Every Mafia's Favorite Girl

Chapter 53: "You Have Every Right To"

The House of Marchetti was less a family and more a beautifully furnished military barracks.

Five children shared the bloodline — Oscar, Nazario, Jordan, Rosalia, and Sofia, the eldest — but they shared absolutely nothing else.

Thanks to Eduardo Marchetti’s absolute iron discipline, the concept of a cozy, tight-knit family was completely alien to them.

From childhood, each of them had been measured, tested, and compared against the others with such relentless intensity that they viewed one another less as siblings, and more as obstacles standing in the way of their own advancement.

It was strange, considering House Marchetti was supposed to direct that ruthless competitive spirit toward rival Houses across Borgata, not inward at its own children.

As a result, Jordan remembered next to nothing about his sisters. He had spent most of his life focused on surviving his father’s expectations rather than understanding the people around him.

There was, however, one memory he had never managed to forget: the day Sofia’s engagement to Manuel Cardozo was abruptly nuke-dropped.

Manuel had been a rising star within House Moretti, a trusted capo and a match personally approved by Eduardo himself.

The engagement had been politically advantageous, strategically sound, and seemingly destined to strengthen relations between two powerful Houses.

Until, suddenly, it wasn’t.

Jordan still vividly remembered Sofia coming back from that New Year’s gala in the Lombardi district.

Her makeup was completely wrecked, black mascara tracks burning down her cheeks, her expression holding the kind of raw, agonizing pain he’d never seen on a human face before.

It had been deeply unsettling.

The poised, steel-willed eldest daughter of House Marchetti had looked completely shattered, stripped bare of every layer of composure she normally wore like armor.

After that night, no explanations ever came.

Eduardo had refused to discuss the matter. Sofia had locked the subject away behind clenched teeth and absolute silence.

Since Jordan had never been encouraged to concern himself with his siblings’ personal lives, the scandal had gradually faded into the background of the family — another unfortunate ghost nobody acknowledged.

But now?

Standing right in front of Sofia with the ugly, unfiltered truth laid bare, Jordan found himself completely frozen.

The reality she described was horrifying.

If it was true, then Sofia had suffered a humiliation so profound and public that he could scarcely imagine enduring it himself.

He wanted to defend the Lombardi heiress.

God, he wanted to.

The urge rose immediately, instinctive and fierce. Yet the words refused to come.

’Fuck, I’m trapped.’

His chest tightened as panic began to creep in.

’How am I supposed to choose?’

’It’s my sister... versus her.’

Lately, Ariana Lombardi had become impossible to ignore.

Somewhere along the way, she had quietly shifted into the center of his thoughts, occupying far more space there than she should have.

A stubborn part of him rejected Sofia’s accusation outright.

’There’s no way.’

’No way she could have done something that cruel.’

’There isn’t a malicious bone in her body.’

’I know that.’

Yet, when he looked over at Aren, the contrast was terrifying.

In the face of Sofia’s screeching insults and unfiltered rage, Aren just stood there like a statue.

Her face was completely placid.

Her eyes didn’t even blink.

To an outside observer, it might have looked as though Sofia’s accusations weren’t affecting her at all. Or worse, like she felt absolutely zero remorse for ruining another woman’s life.

Determined to de-escalate the situation before Sofia completely blew a fuse, Jordan forced his voice to drop, smoothing out his earlier hostility as he turned to his eldest sister.

"Sofia," he began carefully, keeping his tone as gentle as possible, "are you... are you certain that Manuel and—"

He didn’t even get to finish the sentence. Sofia whipped around, her eyes flashing fire as she snapped at him.

"What do you take your sister for? Of course I’m certain! That man was my fiancé. I’d known him for six years. Six years, Jordan! And this whore slept with him behind my back for an entire year without me knowing."

Before Jordan could even process the accusation, Sofia spun back toward Aren, her entire hand shaking as she leveled an accusing finger right at her face.

"If I’m not mistaken," she said, each word dripping venom, "she’s probably still sleeping with him now."

On the other side of that pointing finger, Aren was experiencing the internal equivalent of a blue-screen system error.

Sofia’s accusations were computing, but the math wasn’t mathing. So Aren tried to listen to the siblings bicker, her brain desperately trying to piece together the context clues of this high-stakes drama.

To be fair, Aren never fully understood romance. The entire concept remained somewhat abstract to her.

Where she came from, the world was actively drowning in war.

People concerned themselves with warfare, survival, logistics, weapons procurement, and operational planning. Questions of love, fidelity, and emotional exclusivity had occupied a much lower position on the list of priorities.

Still, drawing on the baseline social data she’d gathered since arriving here, she knew one thing for sure:

If two people agreed to marry one another, then secretly maintaining a relationship with someone else seemed to be considered a serious breach of contract.

’In my world,’ Aren reasoned, ’this would be equivalent to signing an exclusive contract with a client and then secretly selling information to their direct competitor.’

Her expression grew increasingly serious.

’Conclusion: extremely unethical.’

’Terrible professional conduct.’

’Possibly criminal levels of bad business practice.’

Suddenly, a memory suddenly unlocked.

’The phone.’

Aren blinked.

’When I first accessed Ariana Lombardi’s phone...’

’There were eleven male contacts saved with kissy emojis.’

With that, Aren turned toward Jordan. She lifted Biscuit with both hands and held him out toward Jordan like a fluffy offering of peace.

"Excuse me," she said, perfectly polite. "Could you please hold Biscuit for me for a moment? There is something I need to check."

Jordan blinked, totally thrown off by the sudden shift in vibe. Despite the absolute emotional hurricane wreckage happening inside him, his arms moved on autopilot.

He reached out and took the little dog against his chest.

"...Of course."

Now that her hands were free, Aren wasted no time. Under the stunned, unblinking stares of the three Marchetti siblings, she dug into her jeans pocket, pulled out Ariana’s phone, and swiped it open.

She speed-scrolled through the contact list, her eyes scanning the names until they locked onto the target Jordan had mentioned.

’Ah. Here.’

Her focus sharpened instantly.

’Manuel.’ freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

According to the call history, the last time Ariana Lombardi had hit up this guy was about a month ago. Apparently, they still checked in on each other periodically.

Without the slightest hesitation, Aren thrust the screen directly in front of Sofia’s face.

"Excuse me," she said calmly. "Is this the Manuel you’re referring to?"

Sofia’s expression twisted violently. Rage, confusion, disbelief, and a fresh wave of humiliation — all collided at once on her face.

"You even have the audacity to ask?! You’ve let him fuck you in every hole, and now you’re asking me whether this contact is my ex-fiancé?!"

Despite the absolute biohazard energy Sofia was radiating, Aren didn’t even flinch.

"Please verify whether this is the correct person."

Sofia’s jaw snapped shut so hard her teeth clicked. There was something so deeply unsettling, so utterly unhinged about Aren’s absolute chill that it accidentally short-circuited her exploding rage.

Barring her teeth like a cornered animal, Sofia snarled,

"Of course that’s that motherfucker!"

"Good," Aren replied instantly.

Then, with zero warning and to the absolute horror of everyone in the room, she tapped the green call button.

The line began to ring.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Loudly.

Sofia just stared at her, her brain completely lagging. The sheer audacity of the move left her speechless for a solid three seconds before her voice found its volume again.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Why the fuck are you calling him?"

The ringing continued — rhythmic, steady, and entirely indifferent to the drama. Aren, matching the dial tone’s energy perfectly, looked up at Sofia.

"May I ask something?"

"What?!"

"If you could speak to him right now, what would you want to tell him?"

Sofia froze.

For a single, fleeting second, her brain actually bypassed the anger and analyzed the question.

The truth was, she had spent two years imagining that conversation. She had screamed every single profanity in her vocabulary at Manuel Cardozo, but it had been entirely confined to the dark, empty walls of her own bedroom.

She hadn’t seen a glimpse of him since he’d paraded into that gala with Ariana Lombardi on his arm.

Before she could form a response, the ringing cut off.

The line connected.

"Baby?" a smooth male voice drifted lazily through the speaker.

Sofia’s blood turned to absolute ice.

It was him.

Unmistakably Manuel.

She could have been blind, deaf, and halfway in the grave, and she still would have recognized that voice.

Aren spoke directly into the microphone, her tone professional, almost clinical.

"Hello? Is this Mister Manuel I am speaking to?"

On the other end, Manuel let out a low, amused chuckle.

"Ariana?" he purred, the slime practically dripping through the phone. "Darling, I wasn’t expecting a call this early. What is it, baby? You miss my cock already?"

The sheer, unadulterated filth of the comment hit the room like a flashbang.

Jordan, who could hear every single syllable clearly, felt revulsion surge through him.

’Disgusting pig.’

His fingers curled around Biscuit until he forced himself to loosen his grip again.

Even Rosalia, who had been trying to play wallpaper this entire time, uncomfortably shifted her gaze away, completely horrified by whatever the hell this situation had turned into.

Meanwhile, Sofia stood perfectly still. She just stared blankly at the phone in Aren’s hand in a silent, vibrating mass of fury.

Aren, however, remained completely unfazed.

"Sorry, mister. I have not called to request your male genitalia."

An oppressive silence settled over the immediate area.

Several nearby diners openly stared.

Aren continued without missing a beat.

"I have called to inform you that whatever relationship existed between us should be considered terminated. Effective immediately."

The line went dead silent.

On the other end, Manuel completely froze. For several seconds, he genuinely assumed this was some bizarre role-playing game Ariana was playing to get him going.

"Ari... sweetheart," he stammered, trying to laugh it off. "What are you talking about? Did I do something wrong? Was the last time not good enough? Because if that’s the case, I can—"

"No."

The single word cut through his response cleanly.

"Please listen carefully, sir."

For the first time, a trace of firmness entered Aren’s voice.

"You are a despicable human being for engaging in reproductive activity with me while simultaneously being promised in marriage to another woman. I strongly recommend that you review your moral standards, offer appropriate apologies to the woman you harmed, and make a sincere effort to become a more decent human being in the future."

An absolute, crushing silence descended upon the entire restaurant.

Sofia stared.

Jordan stared.

Rosalia stared.

Even Manuel probably wished he was standing right there in the room, just so he could stare at her, too.

The sheer absurdity of the call left the entire restaurant devoid of oxygen.

Before anyone could break the silence or make a move, Aren calmly extended her arm, holding the active phone out toward Sofia like a reporter offering a microphone.

"Is there anything you would like to say to your former fiancé?" she asked calmly. "Please, go ahead. I believe you have every right to."