Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 57

Chapter 57: "Her Bread Is Edible"

The tiny spoonful of ice cream hovered inches from Caio’s mouth.

He glanced down at the concoction perched upon it. The color was a vivid orange-red, marbled with an ominous black swirl that wound through it like a trail leading deeper into some culinary nightmare.

Looking at it, he experienced the first genuine regret he had felt since suggesting the purchase of the ice cream machine.

Then, he looked at Aren.

She was watching him with bright, hopeful eyes and an eager tilt of her head, waiting so intently for his verdict that refusal ceased to be a realistic option.

Caio swallowed.

Offered a silent prayer to whatever higher power oversaw reckless culinary experimentation.

Then opened his mouth.

The ice cream melted almost instantly on his tongue.

Across from him, Aren held her breath, scrutinizing every flicker of his expression for signs of revulsion. To her surprise, the tension in his face began to ease the moment he closed his mouth.

’Wait a minute...’ he tasted it slowly. ’This is... not poisonous.’

His eyes widened ever so slightly at the realization. A thoughtful calm settled over him as he started seriously assessing the layers of flavor unfolding across his palate.

"So?" Aren asked, her brows knitting together anxiously. "Is it... bad?"

Caio remained silent for another moment, carefully evaluating the taste.

"It’s actually... good," he admitted at last.

When he looked up, his voice had softened considerably.

"Another spoonful?"

"Hey."

Jordan’s voice cut through the moment.

Seated several chairs away, he had been waiting with increasingly visible impatience.

"Your turn is over," he muttered. "It’s my turn now."

Caio shot him an irritated glare, already preparing a response, but Aren had turned away before he could speak. Picking up a clean spoon, she carefully scooped another serving from the container and offered it to Jordan.

"If it’s terrible, you have to be completely honest with me, all right?" she said seriously.

Jordan accepted the bite.

Unlike Caio, who had taken his time reaching a conclusion, Jordan reacted immediately. Surprise flashed across his features the instant the flavor hit.

"This is amazing," he said, staring down at the container as though he could not reconcile its sinister appearance with its taste. "How did you even come up with this?"

Aren looked genuinely surprised herself, as if the success of the experiment had caught her off guard.

"I just wanted to try something a little different," she admitted shyly.

"Different is an understatement." Jordan shook his head. "I’m certain there’s nothing like this anywhere else in Borgata. If you ever open a shop, I’ll be your first customer."

A vivid blush spread across Aren’s cheeks.

"Actually..." She shifted nervously in her seat. "I do want to open a shop someday. Not just for ice cream. I want to open a bakery that serves ice cream too."

"You do?" Jordan asked, intrigued.

Even Caio looked over, openly surprised.

Aren nodded shyly.

"...Yes."

"Do you have any samples available right now?" Jordan asked. "I’d love to try your baking."

"They ran out this morning." Her shoulders dipped slightly. "I gave everyone in the house a piece. But... you might not have liked it anyway. Judging by their reactions, it seems my bread is still fairly disastrous."

"Disastrous?" Jordan raised a skeptical brow. "How bad could it possibly be?"

Aren offered a sheepish smile.

"Pretty bad."

Across the table, Caio gave a solemn nod.

"Her bread is edible."

Had any member of the household staff been present, every one of them would have silently endorsed that assessment.

Jordan seized the opportunity immediately.

’Perfect. A chance to spend more time with her.’

"I could always come over," he offered casually. "Help you in the kitchen with your baking."

Aren’s eyes lit up at once.

"Absolutely not."

Caio’s interruption landed like a gunshot.

His gaze sharpened into something lethal.

"Take one more step inside my estate after tonight, and you won’t be leaving with functional legs."

Aren ignored the threat entirely.

"You know how to bake?" she asked, turning toward Jordan. "Can you teach me?"

"Of course I know how," Jordan lied without the slightest hesitation. "What do you want to learn? Ciabatta? Focaccia? Tiramisu? I can teach you desserts too."

The truth was that he had never voluntarily entered the kitchen of the Marchetti estate in his life. He was already making plans to spend every available hour of his next break begging the family chef to transform him into a competent baker before anyone discovered the deception.

Aren, however, believed him completely. Her eyes seemed to grow brighter with every item he listed.

"And panna cotta, too?"

Jordan nodded confidently.

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