Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 77

Chapter 77: "A Cousin To Kill"

Aren found herself drifting through a dream.

In that dream, she stood alone in the center of a subterranean bunker, a thermal detonator resting in her palm.

Through her earpiece, the voice of her Operative Head exploded into her ears with a desperation she had never heard from him before.

"No! Aren! Do not prime it! This is no time to be heroic or childish! Get out of there — NOW!"

Oddly enough, Aren felt calm. Calmer than she had any right to be.

"I’m sorry, Chief," she said softly. "I’ve run the calculations. The conclusion suggests this is the only way."

"NO, AREN!" the older man roared.

For a moment, he no longer sounded like the stern commander who had trained her, criticized her, and dragged her through years of impossible missions.

He sounded like a father watching his daughter walk toward her death — and regretting too late he had ever given her this mission to begin with.

"DO NOT! I REPEAT — DO NOT!"

A faint smile touched Aren’s lips.

Even now, he was still trying to protect her. Still the closest thing she had ever had to a parent.

"Thank you for raising me, Chief," she murmured. "I hope someone’s helping the kitchen with dinner tonight in my place."

She removed the earpiece, leaving the Operative Head shouting into nothingness.

Her thumb pressed down on the ignition switch as she braced herself for the inevitable.

The explosion never came.

Instead—

SMACK!

A brutal impact smashed into the side of her face.

The dream shattered instantly.

Before her thoughts could gather themselves, another rough palm struck her from the opposite side.

SMACK!

Then another.

SMACK!

The blows snapped her head from side to side. The lingering warmth of the dream evaporated, replaced by cold air, the smell of damp concrete, and the metallic taste of blood gathering in her mouth.

Somewhere beyond the ringing in her ears, another sound suddenly cut through the haze. Strange enough, it sounded like Caio’s voice.

The sound was compressed and distorted, as though coming through a speakerphone, but the fury behind it was unmistakable.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!"

His roar felt powerful enough to shake the room itself.

"STOP HITTING HER!"

Unfortunately, no matter how murderous he sounded, the violence didn’t stop. Another slap crashed straight into her face.

SMACK!

"FUCKING SHOW YOUR COWARD FACE TO ME!"

SMACK!

"FIGHT ME MAN TO MAN!"

Another blow.

SMACK!

The force sent sparks dancing behind Aren’s closed eyelids.

Through the stinging pain, realization slowly dawned on her.

’Ah...’

’They’re using me to pressure Don Caio.’

Just as the thought left her mind, she heard a man’s laughter echoed across the open room.

"HA HA HA HA HA!"

The voice sounded rich, amused, and sickeningly pleased by the situation.

"Don’t blame me, Caio," the man said. "You asked to speak to her. Unfortunately, our beautiful lady is still too deeply asleep to hold a proper conversation. So I’m letting you see her instead."

The speaker stood somewhere farther away, far enough that Aren could tell he wasn’t the one delivering the blows.

His voice was young, smooth, and polished, carrying the distinctive accent common among Borgata’s wealthy criminal elite, and it made something deep within her memory stir.

’This voice...’

’I’ve heard it before.’

’But where...?’

She searched frantically through her memories, but nothing surfaced. Every instinct urged her to open her eyes and steal a glance at the speaker, but another thought stopped her.

’No.’

’If they realize I’m awake, they’ll escalate the violence.’

’I’ve seen this before.’

’The point isn’t hurting me.’

’The point is making him watch.’

With that conclusion reached, Aren remained completely limp against the chair as the next barrage of slaps rained down upon her.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Across the city, on the opposite side of the video call, Caio was rapidly losing whatever remained of his composure.

His fist slammed into the conference table hard enough to rattle everything sitting atop it.

BANG!

Then again.

BANG!

And again.

BANG!

The wood groaned beneath the impact as blood split across his knuckles, but he felt none of it.

The sight of Aren slumped unconscious in that chair, blood smeared through her hair while some random bastard used her as leverage against him, was slowly turning his vision red.

He wanted to reach through the screen. Wanted to tear every bastard in that warehouse apart with his bare hands. Wanted to peel the skin from their bodies inch by inch.

Yet he also knew rage solved nothing.

Not while she remained in their hands.

His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths as the last scraps of reason in his mind fought their way through the fury.

At last, he forced the words out.

"...Please."

The single word scraped against his throat.

Raw.

Painful.

"Stop."

His voice broke.

"...Stop hurting her."

Silence descended over the conference room.

Around him, soldiers and capos exchanged uneasy glances. None of them had ever heard the word "please" leave Caio Sartori’s mouth.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the call, Gael Sartori felt a powerful, intoxicating thrill shoot through him.

For over a year, he had dreamed of killing his cousin. Planned it. Obsessed over it. Endured being overshadowed by him, dismissed by him, treated as lesser by him.

And now?

’Wait. That doesn’t sound right.’

’This is a water treatment facility.’

’Or a filtration plant.’

’Definitely not a meatpacking plant.’

’Oh no.’

’They’re feeding him the wrong location.’

’They’re going to turn him into frozen meat by Monday.’

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