Free Web NovelChapter 48: "Ignore Discipline"
The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the silence beneath the main workshop buried deep within the Marchetti compound.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Four consecutive shots rolled through the underground range like thunder.
Aren lowered the pistol and studied the target positioned downrange.
Four impacts. freёwebnovel.com
Four tight groupings.
Not perfect, but close.
"The recoil impulse becomes inconsistent after the third shot," she said calmly. "The trigger reset is also slightly too long for rapid engagement."
Behind her, Ricci frowned.
The pistol Aren held was not merely another prototype. It represented six months of development, countless revisions, and enough sleepless nights to permanently damage several engineers’ relationships with reality.
House Marchetti was already aggressively pushing to launch this exact model overseas next year.
"Lady Ariana, with all due respect," Ricci said, folding his arms tightly across his chest as if shielding his ego, "are you certain the trigger reset is actually the problem?"
Aren turned toward him.
"Yes."
The answer arrived so quickly, so utterly devoid of doubt, that Ricci looked personally offended. Several nearby technicians exchanged nervous glances, subtly stepping back.
Jordan, standing a few feet away with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, immediately recognized the warning signs of a corporate meltdown.
Over the past several hours, he had watched Aren dismantle engineering assumptions with the same casual ease most people used to comment on the weather. Every time she opened her mouth, another engineer seemed to suffer a minor existential crisis.
’She’s really out here destroying these men’s whole careers before dinner,’ Jordan thought, hiding a faint smirk.
But realizing things were about to get overly defensive, he decided to step in.
"Well," Jordan said carefully. "Maybe we should verify it first. Let’s hear what Ariana has in mind."
Aren gave him a small smile, low-key appreciative of the assist.
Walking back toward the workbench, she set the pistol down before turning her attention to the technical schematics spread across the table.
"May I?"
Ricci hesitated.
Every instinct in his body screamed at him not to hand over six months of work to someone who had spent less than fifteen minutes examining it.
Unfortunately, those same instincts had already watched her identify three separate design flaws in another project earlier that afternoon.
Reluctantly, he stepped aside.
Aren leaned over the engineering diagrams, scanning the complex lines.
"The weight distribution shifts here during rapid cycling."
Her finger tapped a specific section of the blueprint.
"Your solution compensates for the symptom rather than the cause."
She picked up a pencil and drew several precise lines directly over their clean work.
"The imbalance originates here. Once the slide reaches this point, momentum begins transferring unevenly."
Ricci frowned.
Then frowned harder.
He snatched the blueprint up from the table, pulling it inches from his face to examine it closely.
For nearly thirty seconds, the only sound in the room was the distant hum of the facility’s ventilation.
Then, Ricci slowly lifted his head.
"Oh."
A pause.
"Oh, damn."
The color visibly drained from his face.
The surrounding technicians didn’t even wait for permission. They immediately crowded around the diagram like moths to a flame.
Questions erupted.
Arguments followed.
By the time the discussion finally settled, Ricci looked as though he was questioning every decision he had made over the past six months.
’She’s terrifying.’
’She’s amazing.’
’I’ve spent six months on this thing and today is her first day consulting.’
’How did she even notice that?’
Every trace of skepticism had completely vanished from his expression, replaced entirely by pure admiration. Determined to capitalize on the miracle currently standing inside his workshop, Ricci immediately separated himself from the group and started toward Aren.
He was fully prepared to propose another six-hour testing session involving every unfinished prototype he possessed.
Unfortunately, he never got the opportunity.
The range doors swung open.
Eduardo Marchetti stepped inside.
An entourage of trusted men followed close behind him, all wearing expressions that perfectly mirrored their Don’s severe demeanor.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Every person in the room immediately acknowledged the arrival of the head of House Marchetti. The greeting rippled through the workshop in hushed tones.
"Boss."
Ricci stepped forward, trying to salvage his professional composure.
"You’ve come for inspection, Boss?"
Eduardo gave a single nod.
"Inspection."
His voice was curt. Dismissive.
He didn’t even look at Ricci as he spoke.
His cold attention was already sweeping across the room in search of someone else. The moment his gaze landed on Jordan, the severity in his expression deepened into something deeply hostile.
Then his eyes shifted toward Aren, or more specifically, toward the fact that she was standing right beside his son.
Whatever irritation Eduardo had brought into the room immediately cooled into something much darker.
Without hesitation, Eduardo strode toward them. ƒгeewёbnovel.com
"I spent the entire morning meeting partners," he said, each word a heavy threat, "and you spent that same time sneaking out to collect Miss Lombardi without a word. Right from Caio Sartori’s front door, no less."
Jordan met his father’s suffocating gaze without flinching. He had known this conversation was coming the second he started the car this morning.
’Inspection?’
He almost scoffed.
’More like an interrogation.’
Stepping forward, Jordan squared his shoulders, deliberately placing himself in front of Aren.
"I already gave word," he said evenly, then gestured toward the capos and soldiers standing behind Eduardo. "I informed them there was no need to arrange transportation because I would be picking her up personally."
The explanation accomplished absolutely nothing. If anything, Eduardo seemed even angrier.
"Did I not tell you not to pick her up yourself?" he asked, voice tightening dangerously. "That is what soldiers are for."
Jordan’s voice remained respectful, but entirely firm.
"You did, Father. But I insist on doing it myself."
His gaze never left Eduardo’s.
"And I intend to continue doing so for the duration of this contract."
A dangerous silence settled over the range.
Every Marchetti man present could practically feel sweat gathering beneath their collars.
Jordan had always possessed a temper. Everyone in the House knew that. Yet for as long as anyone could remember, he had never been openly rebellious toward his father, and certainly never confrontational in front of an audience.
For years, disagreements between father and son had followed a predictable pattern:
Eduardo would issue an order, Jordan would argue his point once or twice, and then, regardless of his personal feelings, he would acknowledge the decision with quiet respect.
Lately, however, something had changed.
Everyone could see it. And almost every pair of eyes in the room eventually drifted toward the platinum-haired girl standing nearby.
Aren, meanwhile, remained perfectly calm, perfectly detached.
She looked back and forth between Jordan and Eduardo, as if she had wandered into the middle of an unfamiliar social ritual, and was still trying to determine what the point of it was.
Eduardo’s simmering anger finally broke through his composure.
He took a sharp step forward.
"Just how many more childish acts do you intend to commit before you destroy our arrangement with House Porto entirely?What exactly do you think Natalia will think if—"
"Father."
Jordan cut across him firmly.
"I fail to see how this affects our business with House Porto."
He gestured back toward Aren.
"Lady Ariana is not merely a consultant. She is the sole heiress of a major House. A future Donna. It is only appropriate that the heir of House Marchetti personally receives her."
The explanation was entirely fabricated on the spot. Conveniently, it was also logically flawless.
Unfortunately, Eduardo Marchetti had never been a man who abandoned an argument simply because logic happened to favor the other side.
His eyes narrowed into sharp slits.
His mouth opened, ready to completely shut his son down.
Suddenly...
Aren stepped right between them.
"Excuse me."
Every single head in the workshop snapped toward her.
Aren casually pointed a finger toward the schematic she had marked up earlier.
"I think we have a more urgent problem than who’s picking me up."
The room seemed to literally freeze.
The abrupt shift in subject was so entirely unexpected that even Eduardo’s anger stalled out mid-air.
His gaze instinctively followed the direction of her finger — first to the blueprint, then to the prototype pistol resting on the workbench. The moment he recognized the project, some of the raw fury left his face, replaced by the calculating mind of a businessman.
"Model 72?"
Eduardo looked toward Ricci.
"You’re testing that today? Has our consultant’s feedback been... helpful?"
Ricci nervously exchanged a look with several nearby technicians before stepping forward to save the vibe.
"Boss," he said carefully, handing over the marked schematic like it was a holy relic, "she basically solved the accuracy issue we’ve been struggling with for the last six months."
Eduardo accepted the blueprint with obvious skepticism. As his eyes tracked Aren’s precise pencil markings, however, that skepticism gradually evaporated.
His brow furrowed.
Then lifted.
Several minutes passed in dead silence.
When Eduardo finally looked back up at Aren, his expression had changed entirely.
Oddly enough, he wasn’t surprised by her competence. After all, he had personally offered her the contract because he knew what she was capable of.
What actually surprised him was the fact that she had found the root flaw this... quickly.
’What exactly are you, girl?’
He found himself studying Aren’s blank expression with a newfound layer of intense curiosity.
"How long to implement the correction?" Eduardo asked at last, his tone shifting back to business.
Ricci answered immediately, practically beaming.
"We can have the demonstration model ready for client presentation next year, Boss. On schedule."
"Good."
Eduardo handed the blueprint back without another word.
"See that it stays on schedule."
His attention snapped directly back to Jordan. The chilling severity returned to his face in an instant.
"Do not mistake successful work for permission to ignore discipline."
The words were ostensibly directed at the room, but everyone present knew exactly who they were truly meant for.
Jordan recognized that fact before anyone else. Before his father could reopen the argument and drag the vibe back down, Jordan turned his back to him and looked at Aren.
"Perhaps we should take a short break," Jordan said, his expression softening. "You’ve been working for hours."
"That’s a good idea!" Aren nodded at once. "I’ve been dying for a break all this time!"
The relief in her voice was so genuine that several nearby engineers looked vaguely offended.
The moment the doors closed behind the two of them, the temperature in the room dropped again.
Eduardo spoke without so much as glancing at the men standing behind him.
"How are the preparations for the Trials?"
Diego, who had remained entirely silent throughout the tense father-son exchange, finally stepped forward.
"Everything is proceeding as planned, Boss. Registration opens in a few days. All employees, soldiers, and your children have already been notified."
"Good," Eduardo said. "And Nazario? This will be his first year competing, won’t it?"
"Yes, Boss," Diego replied smoothly. "He’s already confirmed his intention to participate."
Eduardo nodded sharply.
"That is only expected of him."
His gaze shifted toward the doors Jordan had just exited through, his expression unreadable.
"Perhaps... it’s time Jordan was reminded that he may be my eldest son, but he is not my only son," he muttered coldly. "And he is certainly not the only one who could one day become the Don of House Marchetti."
