Every Mafia's Favorite Girl

Chapter 26: "I Can Carry You"

A sharp crack split through the kitchen.

Aren jerked backward.

Caio’s heart stopped.

For one horrifying second, all he could see was crimson fabric and blood.

Rage detonated inside him instantly. The man with the kitchen knife died first.

BANG.

The bullet punched clean through his throat before he could even react.

The second attacker barely managed to turn his head before Caio’s gun snapped toward him.

BANG.

The shot tore through his skull, sending the man collapsed backward onto the kitchen tiles.

Caio kept firing anyway.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Even after the body hit the floor.

Even after blood sprayed across the stainless-steel counters.

Even after the gun clicked empty.

The kitchen had barely fallen silent when Caio grabbed Aren by the shoulders, hard enough to force her back a step.

"Where?"

Aren blinked at him, startled.

"...What?"

"Where are you hit?"

Only then did she glance down at her arm.

The bullet had grazed the outside of her upper arm, shredding fabric and skin without penetrating deeply. Blood spread steadily through the sleeve of the crimson dress.

Aren studied it for a moment.

"...Oh," she said lightly. "It’s minor."

Caio looked ready to murder someone else anyway.

His jaw locked hard enough to ache.

"You’re injured."

"I’m functional."

"That’s not the point."

Aren stared at him, mildly confused by his sharp tone. Before she could answer, footsteps thundered outside the loading entrance.

Multiple people.

Moving fast toward their position.

Caio reacted instantly. He shoved Aren behind him, reloaded, then raised his gun toward the door.

Aren tilted her head, listening.

"...Wait, Don Caio," she murmured. "I think that’s—"

Before she could finish, Caio kicked the loading door open.

Bang!

For one tense second, weapons snapped upward on both sides. Every face in the loading corridor stretched taut with murder, ready to pull the trigger.

Then, just as quickly...

Everyone froze.

"Boss?"

Recognition flashed instantly across Leo’s face.

He stood outside with half the Sartori security team behind him. Several men were bloodied. One limped heavily. Another clutched a gunshot wound wrapped hastily in cloth already soaked dark red.

Caio lowered his weapon with visible irritation.

"What took you so long?"

Leo exhaled heavily.

"Sorry, Boss. They engaged us outside first like they already knew our positions."

Caio’s expression darkened further.

’So there really was an information leak.’

He shoved the thought aside immediately.

"Go inside," he ordered curtly. "Clean up the mess."

Leo straightened at once.

"Understood."

"Pietro Lamon is unconscious in the VIP room," Caio added quickly. "Three more are tied up in a storage room down the east corridor. I want all of them alive and brought back for interrogation."

"And the rest?" Leo asked carefully.

A dangerous smile curved across Caio’s mouth.

"You really need to ask?"

Leo’s face went cold instantly.

"No, Boss."

"Kill every last one of them," Caio said calmly. "Nobody except us leaves here knowing what happened tonight."

The men behind Leo moved instantly.

Weapons checked.

Safety switches clicked off.

The loading corridor filled with murderous intent as some of the men advanced into the restaurant.

Leo’s gaze shifted toward Aren.

"And you, Boss? Lady Ariana?"

Caio glanced back at Aren.

The blood soaking through her sleeve had spread farther now. Without hesitation, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against his side.

"I’m taking her out of here myself."

Aren barely had time to react before Caio was steering her rapidly toward the emergency stairwell. Immediately afterward, Leo and the rest of the men stormed through the kitchen and deeper into the restaurant.

Gunfire erupted again moments later.

The stairwell door slammed shut behind them, muffling most of the violence.

For the first time all night, silence settled around Caio and Aren.

Caio stopped abruptly between flights of stairs. Before Aren could ask why, he pulled a knife from his pocket and grabbed the hem of her sleeve.

Aren instantly startled.

"Don Caio," she protested, alarmed, "the dress is very expensive and you like it—"

"I’m getting you ten more," he cut in flatly.

His focus remained entirely on the fabric as he sliced through it in one clean motion. When he finished, a long strip of crimson cloth hung from his hand.

"Your arm," he said shortly. "We’re taking the stairs. Elevators are too risky. There could be ambushes."

His eyes flicked toward the blood staining her sleeve.

"If we’re climbing twenty floors, I’m not leaving it like that."

Aren lifted her injured arm without protest. Caio wrapped the fabric tightly around the wound, firm enough to slow the bleeding, then shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

"Put this on," he ordered firmly. "No one should see blood on you."

Aren slipped her arms into the oversized jacket and gave him a sharp nod.

"Okie! I’m ready."

Caio still looked dissatisfied. He stepped closer, fingers catching the lapel before pulling her gently toward him.

"Can you walk?" he asked, fastening the button himself.

More quietly, he added,

"I can carry you."

Aren blinked up at him.

"Don Caio, I’m injured on the arm, not the legs."

"You downed a strong drink in one go," he countered. "Don’t you feel sluggish? Dizzy? Even a little?"

Aren shifted her weight to the left, then to the right, testing her balance.

"Nope," she replied. "Nothing at all."

Caio stared at her, surprise creeping across his face. Apparently, Ariana’s body tolerated alcohol far better than he’d expected.

His hand loosened against the button before finally falling away.

"...Good."

Despite himself, disappointment flickered through him.

’What the hell is wrong with me?’

He turned and started walking before the thought could settle any deeper. frёewebηovel.cѳm

Together, they descended the twenty floors of the emergency stairs. By the time they reached the underground parking levels, the adrenaline had faded enough for exhaustion to begin creeping in.

The black Sartori car still waited exactly where it had been parked. As they crossed the concrete garage side by side toward the vehicle, they looked absurdly normal — a handsome man escorting a beautiful woman after dinner.

No one would have guessed the restaurant above them was drowning in blood.

Several lanes away, partially concealed behind thick concrete pillars, a dark blue sedan rolled slowly through the parking structure.

Inside, a pair of sharp green eyes watched the couple through tinted glass.

"Stop."

The single word fell quiet and calm.

The sedan halted immediately.

The assistant turned toward the man beside her.

"Is there a problem, sir?"

Next to her, Isidore Accardi remained unreadable as always. Overhead parking lights reflected faintly across the lenses of his glasses, concealing his eyes completely.

"Elevator surveillance," he said calmly. "Check which floor those two descended from."

His attention drifted back toward the tablet resting across his lap.

The assistant followed his line of sight toward the couple walking through the garage.

The man she did not recognize immediately from behind. But the platinum hair beside him...

Recognition struck instantly.

"Isn’t that... Ariana Lombardi?"

Isidore said nothing.

The silence alone made sweat gather beneath the assistant’s collar.

She immediately pulled out her phone and made the call.

The answer came quickly.

"They weren’t seen using the elevators, sir."

Isidore’s gaze never lifted from the screen.

"Check the way up."

Another call followed.

Longer this time.

The assistant listened carefully before lowering the phone.

"It appears they entered the rooftop restaurant earlier tonight," she reported. "And... hallway surveillance captured signs of a violent encounter involving Sartori men and another armed group."

She swallowed.

"We don’t currently have access to the restaurant cameras. Authorization from the owner would be required."

Isidore showed no visible reaction.

"All surveillance footage," he said calmly. "Hallways. Restaurant. Everything on my desk before midnight."

"Understood, sir."

The assistant hesitated.

"Anything else?"

Isidore gave no reply.

Silence swallowed the space until it was hard to even draw breath.

The assistant instantly felt her stomach tighten. She quickly understood her mistake — the question itself had been unnecessary.

Redundant.

Inefficient, by Isidore Accardi’s standards.

"I will... ensure every other copy is deleted," she corrected herself quickly. "Nothing will remain accessible to Caio Sartori’s men or anyone else."

Still no response.

No acknowledgment.

No praise.

Silence stretched through the vehicle until Isidore finally spoke again.

"Leone’s luncheon. Is she attending?"

The assistant blinked.

"She... who?"

Silence.

More silence.

The assistant’s pulse nearly stopped.

"Y-Yes," she corrected herself immediately. "Lady Ariana will attend."

"What time?"

"1:00 PM, sir."

"Ombra’s operative. The material delivery this Sunday. What time?"

The assistant checked quickly. Surprise instantly crossed her face.

"Also 1:00 PM, sir."

Isidore made no comment.

Slowly, he closed the tablet and set it aside.

He reached into his suit jacket and withdrew a small black communication device. His fingers moved rapidly across the compact keyboard, every motion precise.

A message appeared line by line across the screen:

Signorina,

Your test mission.

Sunday, 1:00 PM. Details in attached file.

Afterward, my office.

— I.