Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 56

Chapter 56: "Very Reasonable"

Caio Sartori stood silently in front of the refrigerator in his kitchen.

For a long moment, he simply stared.

Sixteen containers of ice cream had successfully colonized nearly the entire top half of the freezer.

Sixteen.

When he had instructed Mrs. Pecora to stock the kitchen with premium ingredients for homemade ice cream, he had imagined perhaps two containers.

Four, if enthusiasm got the better of Aren.

Six at the absolute maximum.

Sixteen, however, suggested that reason had never once entered the planning process.

Chocolate.

Vanilla.

Espresso.

Blood orange.

Several flavors Caio wasn’t entirely convinced should exist in ice cream form.

Slowly, he reached forward and closed the refrigerator door. The soft click echoed through the kitchen with unsettling finality.

Behind him stood nearly the entire household staff.

Or at least it felt that way.

Mrs. Pecora stood at the front of the gathering, flanked by a small army of maids who had spent the entire morning assisting Aren with her culinary ambitions.

Several of the younger girls looked moments away from fainting. Others, veterans of the increasingly chaotic Sartori household, had wisely lowered their gazes to the floor, silently praying to whichever god was currently on duty.

As always, Mrs. Pecora stepped forward to sacrifice herself on behalf of everyone else.

"Sir," she began carefully, "we believe Lady Ariana genuinely forgot to inform you of her departure."

Caio remained motionless.

His silence somehow felt worse than shouting.

Mrs. Pecora pressed on.

"This time, however, she did at least notify the household before leaving rather than disappearing without warning."

Still nothing.

"Given the circumstances... none of us had a particularly valid reason to prevent her departure."

No response.

Not even a glance.

Since receiving Mrs. Pecora’s phone call earlier that afternoon, Caio had spoken exactly zero words.

The news had reached him during a meeting.

"Sir, Lady Ariana has left the estate," Mrs. Pecora had said.

A careful pause.

"With... Jordan Marchetti."

Silence.

"...He is also taking her to dinner. And... he informed us he would not be returning Lady Ariana before nine."

The call had ended immediately afterward.

So had the meeting.

Caio had stood up without explanation and walked out, leaving behind several deeply confused business partners and an atmosphere cold enough to preserve corpses.

The memory alone made something unpleasant twist inside his chest. Without responding to Mrs. Pecora, Caio calmly exited the kitchen, entered the grand dining hall, and seated himself at the head of the endless table.

The moment he sat down, the staff sprang into motion.

Maids hurried to prepare dinner with frantic efficiency, though most of them were shaking so badly that silverware rattled against porcelain. None of them had the slightest idea what kind of catastrophe was currently forming beneath the Don’s perfectly composed exterior.

Caio, meanwhile, was not exactly paying attention to the trembling servants.

His mind was occupied with something considerably more important. Namely, the construction of an extremely detailed assassination plan.

’Would House Moretti accept a private contract?’

His thumb tapped slowly against the armrest.

’Surely they have experience handling troublesome heirs.’

A thoughtful pause.

’What if I offer a territory exchange?’

’A portion of Sartori District. In exchange for Jordan Marchetti’s unfortunate disappearance.’

The idea settled comfortably in his mind.

’Yes.’

’Very reasonable.’

Every so often, he gave a small approving nod to himself, as though arriving at a particularly elegant solution regarding Jordan Marchetti’s permanent removal from the mortal plane.

Each nod caused nearby maids to flinch.

No one dared ask what he was thinking.

No one wanted to know.

Eventually, hurried footsteps echoed beyond the grand double doors. A footman burst into the dining hall, looking as though he had sprinted across the entire estate without stopping.

He pointed frantically toward the front grounds.

"Sir! It’s Lady Ariana. She has officially returned to the estate."

Caio’s gaze snapped toward him instantly.

For the first time all evening, he spoke.

"She’s back?"

The footman swallowed.

"Yes, sir. She passed through the main security gates moments ago and is entering the parking lot now. The Marchetti heir drove her back personally."

Caio’s chair scraped across the floor so sharply every nearby maid nearly jumped out of her skin. Without asking another question, he rose and strode from the dining hall.

The footman immediately scrambled after him while Mrs. Pecora hurried to keep pace.

His long strides devoured corridor after corridor as he headed directly toward the front grounds. By the time he reached the parking lot, however, the sight awaiting him was so absurd that he stopped dead in his tracks.

Aren was easy enough to spot — she always was. Her platinum hair practically glowed beneath the estate lights.

Standing beside her was Jordan Marchetti, whose ridiculous height made him impossible to miss. He stood with Biscuit tucked under one arm. The little dog already looked exhausted, leaning his heavy head against Jordan with sleepy eyes, apparently having had a long day.

The truly baffling part of the scene, however, was none of the three. It was the dozen Sartori guards surrounding them.

More specifically...

What they were carrying.

Each man carried two enormous bakery boxes.

The pastel-colored containers were decorated with delicate floral designs, pastel ribbons, and enough decorative pink accents to induce psychological damage in any self-respecting hitman.

The result was deeply unsettling.

His top enforcers now looked less like a private security detail, and more like employees of some boutique pastry delivery company. Several of the guards seemed equally uncertain about their current career paths.

The contrast was so ridiculous that it temporarily short-circuited Caio’s anger.

’Ice cream.’

’Of course.’

’She only ever thinks about ice cream.’

’And cakes.’

’And bread.’

’Wait a minute.’

’She made all sixteen containers...’

’...For me?’

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify