Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 61

Chapter 61: "Just The Cheek?"

Aren woke slowly to warmth.

For several quiet seconds, she simply lay still, suspended in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness.

The room remained dim beneath the morning light filtering through the curtains. She found herself tucked securely against a broad chest, strong arms still wrapped around her as though they had never loosened during the night.

Carefully, she shifted her head and glanced over her shoulder.

Caio was still asleep.

His eyes remained closed, his breathing deep and even. Each slow rise and fall of his chest pressed gently against her back in a steady, comforting rhythm.

’Is he not working today?’

The thought surprised her.

’He often leaves very early in the morning...’

What surprised her even more, however, was the absence of something she had quietly come to expect.

The nightmares. The tension that would seize his body without warning.

But last night, there had been nothing. She had fallen asleep in his arms and remained there peacefully until morning.

Looking at him now, she found his expression unusually calm. The perpetual strain she so often noticed around his eyes and mouth seemed absent.

He looked younger somehow. Less burdened.

A tiny smile touched her lips.

’If I could keep Don Caio like this, I would do anything.’

Tentatively, she turned within his embrace. Moving carefully so she wouldn’t disturb him, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.

The instant her lips touched his skin, a deep voice rumbled through the quiet room.

"Just the cheek?"

Aren froze completely.

Heat exploded across her face so quickly she thought she might spontaneously combust.

Her lips remained suspended against his cheek for a fraction of a second before she jerked back in alarm.

"I’m very sorry!" she blurted. "Did I wake you?"

She immediately attempted a retreat.

Unfortunately, retreat proved impossible.

Caio’s arms tightened around her waist before she could escape, drawing her firmly back against him.

A low breath of amusement escaped him.

"You did," he said.

His nose brushed gently against hers.

"Now make up for it."

The casual intimacy of the gesture nearly stopped Aren’s heart. Warmth spread from her face all the way to her ears.

"...How?" she asked softly.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment.

"Just what you’ve been doing."

He leaned forward and returned the earlier gesture with a kiss against her cheek.

"But on my lips."

Aren blinked.

"We kissed a lot last night," she pointed out with complete sincerity. "Were you not satisfied?"

The question earned her a look that immediately made her realize she had perhaps asked the wrong thing.

Caio’s patience, apparently, had already reached its limit. Rather than answering properly, he simply closed the distance himself.

"I’m afraid I’m nowhere near satisfied," he murmured against her lips.

His voice dropped lower.

"Not with you."

What followed left Aren thoroughly incapable of forming coherent thoughts for quite some time afterward.

By the time reason finally began reasserting itself, both of them remained tangled together beneath the blankets, neither displaying any real intention of leaving the bed.

"We should go," Caio finally breathed.

The declaration might have sounded more convincing had his attention not remained entirely fixed on her. One hand was still gripping her breast, squeezing obsessively, while the other dug deep into her ass.

Aren looked up at him.

"You said that five minutes ago."

A faint smile tugged at her lips.

"And ten minutes before that."

A rough laugh escaped him.

"I know."

The response carried the weary resignation of a man losing a battle he fully understood he needed to win.

At last, with visible effort, he withdrew his attention and pushed himself upright, pulling Aren up with him.

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

The mansion had already awakened by the time they descended the stairs. Servants moved throughout the halls carrying trays, linens, and stacks of paperwork.

The moment Caio and Aren appeared together, however, an entirely different atmosphere swept through the estate.

Every maid, every footman, every servant suddenly became extraordinarily interested in anything that was not directly in front of them.

The marble floor became fascinating.

The walls became fascinating.

Several decorative flower arrangements suddenly demanded immediate inspection.

Anything was preferable to openly staring.

After all, the household had spent the previous day quietly anticipating a prolonged cold war between the Don and his lady following the Marchetti heir incident.

Yet, instead, Aren walked through the halls now with pink cheeks while Caio casually held her hand. The contrast had nearly broken several people’s understanding of reality.

Even more alarming was Caio himself.

The perpetually cold expression capable of freezing an entire room had softened into something almost unrecognizable: the corners of his lips seemed permanently inclined toward a faint smile.

Still, everyone considered themselves fortunate for one particular reason. At least Aren had remained in his bed long enough to miss her morning bread campaign.

When they reached the kitchen, Mrs. Pecora was already waiting, as always.

The veteran Head of Staff maintained her professional composure admirably. Internally, however, she was experiencing a personal crisis.

The Don was smiling — not often, not accidentally — but actually smiling.

And he had slept in.

Neither event belonged within normal operating parameters.

"Sir. My lady."

Mrs. Pecora inclined her head politely.

"Breakfast is ready."

They soon settled at the large table.

Aren chose a seat beside Caio near the head.

Tea, coffee, fruit, eggs, butter, and fresh bread had already been arranged before them. Notably, the bread was made by Mrs. Pecora. A fact the household appreciated greatly.

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