Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 48

Chapter 48: "Ignore Discipline"

The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the silence beneath the main workshop buried deep within the Marchetti compound.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Four consecutive shots rolled through the underground range like thunder.

Aren lowered the pistol and studied the target positioned downrange.

Four impacts.

Four tight groupings.

Not perfect, but close.

"The recoil impulse becomes inconsistent after the third shot," she said calmly. "The trigger reset is also slightly too long for rapid engagement."

Behind her, Ricci frowned.

The pistol Aren held was not merely another prototype. It represented six months of development, countless revisions, and enough sleepless nights to permanently damage several engineers’ relationships with reality.

House Marchetti was already aggressively pushing to launch this exact model overseas next year.

"Lady Ariana, with all due respect," Ricci said, folding his arms tightly across his chest as if shielding his ego, "are you certain the trigger reset is actually the problem?"

Aren turned toward him.

"Yes."

The answer arrived so quickly, so utterly devoid of doubt, that Ricci looked personally offended. Several nearby technicians exchanged nervous glances, subtly stepping back.

Jordan, standing a few feet away with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, immediately recognized the warning signs of a corporate meltdown.

Over the past several hours, he had watched Aren dismantle engineering assumptions with the same casual ease most people used to comment on the weather. Every time she opened her mouth, another engineer seemed to suffer a minor existential crisis.

’She’s really out here destroying these men’s whole careers before dinner,’ Jordan thought, hiding a faint smirk.

But realizing things were about to get overly defensive, he decided to step in.

"Well," Jordan said carefully. "Maybe we should verify it first. Let’s hear what Ariana has in mind."

Aren gave him a small smile, low-key appreciative of the assist.

Walking back toward the workbench, she set the pistol down before turning her attention to the technical schematics spread across the table.

"May I?"

Ricci hesitated.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him not to hand over six months of work to someone who had spent less than fifteen minutes examining it.

Unfortunately, those same instincts had already watched her identify three separate design flaws in another project earlier that afternoon.

Reluctantly, he stepped aside.

Aren leaned over the engineering diagrams, scanning the complex lines.

"The weight distribution shifts here during rapid cycling."

Her finger tapped a specific section of the blueprint.

"Your solution compensates for the symptom rather than the cause."

She picked up a pencil and drew several precise lines directly over their clean work.

"The imbalance originates here. Once the slide reaches this point, momentum begins transferring unevenly."

Ricci frowned.

Then frowned harder.

He snatched the blueprint up from the table, pulling it inches from his face to examine it closely.

For nearly thirty seconds, the only sound in the room was the distant hum of the facility’s ventilation.

Then, Ricci slowly lifted his head.

"Oh."

A pause.

"Oh, damn."

The color visibly drained from his face.

The surrounding technicians didn’t even wait for permission. They immediately crowded around the diagram like moths to a flame.

Questions erupted.

Arguments followed.

By the time the discussion finally settled, Ricci looked as though he was questioning every decision he had made over the past six months.

’She’s terrifying.’

’She’s amazing.’

’I’ve spent six months on this thing and today is her first day consulting.’

’How did she even notice that?’

Every trace of skepticism had completely vanished from his expression, replaced entirely by pure admiration. Determined to capitalize on the miracle currently standing inside his workshop, Ricci immediately separated himself from the group and started toward Aren.

He was fully prepared to propose another six-hour testing session involving every unfinished prototype he possessed.

Unfortunately, he never got the opportunity.

The range doors swung open.

Eduardo Marchetti stepped inside.

An entourage of trusted men followed close behind him, all wearing expressions that perfectly mirrored their Don’s severe demeanor.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Every person in the room immediately acknowledged the arrival of the head of House Marchetti. The greeting rippled through the workshop in hushed tones.

"Boss."

Ricci stepped forward, trying to salvage his professional composure.

"You’ve come for inspection, Boss?"

Eduardo gave a single nod.

"Inspection."

His voice was curt. Dismissive.

He didn’t even look at Ricci as he spoke.

His cold attention was already sweeping across the room in search of someone else. The moment his gaze landed on Jordan, the severity in his expression deepened into something deeply hostile.

Then his eyes shifted toward Aren, or more specifically, toward the fact that she was standing right beside his son.

Whatever irritation Eduardo had brought into the room immediately cooled into something much darker.

Without hesitation, Eduardo strode toward them.

"I spent the entire morning meeting partners," he said, each word a heavy threat, "and you spent that same time sneaking out to collect Miss Lombardi without a word. Right from Caio Sartori’s front door, no less."

Jordan met his father’s suffocating gaze without flinching. He had known this conversation was coming the second he started the car this morning.

’Inspection?’

He almost scoffed.

’More like an interrogation.’

Stepping forward, Jordan squared his shoulders, deliberately placing himself in front of Aren.

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