Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 51

Chapter 51: "You’ve Done Well"

Jordan startled immediately.

Partly because the interruption had come at the worst possible moment, and partly because he recognized the voice at once.

He didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was. A sharp exhale escaped him as his hands loosened around Aren’s waist.

"Oscar," he groaned. "I already put the room on reserved status. Didn’t you see?"

Aren pushed herself upright and slipped free of Jordan’s hold, turning her attention toward the doorway.

The newcomer — apparently Oscar — looked to be no older than eighteen.

Despite his age, he was already tall and broad-shouldered, with the balanced posture and controlled musculature of someone who had trained for years.

Most striking of all, however, were his dark brown hair and hazel eyes.

The resemblance to Jordan was unmistakable.

"Is this the Lombardi lady everyone keeps talking about?" Oscar asked, tilting his head as he openly studied Aren. "She’s prettier than I imagined."

The comment immediately sent an unpleasant sensation down Jordan’s spine.

"Keep your opinions to yourself," he said curtly. "Go use the gym next door. This one’s occupied."

Reluctantly, Jordan sat upright and helped Aren settle comfortably beside him on the mat.

Oscar, however, showed no intention of leaving. If anything, his curiosity only seemed to deepen as he stepped farther into the room, his attention fixed entirely on Aren.

"I heard Father hired her as our consultant," he said lightly. "Does that mean she’s eligible to join the Trials too?"

Aren turned toward Jordan.

"The Trials?"

Jordan dragged a hand through his hair.

"Just an internal competition held within House Marchetti," he explained. "We call it the Marchetti Trials. Employees, soldiers, capos... anyone can enter."

"That’s right," Oscar added. "You’re joining, Lombardi?"

"Hey." Jordan shot him a sharp look. "Address her properly. At least call her Miss Lombardi. You’re younger than she is."

Oscar clicked his tongue dramatically.

"Fine, fine. Miss Lombardi. Lady Ariana. Whatever."

Aren looked between the two brothers with growing interest.

"What’s this competition about?" she asked. "What’s the prize? Do I win a very special weapon, perhaps?"

"A very special one, indeed," Oscar replied immediately.

He seemed delighted to have a receptive audience. Straightening himself slightly, he launched into the explanation with all the enthusiasm of a salesman advertising his favorite product.

"A fully customized personal weapon, designed and built by the Marchetti workshops from start to finish. You tell us exactly what you want, and we make it. Unless they’re cannons and artillery, of course. Anything you can carry, we can build."

Aren’s eyes brightened instantly.

"Woah..."

The excitement on her face was so genuine that Oscar found himself grinning despite himself.

"That sounds like an amazing prize," she added. "Do I get a lot of money too?"

Oscar barked out a laugh.

"You really are obsessed with money like everyone says, huh, Miss Lombardi?"

"Watch your language," Jordan muttered.

"It’s fine," Aren said cheerfully.

She turned toward Oscar with a bright smile.

"I do like money a lot! Money can help pay off my debts, support my family, and secure our future. I can also buy lots of cakes for myself and treats for Biscuits and ingredients to make ice cream."

The statement was delivered with such straightforward sincerity and an almost childlike honesty that both brothers found themselves staring at her.

Biscuit, who had somehow remained contentedly seated in the corner the entire time, let out a bark of approval, as if endorsing her priorities.

Eventually, a small smile tugged at the corner of Jordan’s mouth despite the irritation Oscar’s presence continued to cause him.

"If you really want to know, I’ll explain it later," Jordan said. "But for now..."

His gaze shifted sharply back toward his younger brother.

"Get lost, Oscar. You’re not even old enough to compete yet, so why are you asking? And our sparring session is over. You’re not joining anything."

Oscar rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Fine. Keep your cold future-Don act, Jordan."

A mischievous smirk slowly spread across Oscar’s face.

"But you’ve heard Nazario is joining this year, right? You won’t be the undefeated champion much longer, brother."

With that, Oscar turned and headed for the exit, though not before casting one final glance toward Aren.

The moment the door closed behind him, Jordan released a long sigh.

"Sorry about that," Jordan said. "That was Oscar, my youngest brother. He’s only sixteen. He hasn’t quite learned how to behave yet."

"Then..." Aren tilted her head. "Who’s Nazario?"

"That’s... the second youngest," Jordan replied. "The one between Oscar and me. He turned eighteen this year, so he’s finally old enough to compete."

He studied her expression carefully.

"Are you seriously considering joining?"

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