Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 65

Chapter 65: "A Damsel In Distress"

"Young Boss!" Marco ground out through clenched teeth. "What do you mean I suddenly have a seasonal flu and can’t come inside?"

He stood in front of the bakery café beside Jeremiah, looking as healthy as ever.

"I am perfectly fine," he insisted. "I could run around these blocks ten times if it came to it!"

Faced with the manager’s heartfelt suffering, Jeremiah merely waved a dismissive hand.

"Just sit and wait for me in the car," he said easily. "I’m getting you three bags of garlic butter croissants — your absolute favorite. What exactly are you still complaining about?"

"But, Young Boss!" Marco cried. "The gelato!" He pointed accusingly toward the café’s glass windows.

Jeremiah let out a long, weary sigh, as though he were the one making sacrifices.

"Fine. Two boxes of gelato. Happy now?"

Marco looked ready to negotiate for even more, but Jeremiah had already lost interest. His gaze had drifted through the glass toward Aren, who had entered only moments earlier and was apparently having the time of her life staring at shelf after shelf of freshly baked pastries.

The corners of his lips curved upward with a mixture of anticipation and delight.

"Now get back in the car and stop interrupting my private time," Jeremiah said. "I’d hate to keep our lady waiting."

Marco released one last aggrieved huff before turning sharply on his heel.

"Just don’t mix up my favorite flavors again!" he called over his shoulder. "Remember, Young Boss — strawberry and banana! Not blueberry and vanilla!"

The car door slammed shut behind him. Another mournful huff escaped the poor manager as he reflected on all the sacrifices he had made for the young Castellano heir.

Jeremiah watched Marco with a faint look of exasperation before smoothing every trace of it away. His immaculate smile returned as naturally as breathing, and he stepped through the café’s glass doors.

Primavera was a bakery café nestled along Fifth Street, widely regarded as one of the upper class’s favorite establishments in Borgata.

The moment Jeremiah entered, the scent of freshly baked bread and pastries rolled through the room in waves of buttery temptation, powerful enough to make anyone want to order everything on display.

Near one of the display racks, Aren remained crouched before the endless selection, her empty tray resting in her hands. Her stomach growled miserably beneath the intoxicating scents surrounding her, yet every new pastry she looked at only made choosing more impossible than before.

Jeremiah smiled to himself.

’A damsel in distress.’

’How fortunate that I’m here to rescue her.’

Without hesitation, he walked over and crouched beside her. Leaning in just enough for only her to hear, he spoke in a voice so warm and soothing it bordered on hypnotic.

"Still having trouble deciding, my lady?"

Despite the softness of his tone, Aren jumped slightly at his sudden closeness.

Heat blossomed across her cheeks as embarrassment settled in.

"Ah... yes," she smiled sheepishly, gesturing toward the displays. "There are just... so many choices, and everything looks equally delicious."

She glanced up at him with quiet hope.

"You’ve been here before, haven’t you? What would you recommend?"

Jeremiah immediately seized the opportunity to play the expert. Extending an elegant hand toward her tray, he offered a helpful smile.

"May I?"

Aren handed it over without hesitation.

"Of course. Please pick as many as you like. I’d like to bring some back for the Sartori household staff as well."

Jeremiah couldn’t have looked more pleased.

"Excellent."

Armed with a pair of tongs, he began selecting pastries as though he owned the bakery himself.

"These croissants," he declared, placing several onto the tray, "are absolutely exceptional."

The tongs shifted again.

"And these egg tarts..."

A pleased sigh escaped him.

"They’re one-way tickets to heaven."

By the time Jeremiah finally declared himself satisfied, they had accumulated enough pastries to fill two large bakery boxes.

Aren ordered herself a generous scoop of blueberry gelato.

Jeremiah, meanwhile, somehow ended up with something that looked less like gelato and more like an island composed entirely of desserts.

Scoops of nearly every imaginable color were piled impossibly high beneath waffles, cookies, marshmallows, edible gold leaf, whipped cream, and delicate pink flower petals.

Aren stole a long glance at his order.

’I should’ve gone with that...’

Her eyes drifted toward his profile, practically sparkling with admiration.

’Is he... a true gelato master?’

Once everything had been paid for, they settled at a quiet corner table, safely removed from curious eyes.

The moment they sat down, Jeremiah rested one elbow upon the tabletop, his cheek supported lazily against his palm as he regarded Aren with dreamy eyes that seemed almost too captivated to blink.

"So, my lady," he began, "I trust you’ve used the preparation time you requested before your official debut at the Pit quite productively?"

Aren lifted her cup of gelato closer to her face, partly to hide behind it. The topic flustered her far more than Jeremiah’s intense attention ever could.

She had done her best.

Whenever her duties allowed, she woke early for cardio and spent every spare moment training. This body no longer collapsed after intense physical exertion the way it once had.

Even so...

Compared to the towering men built from dense muscle and thick bone whom she would eventually face inside the cage, her own physique still felt painfully inadequate.

"It’s been... rather productive," she answered, carefully avoiding his gaze. "I’m still working hard on it everyday."

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