Every Mafia's Favorite Girl

Chapter 57: "Her Bread Is Edible"

The tiny spoonful of ice cream hovered inches from Caio’s mouth.

He glanced down at the concoction perched upon it. The color was a vivid orange-red, marbled with an ominous black swirl that wound through it like a trail leading deeper into some culinary nightmare.

Looking at it, he experienced the first genuine regret he had felt since suggesting the purchase of the ice cream machine.

Then, he looked at Aren.

She was watching him with bright, hopeful eyes and an eager tilt of her head, waiting so intently for his verdict that refusal ceased to be a realistic option.

Caio swallowed.

Offered a silent prayer to whatever higher power oversaw reckless culinary experimentation.

Then opened his mouth.

The ice cream melted almost instantly on his tongue.

Across from him, Aren held her breath, scrutinizing every flicker of his expression for signs of revulsion. To her surprise, the tension in his face began to ease the moment he closed his mouth.

’Wait a minute...’ he tasted it slowly. ’This is... not poisonous.’

His eyes widened ever so slightly at the realization. A thoughtful calm settled over him as he started seriously assessing the layers of flavor unfolding across his palate.

"So?" Aren asked, her brows knitting together anxiously. "Is it... bad?"

Caio remained silent for another moment, carefully evaluating the taste.

"It’s actually... good," he admitted at last.

When he looked up, his voice had softened considerably.

"Another spoonful?"

"Hey."

Jordan’s voice cut through the moment.

Seated several chairs away, he had been waiting with increasingly visible impatience.

"Your turn is over," he muttered. "It’s my turn now."

Caio shot him an irritated glare, already preparing a response, but Aren had turned away before he could speak. Picking up a clean spoon, she carefully scooped another serving from the container and offered it to Jordan.

"If it’s terrible, you have to be completely honest with me, all right?" she said seriously.

Jordan accepted the bite.

Unlike Caio, who had taken his time reaching a conclusion, Jordan reacted immediately. Surprise flashed across his features the instant the flavor hit.

"This is amazing," he said, staring down at the container as though he could not reconcile its sinister appearance with its taste. "How did you even come up with this?"

Aren looked genuinely surprised herself, as if the success of the experiment had caught her off guard.

"I just wanted to try something a little different," she admitted shyly.

"Different is an understatement." Jordan shook his head. "I’m certain there’s nothing like this anywhere else in Borgata. If you ever open a shop, I’ll be your first customer."

A vivid blush spread across Aren’s cheeks.

"Actually..." She shifted nervously in her seat. "I do want to open a shop someday. Not just for ice cream. I want to open a bakery that serves ice cream too."

"You do?" Jordan asked, intrigued.

Even Caio looked over, openly surprised.

Aren nodded shyly.

"...Yes."

"Do you have any samples available right now?" Jordan asked. "I’d love to try your baking."

"They ran out this morning." Her shoulders dipped slightly. "I gave everyone in the house a piece. But... you might not have liked it anyway. Judging by their reactions, it seems my bread is still fairly disastrous."

"Disastrous?" Jordan raised a skeptical brow. "How bad could it possibly be?"

Aren offered a sheepish smile.

"Pretty bad."

Across the table, Caio gave a solemn nod.

"Her bread is edible."

Had any member of the household staff been present, every one of them would have silently endorsed that assessment.

Jordan seized the opportunity immediately.

’Perfect. A chance to spend more time with her.’

"I could always come over," he offered casually. "Help you in the kitchen with your baking."

Aren’s eyes lit up at once.

"Absolutely not."

Caio’s interruption landed like a gunshot.

His gaze sharpened into something lethal.

"Take one more step inside my estate after tonight, and you won’t be leaving with functional legs."

Aren ignored the threat entirely.

"You know how to bake?" she asked, turning toward Jordan. "Can you teach me?"

"Of course I know how," Jordan lied without the slightest hesitation. "What do you want to learn? Ciabatta? Focaccia? Tiramisu? I can teach you desserts too."

The truth was that he had never voluntarily entered the kitchen of the Marchetti estate in his life. He was already making plans to spend every available hour of his next break begging the family chef to transform him into a competent baker before anyone discovered the deception.

Aren, however, believed him completely. Her eyes seemed to grow brighter with every item he listed.

"And panna cotta, too?"

Jordan nodded confidently.

"And cannoli."

"And cheesecakes?"

"We can do shortbread and cookies as well."

"Arghhhhh!"

The sound that escaped her was one of pure delight.

Several seats away, Caio became very still.

He stared at the two of them with an expression that suggested he was actively calculating the logistics of shooting the Marchetti heir, burying the body somewhere on his property, and dealing with the resulting mafia war afterward.

His jaw tightened.

His fists clenched.

He rose abruptly from his chair.

"The ice cream evaluation is over," he declared. "Now get out of here while I’m still feeling charitable enough to let you breathe."

The warm atmosphere between Aren and Jordan vanished instantly. Slowly, deliberately, Jordan pushed himself to his feet and slid his hands into his pockets.

"No need to throw a tantrum. I have to report back to my father anyway."

He turned to Aren. The hardness disappeared from his features almost immediately.

"Think about the baking lessons. If I’m not welcome here, we can always use the Marchetti kitchens. We lack absolutely nothing over there."

Aren was far too excited by the prospect of learning new skills to notice the hostility simmering beneath the exchange.

"Let me walk you to the door," she said brightly.

"No," Caio interjected at once. "He has perfectly functional eyes and legs. He can find his own way out."

Aren turned toward him, silver eyes filling with a pleading look.

"Please, Don Caio... Jordan took me to buy cakes for everyone. At least let me show him the basic courtesy of walking him out."

Caio stared down at her.

Frustration flickered behind his eyes. Frustration at her, frustration at Jordan, frustration at the increasingly hopeless battle he seemed destined to lose whenever she looked at him like that.

After a long moment, he released an irritated sigh and folded his arms across his chest, pretending complete indifference.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Do whatever you want."

Aren immediately brightened. Turning back to Jordan, she flashed him a brilliant smile.

"Then let’s go! It’s getting late. You should head back and get some rest."

Jordan smiled softly in return. Before following her from the dining hall, he cast one final, thoroughly smug glance in Caio’s direction. freeweɓnovel.cøm

Caio seriously considered pulling out his gun.

Jordan followed Aren out anyway.

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

As they walked, the grand corridors of the mansion were unusually quiet.

Ordinarily, the estate remained in constant motion, with maids and footmen moving between wings in a seamless rhythm of service.

Tonight, however, the hallways stood almost deserted. The reason was simple: every member of the household staff currently on duty had congregated in the kitchen, happily enjoying slices of the cake Aren had brought home.

"There’s something I need to ask you," Jordan said quietly as they made their way through the corridor.

Aren glanced over.

"About the Marchetti Trials..." He hesitated briefly before continuing. "Are you absolutely certain you want to compete?"

Aren nodded without hesitation.

"Yes. I’m certain."

A playful note entered her voice as she added,

"Why? Are you suddenly terrified of having me as an opponent?"

Jordan laughed.

"No chance. I’m looking forward to defeating you fairly."

A grin tugged at his mouth before his expression became more serious.

"But since you’re genuinely planning to compete, there are some things you should know. The average Marchetti soldier isn’t someone you need to worry about. Most of them aren’t even close to your level. It’s the others who are dangerous."

He glanced down at her.

"Especially certain capos. And... my siblings."

Aren considered that for a moment.

"You mentioned earlier that your younger brother, Nazario, is entering this year. Oscar is still too young to compete." Her brow furrowed slightly. "Does that mean Sofia and Rosalia are competing as well?"

Jordan released a long sigh.

"Exactly. And considering the explosive encounter you just had with Sofia, I can’t guarantee she won’t try to settle a personal score during the competition."

His tone dropped into something noticeably more serious.

"Since you’re entering, I need to make the rules perfectly clear. The first round is essentially an individual evaluation. The final round is heavily regulated. But the second round..." His jaw tightened. "Inside the maze, there are almost no restrictions."

Aren blinked.

"What do you mean? Am I not simply supposed to navigate the maze and retrieve a coin?"

"You are," Jordan said grimly. "But the problem is the clause governing the second stage. Participants are permitted to do whatever is necessary to secure one."

Aren studied him carefully.

"Including lethal force?"

Jordan nodded.

"Including death."