Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 67

Chapter 67: "Standard Girl Behavior"

It wasn’t until 2 PM that Caio Sartori was finally released from the prison of yet another mind-numbingly dull meeting for the very company he owned.

The boardroom doors swung open, spilling lines of executives and board members from Sartori Pharmaceuticals into the hallway.

These were seasoned businessmen entrusted with maintaining House Sartori’s respectable public face, yet every one of them wore the shell-shocked expression of men who had barely survived a category-five storm unleashed by their young Chairman.

Caio remained behind, slouched at the head of the massive conference table.

He rubbed his temples with unnecessary force, already regretting how much he had shouted during the meeting. His throat had gone painfully dry.

Pissed off, exhausted, and in desperate need of several heavy shots to dull the boredom of dealing with idiots daily, he fished his phone from the pocket of his tailored suit.

’Let’s check up on her.’

’See if she’s wandered off somewhere without telling me again.’

The screen lit up, flooding him with business notifications, missed calls, and encrypted messages demanding his immediate attention.

Yet among the endless stream, one particular name instantly caught his eye.

Ariana Lombardi.

His eyes widened.

’Aren?’

Without hesitation, he opened the chat.

Ariana: Don Caio, I shall go out with a maid to buy flowers now. Don’t worry! I’ll be back in a few hours. ☺️

The corner of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile.

’Flowers?’

’Since when is she interested in anything beside cakes, ice cream, or throwing daggers?’

The amusement lasted only a heartbeat before an icy weight settled into his stomach.

’...Wait a minute.’

His eyes narrowed at the screen.

’Don’t tell me she bought flowers for Jordan Marchetti.’

His jaw tightened.

’Wait.’

’Relax.’

’Don’t lose your mind.’

’Maybe they’re just for her bedroom.’

’A basic decoration.’

’Standard girl behavior.’

He exhaled slowly through his nose, deliberately forcing his pulse back under control before typing a reply.

Caio: Text me when you’re back at the estate.

Caio: Don’t wait for me for dinner. Busy day.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed one final message.

Caio: Miss you.

His thumb froze completely above the send button.

’...No.’

’Is it too early to say that?’

’What if she doesn’t miss me back?’

’What if her brain registers that as a statistical anomaly and things get awkward for her?’

Preserving what little dignity he had left, he furiously mashed the backspace key until every last letter disappeared.

Yet, the moment the screen locked shut, he rested an elbow on the armrest, staring through the windows overlooking the city skyline as though his mind had already wandered somewhere far beyond them.

’Does she miss me too?’

The phone hung loosely in his hand, forgotten.

Several minutes later, a sharp knock echoed against the heavy conference room door.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

The sound startled Caio enough that he shoved his phone back into his pocket with suspicious speed, looking every bit like a man who had just been caught doing something profoundly embarrassing.

Judging by the rhythm and force of the knock, Caio already knew it was Leo.

By the time he spoke, his usual Don-like composure had fully returned.

"Come in."

As expected, Leo entered with his usual calm, unreadable expression.

Tucked beneath one arm was a thick forensic report, which he placed neatly on the conference table in front of Caio.

"Forensics report on the six prisoners, Boss."

Caio snatched up the folder and flipped through it with obvious impatience.

His gaze skimmed over photographs of dissected corpses — bodies cut open and meticulously examined in the laboratory — before he tossed the entire file aside casually.

"Report what’s important," he muttered, sinking back into his chair. "I’m in no mood to read the whole damn thing."

Leo simply nodded. He had long since grown accustomed to this style of command.

"There were no needle marks on any of the bodies. No traces of poison were found in the stomach contents or lungs. This time, the delivery method was entirely different from the previous incidents."

Frustration immediately reignited inside Caio, though surprise never came. He had examined the bodies himself, after all.

"They’re getting creative," he muttered. "And infuriatingly clever."

Leo withdrew several enlarged close-up photographs and arranged them neatly across the table.

"We have strong reason to believe the toxin entered through skin absorption. The laboratory is still conducting chemical analysis, but at present, it’s the only logical explanation."

Caio frowned.

"Through the prisoners’ clothes?"

"Possibly," Leo replied. "Or through the blankets and bedding."

Caio picked up the photographs one by one, studying the victims’ pale skin.

"So..." he said at last, "our list of suspects narrows to the guards responsible for distributing fresh clothing and bedding... or whoever handled the prison laundry."

Leo gave a single nod.

"I’ve already dispatched men to interrogate everyone involved in laundering and distributing prisoner supplies. I’ve also reinforced security around your private laundry."

"Any guess where this particular nerve toxin originated?"

Leo considered the question carefully.

"Not until we confirm it was indeed the murder weapon. Once the laboratory identifies the compound, we’ll have a much clearer direction."

"You’d better," Caio muttered.

He finally pushed himself to his feet, straightening the front of his suit jacket.

’I’m going to lose my mind before the first one even ends.’

’She usually goes to bed early... and wakes up even earlier.’

’She must already be asleep.’

’What the...’

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