Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 62

Chapter 62: "Would You Like To Come Home?"

Moments later, Aren finally finished breakfast.

The dining hall had gradually emptied after Caio’s departure, the lingering shock among the staff settling into whispered disbelief and private confusion.

They had seen Caio Sartori sitting across from Ariana Lombardi countless times.

What they had never seen was the Don treating her with such open affection, such shameless tenderness, as though they were lovers still caught in the glow of a honeymoon.

Aren, meanwhile, remained blissfully unaware of the emotional devastation left behind in his wake. She carefully finished her tea and the last few bites of breakfast while mentally preparing herself for the rest of the day.

’I should talk to Mrs. Pecora.’

’Perhaps today’s lesson can focus on improving bread density.’

’The current casualty rate among the staff remains unacceptable.’

The thought filled her with renewed determination. She was just about to stand and head toward the kitchen when a vibration buzzed against her hip.

Aren reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. The moment she saw the screen, she froze.

’Father?’

Only moments ago she had been considering whether she should visit the Lombardi estate, bring the ice cream, or try mending the fractured father-daughter relationship she had inherited from the original Ariana.

Now, Don Gian was calling her himself.

Carefully, she pressed the green button.

The call connected immediately.

"Hello," Aren said politely.

Silence greeted her.

Not complete silence. There were faint sounds on the other end — like breathing.

Soft, uneven breaths.

Across the line, Gian Lombardi was gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

His heart was pounding. When he had finally worked up the courage to call his daughter that morning, he had genuinely believed she would ignore him.

After all, despite her recent remarkable changes, she had ignored him for an entire year. The fact that she had actually answered nearly made him drop the phone.

Taking a slow breath, Gian forced himself to speak normally.

"Ariana." His voice cracked slightly. "H-how are you?"

"I am well, Father," Aren said, genuine warmth in her tone. "How are you? How is Isabella?"

"Isabella is great," he replied. "She’s been running errands for me lately."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"As for me, I’m still doing fine."

Then hesitation crept into his voice, heavy with all the worry, guilt, and fear of a father who no longer knew where he stood with his child.

"Is Caio Sartori treating you well?" he asked quietly. "Does he not... abuse you?"

"No, not at all!"

The response arrived so quickly that Gian physically flinched.

Aren’s voice only seemed to brighten with every word. "He’s been very kind. Everyone in the household treats me well too. Especially Mrs. Pecora."

Nearby, Mrs. Pecora happened to be reviewing the breakfast arrangements while several maids cleared away dishes. The moment she overheard those words, something unexpectedly warm blossomed in her chest.

’She likes me.’

’She definitely likes me.’

Outwardly, her expression remained perfectly professional. Internally, however, she felt absurdly pleased.

Gian, meanwhile, furrowed his brow.

"Who is Mrs. Pecora?"

"Mrs. Pecora is the Operative Head of the estate," Aren explained. "She teaches me how to bake and make ice cream. She is very kind."

Mrs. Pecora blinked.

Then sighed.

"Ahem, my lady," she cleared her throat slightly. "I’m the Head of Staff. Not the Operative Head."

Aren turned toward her.

"Ah..."

Several seconds passed.

"I see."

She returned her attention to the phone, her voice brightening again.

"The Head of Staff, Father! I wish to introduce her to you one day."

Gian only became more confused.

His daughter was not merely safe and well-treated. She was baking. Making ice cream. Praising household staff. Wanting to introduce them to him.

Nothing about this conversation resembled the Ariana he remembered. He grabbed a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his forehead.

’What happened over there?’

Still, he forced himself onward.

"That’s great, Ariana. I would like to meet Mrs. Pecora as well."

His expression grew more serious.

"But... I’ve called for something else."

His fingers tightened around the phone. The next words seemed strangely difficult to say.

"Would you..."

He swallowed.

"Would you like to come home?"

The silence that followed stretched for several heartbeats.

"I could speak to Caio Sartori directly," Gian continued carefully. "Ask for... his permission to let you come visit me."

Aren’s eyes immediately brightened.

’Coming home?’

’The Lombardi estate?’

Excitement spread through her chest.

’That’s perfect! I can bring the ice cream and ask him about the business idea.’

Her answer came instantly.

"Yes, Father! I’d love to come home! You don’t have to ask him. I can talk to Don Caio myself."

Gian frowned.

His tone became more cautious.

"Are you sure? Our business is recovering thanks to the money you’ve secured through those contracts. I could negotiate with the man directly."

"No need to negotiate anything, Father!" Aren said brightly. "I can talk to him. Don Caio is very kind. He also listens to me. He’s a good listener."

On the other end of the line, Gian blinked.

Then blinked again.

’Caio Sartori?’

His brain stalled.

’Kind?’

’A good listener?’

’Mrs. Pecora knows so much. She’s amazing.’

’I could ask Don Caio what Don Gian likes, but I want flowers too.’

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