors to the sitting room opened.

Aren entered with Biscuit trotting happily at her heels, while Mrs. Pecora followed close behind, accompanied by one of the younger maids.

The instant Jordan saw her, he rose to his feet so quickly it bordered on military reflex.

"Ariana," he greeted with a short nod.

His spine straightened.

His shoulders squared.

His hands settled neatly at his sides.

He looked less like a man greeting a friend and more like a soldier reporting for duty.

Aren tilted her head curiously.

’Why is he suddenly so formal today?’

She moved ahead of Mrs. Pecora and the maids, crossing the room toward him.

"Jordan," she greeted. "It’s good to see you again."

Jordan remained perfectly still as she drew closer. For reasons he would have struggled to explain, his throat seemed to grow drier with every step she took.

"G-good to see you too," he managed.

Then, his mind promptly abandoned him.

’God, what should I say next...?’

’I’m not a teenage boy anymore.’

’I’m already twenty-one.’

’God.’

’Come to me, words.’

He swallowed hard.

Nothing came.

Fortunately, Biscuit arrived to rescue him from complete conversational collapse.

With an excited bark, the little dog launched himself forward and began circling Jordan’s legs enthusiastically, his tail wagging so violently it looked in danger of detaching itself.

Jordan blinked before a reluctant smile escaped him. Crouching down, he rubbed the scruffy dog’s head.

"Hello there, Biscuit. Good to see you too."

Aren watched with quiet curiosity.

Compared to the cautious distance Biscuit always maintained around Caio during dinner — the way he never lingered too close or dared beg for scraps from the Sartori Don — the difference was remarkable.

Without thinking much of it, she stepped closer and crouched beside Jordan, joining him in petting Biscuit.

"Biscuit seems to love seeing you," she said, scratching beneath Biscuit’s chin. "Would you mind if I brought him along today? I know I’m supposed to be working, but if I leave him alone in my room, he gets lonely and pouty."

Jordan looked up the moment he sensed her moving closer.

For one horrifying second, his brain ceased functioning.

She was close.

Very close.

Close enough that he could catch the faint scent of vanilla lingering on her clothes.

Close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.

Heat immediately climbed his neck. Before it could betray him completely, he shifted back just enough to create a little space between them.

"I don’t mind at all," Jordan said, far more stiffly than intended. "He’s visited the workshop before, hasn’t he? He can... um... certainly come again."

Biscuit barked instantly, as though personally endorsing the arrangement.

"Thank you again, Jordan." Aren smiled softly. "You’re very kind."

’Too dark.’

’Too edgy.’

’Posture too stiff.’

’Good taste in cologne. But far too eager around Lady Ariana.’

’Much too eager.’

’Next time?’

’There’s a next time?’

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