Every Mafia's Favorite Girl

Chapter 55: "A Bakery Dinner, It Is"

Jordan deposited Aren into the passenger seat of his car with perhaps a little more care than was strictly necessary.

Biscuit followed immediately afterward, springing up onto her lap and settling there as though he belonged.

The moment both of them were inside, Jordan shut the passenger door and circled to the driver’s side. When he climbed in, he slammed his own door hard enough to rattle the frame.

The sharp sound made both Aren and Biscuit jump.

’Oh no...’

Aren lowered her gaze.

_’Now it is Jordan who’s not in a good mood.’

Jordan released a short breath through his nose and dragged a hand through his hair, leaving the dark strands thoroughly disheveled.

His chest felt heavy. Crowded. Filled with questions he didn’t know how to ask and answers he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

’God, she really did that.’

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

’She actually did something that cruel.’

’Sleeping with an engaged man. Humiliating Sofia. In front of everyone.’

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

’And I knew nothing about it.’

’I kept telling myself everything people said about her was exaggerated.’

’Believing she was innocent. Honest. Kind.’

’Believing those eyes.’

Yet that wasn’t even the part that disturbed him most.

The same woman who had supposedly committed such a callous act had just apologized to Sofia in the most absurd manner imaginable, offering strategic advice on proper slapping angles as though they were discussing self-defense techniques rather than a public humiliation.

Nothing about it fit. And when he looked toward her, his confusion only deepened.

Aren sat quietly with Biscuit in her arms, looking back at him with those same clear silver eyes. There was no guilt in them. No defensiveness. No hidden malice. Nothing that matched the image Sofia had painted.

’Has she simply been lying that well?’ ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

’Or am I just that naive?’

’Maybe I’ve never dealt with someone capable of pretending this convincingly before.’

His jaw tightened.

’But everything I’ve felt about her so far...’

’It feels real.’

’Too real to be fake.’

The more he examined the contradiction, the more frustrated he became.

Across from him, Aren watched every subtle shift in his expression.

She noticed the way his gaze no longer softened when it landed on her. She noticed the absence of his easy smiles, the warmth that usually lingered around him now replaced by something sharper and far more difficult to read.

’Jordan is angry with me now.’

The realization left her feeling strangely helpless.

’But... I didn’t do any of that.’

’How am I supposed to convince him?’

She tightened her arms slightly around Biscuit, drawing comfort from his warm little body.

Part of her wanted desperately to explain everything, but she already knew how that conversation would end. Telling him she had died, awakened in another body, and inherited someone else’s life rarely sounded convincing, even if Caio had somehow believed her.

’That would only make things worse.’

So she remained silent.

The air inside the car grew steadily heavier as the silence stretched between them. At last, Jordan started the engine and pulled away from the restaurant.

He hadn’t even decided where they were going. He simply drove. At the moment, putting distance between himself and the restaurant felt far easier than sorting through the mess occupying his thoughts.

The city lights slid across the windshield as they moved through the evening streets.

Eventually, the silence became unbearable.

"So..." Jordan began carefully, keeping his attention fixed on the road ahead. "You’ve had quite a history with my sister, Sofia."

Aren immediately felt her stomach tighten. Of all the subjects she wished to avoid, this was undoubtedly near the top.

"I believe..." she began slowly, choosing every word with care, "I made many mistakes in the past... I cannot fix what I have done. The only thing I can do now is try my best to make things right."

Jordan glanced sideways at her.

"By offering Sofia a free shot at your face?"

"If that solves the problem," Aren replied matter-of-factly, "then it seems like an appropriate measure."

After a brief pause, her voice softened.

"And... your sister seems to be carrying a great deal of pain."

Jordan stared through the windshield.

For a moment, he honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. The logic was ridiculous. It should have sounded ridiculous. Instead, it made something ache unexpectedly inside his chest.

She sounded so sincere that part of him wanted to reach over and ruffle her hair simply to knock some sense into her.

’No.’

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

’Focus.’

’She might just be very good at this.’

’Be careful.’

’Don’t let yourself get fooled any more than you already have.’

’Just act normal.’

’Yeah.’

’Normal.’

"Don’t do that again," he said, his voice turning serious. "If someone you’ve hurt wants revenge... physical revenge, like Sofia did, call me first. I’ll handle it."

Aren stared at him.

Then stared harder.

"You can’t be serious."

A small, self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I am serious. I’m a big guy. I can take a few punches."

"That’s not funny at all."

The immediate disapproval in her voice caught him completely off guard.

His smile deepened despite himself.

"Then stop volunteering yourself as a punching bag for people who hate you. Especially when you’re so..." His gaze flickered briefly toward her before returning to the road. "Soft. And skinny. And delicate."

The words struck Aren with surprising force.

Heat flooded her cheeks almost instantly.

"Well, yes..." she admitted, lowering her gaze toward her hands. "I am still not well-built enough yet. It’s a problem I am actively trying to solve."

As Aren studied her own hands with visible concern, Jordan stole another glance at her.

The truth was that his assessment had very little to do with her appearance. Earlier in the gym, when they had crashed together onto the mats, he had felt it for himself.

She was soft.

Unexpectedly so.

There was none of the dense musculature he would expect from someone capable of throwing him around like a training dummy. No visible evidence of years spent lifting weights or surviving relentless combat training.

And yet, every movement she made carried the precision of a lifelong master.

She had thrown him twice.

Twice.

’None of this makes any sense.’

’How is she doing any of that?’

His eyes narrowed.

’Every single thing about her is a contradiction.’

’I really need to keep watching her.’

"If you want to train," he said eventually, forcing his tone into something casual, "I’m available. Sparring, conditioning, whatever you need."

Aren’s eyes widened immediately.

’Is he not... angry at me?’

"You’d really do that for me?" she asked.

Jordan shrugged.

"Only if you want."

Aren studied Jordan’s expression carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, any sign that he might be doing this out of politeness.

She found none.

Jordan merely kept his attention on the road, calm and composed, looking almost exactly as he always did.

Relief flooded through her so suddenly that she nearly sagged against the seat.

’So Jordan actually wants to train with me.’

’He’s really not angry.’

’Thank God.’

"Then I’d love to train with you!" she said, unable to hide her excitement. "Thank you, Jordan. You are very kind."

Immediately she lowered her attention to Biscuit, rubbing the dog’s ear with careful affection.

"You heard that, Biscuit? We’ll be visiting the gym more often. You’ll get to watch more sparring."

Biscuit let out a cheerful yip, fully endorsing the arrangement.

Jordan glanced at the two of them.

For the first time since the incident, an honest laugh escaped him. It burst out before he could stop it, breaking through the heaviness that had settled over his thoughts.

Even so, guilt lingered underneath.

’Am I doing the right thing?’

’Pretending everything is normal while I’m secretly trying to figure her out?’

The thought stung. Yet another followed immediately afterward.

’But if she keeps making me feel this way....’

His gaze drifted briefly toward her.

’I’d rather know the truth than end up acting like some lovesick idiot.’

Clearing his throat, he forced himself back to the conversation.

"So... dinner."

Aren looked up.

"Since my first choice turned into a disaster, is there somewhere you’d actually like to go? I’ll take you anywhere."

"How about the bakery?"

Jordan blinked.

"The bakery?"

Aren turned toward him fully, her eyes practically sparkling.

"Yes. The one I visited before. It’s near the Marchetti compound. I need to buy cakes for Mrs. Pecora and everyone anyway."

As though understanding the gravity of the discussion, Biscuit lifted his head and fixed Jordan with an identical expression of hopeful anticipation.

For a long moment, Jordan simply stared at them.

First Aren.

Then Biscuit.

Then back to Aren again.

The resemblance was alarmingly strong.

Before he could stop himself, another laughter escaped him. He shook his head and turned the wheel, guiding the car back toward the Marchetti District.

"Of course," Jordan said quietly. "A bakery dinner it is."