Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 94

Chapter 94: "I Will Not Water It"

Late into the night, Isidore Accardi sat alone in his office.

A new pair of glasses rested neatly on the bridge of his nose, replacing the ones Caio Sartori had shattered more than a week earlier.

The office itself lay in near-total darkness.

Every light had been extinguished except for the cold glow of the laptop before him. Its screen cast stark bands of white and blue across his face, leaving the rest of the room submerged in shadow.

A video played without sound.

On the screen, a young woman in a dark crimson gown sprinted across a restaurant floor with terrifying composure.

Armed waiters emerged from every direction, only to be methodically eliminated through disciplined movement, calculated positioning, and flawless gunfire.

Blood splashed across polished tables.

Bodies collapsed one after another.

The camera angle shifted.

Another recording.

Another perspective.

This time, she fought alongside Caio Sartori. Neither of them wasted a single word. They simply moved, each covering the other’s blind spots, flowing across the battlefield with seamless precision.

Isidore watched every second without blinking.

’Subject analysis.’

’Subject classification: elite asset.’

’Ten-plus years of active field experience.’

’Extreme combat conditioning.’

’High probability of military or irregular warfare background.’

’Likely professional mercenary.’

When the footage ended, he made no attempt to replay it.

Calmly, methodically, he selected each recording, then permanently deleted every file from his laptop.

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

On the day of the meeting, at precisely 4:55 PM, the private elevator servicing the 82nd floor of Accardi Tower chimed softly.

Ding.

The doors slid open.

Aren stepped into the familiar corridor and made her way toward the Vice Chairman’s office at her usual unhurried pace.

A quiet thrill bubbled inside her as she reached the door.

Knock. Knock.

As always, no verbal invitation followed.

The knock was merely protocol — a courtesy informing the occupant of her arrival.

Without hesitation, Aren opened the door herself, stepped inside, and came to a stop before Isidore’s desk.

"Master Accardi," she greeted warmly. "I’m here. Report ready for the new mission."

As was his habit, Isidore didn’t acknowledge her immediately. His attention remained fixed on the laptop before him, fingers moving steadily across the keyboard as though the world beyond his work scarcely existed.

Only after hearing her voice did his gaze finally lift. Almost immediately, his eyes narrowed by precisely two millimeters.

In Aren’s left hand hung a zippered garment bag.

That was expected.

He had instructed her himself to bring a dark evening gown anyway.

What he had not anticipated was the potted plant cradled comfortably against her chest with her right arm.

He regarded it in complete silence.

Given his exceedingly limited botanical knowledge — a consequence of never having found plants worthy of study — he couldn’t identify the species on sight.

His eyes narrowed another millimeter.

"What," he asked flatly, "is that for?"

Aren brightened.

"It’s decoration for your office."

A beat passed.

"Why?"

"It’s just..." She glanced around the room with mild concern. "I thought your office looked a little empty. And it feels very cold in here. I thought one plant might make it feel cozier. A gardener at the Sartori estate helped me choose this just this morning."

Isidore stared at her without speaking.

After several seconds, he closed his laptop with deliberate care and folded both hands neatly atop the desk.

"Signorina."

His tone remained perfectly even.

"We occupy the eighty-second floor of a skyscraper. The HVAC system will dry the soil within days."

Aren nodded thoughtfully.

"I’m aware. But this is a Zamioculcas zamiifolia. A ZZ plant performs exceptionally well in drought-prone environments."

Isidore remained entirely unmoved.

"The low-E architectural glass surrounding this building filters a significant percentage of ultraviolet radiation. The plant will be incapable of sustaining sufficient photosynthesis."

Aren answered almost immediately.

"I thought about that, too. That’s why I chose this species."

She glanced fondly at the glossy green leaves.

"The gardener said it evolved to tolerate extremely low-light conditions. It can perform photosynthesis perfectly well under artificial fluorescent lighting."

Silence.

By now, Isidore was beginning to find the conversation mildly irritating.

Even so, he had always preferred to win arguments through logic rather than baseless refusal.

"I will not water it."

His expression remained impassive.

"It will die regardless."

Aren smiled reassuringly.

"You don’t have to. A ZZ plant requires very little water. Once a week is enough. Since I’m already scheduled to come here weekly, I’ll water it myself. You won’t have to do anything."

That finally brought the discussion to a halt.

’...She’s eliminated every logical objection.’

He wasn’t about to admit defeat.

Nor was he willing to grant permission outright.

Instead, he fixed her with a long, unwavering stare, allowing silence itself to serve as his expression of disapproval.

Unfortunately, in Aren’s language, silence had always meant approval. Her face brightened with unmistakable delight.

"Thank you for accepting it, Master Accardi," she said happily. "I promise I’ll take good care of it on your behalf."

Before he could voice any objection, she carried the plant toward one corner of the office.

She set the pot down with meticulous care.

Then adjusted it.

A fraction of an inch to the left.

Then slightly backward.

She stepped away, examined it from several angles, frowned thoughtfully, then made one final adjustment until everything aligned with perfect symmetry.

Turning back toward him with a hopeful smile, she asked,

"Master Accardi, does this look good now?"

Throughout the entire process, Isidore never once took his eyes off her.

His expression remained perfectly still.

Only the sharpened focus of his gaze betrayed his thoughts.

To him, every second the plant occupied that previously immaculate corner felt like an undignified assault upon a space whose proportions had been painstakingly optimized for efficiency, clarity, and the elimination of unnecessary visual distractions.

His gaze drifted slowly across the office.

’My office...’

’Cold?’

’Empty?’

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify