Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 87

Chapter 87: "Cure Your Boredom"

The open-air training grounds bustled with activity beneath the relentless three o’clock sun.

Dozens of Marchetti soldiers occupied every corner of the sprawling arena, moving through combat drills.

Yet despite the organized chaos, nearly every eye had drifted toward the central pit, where a fierce sparring match had reached its climax.

"Come on, Mister Oscar!" one soldier shouted.

"Throw him!" another yelled.

"Finish it!"

Oscar was having the absolute time of his life.

Fueled by the chorus of cheers, he let out a sharp grunt and dropped his weight low, breaking his opponent’s balance in one fluid motion.

His hand shot out to seize the man’s collar before he hauled him cleanly over his shoulder and slammed him into the packed dirt.

THUD!

The impact reverberated across the training grounds.

The defeated soldier groaned, sprawled flat on his back, utterly beaten.

A roar of applause erupted from the surrounding soldiers as the youngest Marchetti scion claimed yet another victory.

Oscar basked shamelessly in the acclaim, grinning as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Before long, however, his attention drifted toward a lone figure stretched lazily across a wooden bench at the far edge of the training grounds.

"Hey, Nazario!" Oscar called, flashing a broad grin. "Aren’t you gonna come spar? The Trials are already this weekend! Come fight me! I’m bored to death! Everyone keeps holding back because I’m me!"

Nazario barely bothered lifting his head.

"Sparring in front of all these people?" he replied lazily. "Most of them are competing in the Trials."

He yawned.

"I’m not nearly as desperate for attention as you are."

Oscar clicked his tongue dismissively.

"Tch. Keeping your cards hidden, huh? Then fight me in the private gym later!"

The surrounding soldiers eagerly voiced their support, delighted by the prospect of seeing the two Marchetti brothers face each other, but Nazario’s expression remained as indifferent as ever.

"Nah."

He waved the suggestion away.

"I’d rather train alone. Who knows? You might spend the next two years studying everything I do just so you can beat me later."

Oscar gasped dramatically.

"You think that little of your own brother?"

"I think exactly that much of my own brother."

With that, Nazario pushed himself off the bench, intending to head toward the private gym without another word.

He had barely taken two steps before the heavy groan of the estate’s front gates echoed across the training grounds.

Everyone instinctively looked toward the sound.

Jordan’s sports car rolled smoothly through the entrance.

Behind it came an unusually long procession of sleek black vehicles that were unmistakably not Marchetti property.

Oscar immediately abandoned all thoughts of sparring. Brushing the dirt from his clothes, he jogged over until he stood beside Nazario.

"Whoa..." he muttered. "Who’s that? I’ve never seen this many cars visiting. A client?"

"Normal clients don’t arrive with an entire convoy," Nazario replied evenly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he studied the approaching vehicles. "Either they’re not normal, or..."

Oscar glanced sideways.

"Or?"

For the first time all afternoon, a spark of genuine interest flickered across Nazario’s otherwise bored expression.

"A Don."

Oscar’s eyebrows shot upward.

Before either of them could speculate any further, the vehicles rolled to a smooth halt near the main building.

One by one, the conversations scattered across the training grounds died away. The moment the doors opened, time itself seemed to freeze.

The first man to step out of the sports car wasn’t Jordan Marchetti as they had expected.

It was Caio Sartori.

He slammed the car door shut with a heavy thud before adjusting the cuffs of his jacket with clipped, impatient movements, like a man who had just endured the longest and most agonizing drive of his entire life.

’Interesting...’

"She’s our consultant?"

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