Every Mafia's Favorite Girl

Chapter 62: "Would You Like To Come Home?"

Moments later, Aren finally finished breakfast.

The dining hall had gradually emptied after Caio’s departure, the lingering shock among the staff settling into whispered disbelief and private confusion.

They had seen Caio Sartori sitting across from Ariana Lombardi countless times.

What they had never seen was the Don treating her with such open affection, such shameless tenderness, as though they were lovers still caught in the glow of a honeymoon.

Aren, meanwhile, remained blissfully unaware of the emotional devastation left behind in his wake. She carefully finished her tea and the last few bites of breakfast while mentally preparing herself for the rest of the day.

’I should talk to Mrs. Pecora.’

’Perhaps today’s lesson can focus on improving bread density.’

’The current casualty rate among the staff remains unacceptable.’

The thought filled her with renewed determination. She was just about to stand and head toward the kitchen when a vibration buzzed against her hip.

Aren reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. The moment she saw the screen, she froze.

’Father?’

Only moments ago she had been considering whether she should visit the Lombardi estate, bring the ice cream, or try mending the fractured father-daughter relationship she had inherited from the original Ariana.

Now, Don Gian was calling her himself.

Carefully, she pressed the green button.

The call connected immediately.

"Hello," Aren said politely.

Silence greeted her.

Not complete silence. There were faint sounds on the other end — like breathing.

Soft, uneven breaths.

Across the line, Gian Lombardi was gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

His heart was pounding. When he had finally worked up the courage to call his daughter that morning, he had genuinely believed she would ignore him.

After all, despite her recent remarkable changes, she had ignored him for an entire year. The fact that she had actually answered nearly made him drop the phone.

Taking a slow breath, Gian forced himself to speak normally.

"Ariana." His voice cracked slightly. "H-how are you?"

"I am well, Father," Aren said, genuine warmth in her tone. "How are you? How is Isabella?"

"Isabella is great," he replied. "She’s been running errands for me lately."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"As for me, I’m still doing fine."

Then hesitation crept into his voice, heavy with all the worry, guilt, and fear of a father who no longer knew where he stood with his child.

"Is Caio Sartori treating you well?" he asked quietly. "Does he not... abuse you?"

"No, not at all!"

The response arrived so quickly that Gian physically flinched.

Aren’s voice only seemed to brighten with every word. "He’s been very kind. Everyone in the household treats me well too. Especially Mrs. Pecora."

Nearby, Mrs. Pecora happened to be reviewing the breakfast arrangements while several maids cleared away dishes. The moment she overheard those words, something unexpectedly warm blossomed in her chest.

’She likes me.’

’She definitely likes me.’

Outwardly, her expression remained perfectly professional. Internally, however, she felt absurdly pleased.

Gian, meanwhile, furrowed his brow.

"Who is Mrs. Pecora?"

"Mrs. Pecora is the Operative Head of the estate," Aren explained. "She teaches me how to bake and make ice cream. She is very kind."

Mrs. Pecora blinked.

Then sighed.

"Ahem, my lady," she cleared her throat slightly. "I’m the Head of Staff. Not the Operative Head."

Aren turned toward her.

"Ah..."

Several seconds passed.

"I see."

She returned her attention to the phone, her voice brightening again.

"The Head of Staff, Father! I wish to introduce her to you one day."

Gian only became more confused.

His daughter was not merely safe and well-treated. She was baking. Making ice cream. Praising household staff. Wanting to introduce them to him.

Nothing about this conversation resembled the Ariana he remembered. He grabbed a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his forehead.

’What happened over there?’ freewebnovel.cσ๓

Still, he forced himself onward.

"That’s great, Ariana. I would like to meet Mrs. Pecora as well."

His expression grew more serious.

"But... I’ve called for something else."

His fingers tightened around the phone. The next words seemed strangely difficult to say.

"Would you..."

He swallowed.

"Would you like to come home?"

The silence that followed stretched for several heartbeats.

"I could speak to Caio Sartori directly," Gian continued carefully. "Ask for... his permission to let you come visit me."

Aren’s eyes immediately brightened.

’Coming home?’

’The Lombardi estate?’

Excitement spread through her chest.

’That’s perfect! I can bring the ice cream and ask him about the business idea.’

Her answer came instantly.

"Yes, Father! I’d love to come home! You don’t have to ask him. I can talk to Don Caio myself."

Gian frowned.

His tone became more cautious.

"Are you sure? Our business is recovering thanks to the money you’ve secured through those contracts. I could negotiate with the man directly."

"No need to negotiate anything, Father!" Aren said brightly. "I can talk to him. Don Caio is very kind. He also listens to me. He’s a good listener."

On the other end of the line, Gian blinked.

Then blinked again.

’Caio Sartori?’

His brain stalled.

’Kind?’

Another stall.

’A good listener?’

For a moment, the Don of House Lombardi found himself wondering whether Caio had somehow fed his daughter an experimental narcotic over the past few weeks that had completely distorted her judgment.

Steadying himself, Gian pushed the thought aside.

"Ariana," he said, sounding strained, "I’m... I’m glad to hear you get along well with him. I’ll have a car sent for you. What about Sunday?"

"Sunday is good," Aren said with a smile. "Thank you for the invitation, Father."

Her voice softened.

"I’d love to see you soon."

The silence that followed felt heavier.

More emotional.

"...Of course," Gian said.

The reply came quietly.

Aren ended the call shortly afterward and turned toward Mrs. Pecora, who was still standing near the doors.

"Mrs. Pecora, would you like to come meet my father this Sunday?"

Mrs. Pecora stared at her.

"M-me? This Sunday?"

"Yes," Aren nodded. "I just told Father I’d love to introduce you to him."

Mrs. Pecora rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"I heard, my lady."

She certainly had.

Taking a slow breath, she gathered herself before gesturing toward the enormous household surrounding them.

Her voice became apologetic.

"I’m afraid I can’t leave the estate. I have responsibilities here. Asking for leave on such short notice is difficult enough. If I disappeared for an entire day, this place would descend into absolute chaos."

Aren’s shoulders drooped.

"Ah... Then I suppose I’ll go alone."

A moment later, another thought struck her, and she looked up at Mrs. Pecora with wide, hopeful eyes.

"By the way... Mrs. Pecora, what should I bring to go see my father?"

She scratched her cheek nervously.

"It’s just... we had quite a fallout for a long time. I want to mend things, but I’m not sure what would be appropriate."

Mrs. Pecora immediately softened.

This, at least, was familiar territory to her.

She considered the question carefully.

"Perhaps gifts. Liquor. Cologne. Cravats. Men of his position often appreciate such things. But... if you’re uncertain about what he specifically likes, flowers are always a safe choice. They’re beautiful, and they carry meaning."

Aren leaned forward, curious.

"Flowers?"

Mrs. Pecora’s expression grew thoughtful.

"White tulips symbolize fresh beginnings. Blue hydrangeas can express gratitude and regret."

The more Mrs. Pecora explained, the brighter Aren became.

’Mrs. Pecora knows so much. She’s amazing.’

’I could ask Don Caio what Don Gian likes, but I want flowers too.’

’But Mrs. Pecora can’t leave the estate. And I know absolutely nothing about flowers.’

At last, she asked, "Mrs. Pecora, is there anyone you know who could help me buy flowers? I don’t want to bother Don Caio with something like this, but I want to buy the best flowers possible."

Before Mrs. Pecora could answer, another voice entered the conversation.

"I could accompany you, my lady."

Everyone in the room turned toward the speaker.

Standing near the doorway was a maid carrying a bag of trash. She clearly was not assigned to the dining hall staff, but Aren recognized her immediately.

’Daria?’

Mrs. Pecora’s expression tightened. Her gaze dropped to the trash bag.

"Daria, are you not scheduled to collect trash later? It’s still mealtime. What would the masters think if they saw a maid carrying garbage through the dining hall?"

Daria immediately became flustered, bowing her head in frantic apology.

"I’m very sorry, Mrs. Pecora. I was only hoping to keep the kitchen always clean."

Mrs. Pecora remained unconvinced.

"Return to your assigned duties at once. Lady Ariana is still dining."

"It’s okay, Mrs. Pecora," Aren intervened. "Let Daria come inside. I don’t mind."

Mrs. Pecora arched a brow.

"You know this maid?"

"I’ve met her once in the garden." Aren said, looking toward Daria. "Daria, you can help me buy flowers?"

Daria’s eyes lit up instantly. She nodded hurriedly and stepped forward.

"Yes, my lady. My parents owned a flower shop. I can tell fresh flowers from old stock immediately. I promise whatever flowers you buy will last much longer than normal."

Aren’s eyes brightened at once.

"You can?"

She turned to Mrs. Pecora.

"Mrs. Pecora, can you please excuse Daria from duty for a few hours so she can come with me?"

Mrs. Pecora’s hostility eased somewhat now that the maid appeared genuinely eager to help.

"Well..." She considered it for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. "Since Daria’s responsibilities are more limited than most, I suppose I can spare her for a few hours. But you may want to inform the Don yourself this time."

"Of course!"

Aren immediately pulled out her phone, fingers already flying across the screen.

Ariana: Don Caio, I shall go out with a maid to buy flowers now. Don’t worry! I’ll be back in a few hours. ☺️

With the message sent, Aren rose from her chair.

"Thank you, Mrs. Pecora. I’ll go get ready."

Mrs. Pecora nodded, though her voice turned firmer as she addressed Daria.

"Before you leave, return to your quarters. Clean yourself thoroughly and change into something presentable."

Daria nodded at once.

"Of course, Mrs. Pecora. I’ll head back immediately."

She turned toward Aren, gratitude practically radiating from her face.

"Thank you so much for trusting me, my lady. I’ll go get ready right away. I’ll see you soon!"

With that, Daria hurried away down the corridor, still carrying the trash bag.

To everyone watching, she looked like an overwhelmed young maid thrilled by an unexpected opportunity.

No one noticed the devious smile slowly spreading across her face once she disappeared around the corner.