Every Mafia's Favorite Girl

Chapter 66: "White Peonies"

Meanwhile, Aren shared none of Jeremiah’s fantasies.

She listened in attentive silence, absently finishing the last spoonfuls of her gelato while sorting through everything he had told her.

’So... I just have to show up, dress nicely, avoid fighting anyone, and answer a few questions.’

’Though Don Caio will probably send someone to answer most of them for me.’

She paused, frowning slightly.

’But... this doesn’t really sound confidential enough to require a private meeting.’

’He practically announced the whole thing to the entire country already.’

Once she had processed everything, she looked up.

"So... was that everything you wanted to discuss with me?"

Jeremiah’s hand froze halfway to his mouth, his spoon suspended above the towering masterpiece of gelato. frёewebnoѵēl.com

A nearly imperceptible twitch flickered at his eyebrow.

’What do you mean, "was that everything"?!’

’I spent one full week planning every detail!’

The silent scream never escaped the prison of his immaculate smile. Instead, it widened by the smallest fraction as his mind scrambled to make the conversation sound more substantial.

"Well, yes," he said smoothly. "And... there’s also information about the first opponent you’re going to face. You’ll be meeting him at the press conference as well."

Aren’s eyes lit up immediately.

"Ah! You mean his name? His statistics?" Leaning forward, she added eagerly, "Do you happen to have recordings of his previous fights too?"

Jeremiah suddenly felt the faintest bead of sweat forming beneath her intense gaze.

"Well..." He cleared his throat delicately. "If you’d like, I can certainly retrieve them and send them to you immediately."

"Wonderful!"

Aren rose from her seat so abruptly that Jeremiah nearly dropped his spoon.

"Mister Castellano, may I make a suggestion?"

Jeremiah blinked up at her.

"W-What... what suggestion?"

"Next time," she said, lifting a finger, "just send an email."

Jeremiah blinked again.

Then again.

Aren continued before he had the chance to respond.

"An email informing me of the date, time, and location, with all the relevant files and footage attached. I believe that would be a much more efficient way to communicate."

Jeremiah stared at her in silence.

Slowly, he lowered his gelato onto the table.

"Lady Ariana."

He swallowed down his pride.

"Of course I could send an email. But don’t you find it pleasant that... you know... we can sit down together and enjoy gelato while discussing business?"

"I do enjoy the time," Aren admitted with a sharp nod. "But I recall you mentioning earlier how incredibly busy you are."

She began counting on her fingers.

"Photoshoots. Spa appointments. And... yoga classes?"

Looking back at him with genuine concern, she added,

"I simply wanted to help you manage your time more efficiently."

With that, she gathered the two pastry boxes into her arms and stepped away from the table.

"If there is nothing else, then I’ll excuse myself now."

Jeremiah remained exactly where he was, blinking rapidly at her.

Completely defeated.

’Fucking hell.’

’I never should’ve made up that excuse just to get rid of that maid.’

He watched in mounting despair as Aren headed toward the exit. Then, just as suddenly, she stopped and turned around so sharply that Jeremiah nearly flinched a second time.

"Wait a moment!"

She marched back to the table with renewed determination.

"There is still something I’d like to ask you."

Jeremiah recovered with astonishing speed. His charming smile returned as though it had never left.

"Of course, my lady," he gestured invitingly. "You may ask me absolutely anything."

Aren wasted no time.

"Do you know a great deal about flowers?"

Jeremiah stalled.

"...Flowers?"

Aren nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes. And the meanings behind them."

She scratched her cheek nervously.

"Earlier I heard you ordering so many exotic flowers I’d never even heard of. I thought perhaps you’re something of an expert."

At last, Jeremiah understood where this was coming from. Leaning elegantly against his hand, he slipped effortlessly back into the role of charming connoisseur.

"Flowers and beautiful things happen to be among my passions. Go ahead, my lady. Ask away."

Aren immediately leaned forward.

"What is the meaning of white peonies?"

Jeremiah frowned ever so slightly.

"White peonies?"

"Yes." Aren nodded eagerly. "The white flowers with lots and lots of petals."

Jeremiah looked at her with open amusement, a smirk tugging at his lips. Of all the flowers she could have chosen, she had asked about one he personally considered rather... conservative.

’Have I completely misjudged her?’

’Is she actually drawn to... boring things?’

Even so, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, making a show of considering the question.

"They’re rather fascinating flowers. I would associate them with shyness, bashfulness, and... unspoken affection."

Aren frowned.

"Unspoken... affection?"

Jeremiah nodded confidently.

"In old folklore, mischievous nymphs were said to hide themselves within peony blossoms."

His gaze drifted back to her, lingering on the way she stood clutching the two pastry boxes tightly against her chest. She looked thoroughly flustered, yet she was listening with a barely hidden interest that made his smile deepened.

"It’s a perfect flower for someone who secretly longs for another person but is too proud... or too guarded to admit their feelings aloud."

Silence settled between them.

Aren quietly considered everything he had said.

’I didn’t understand all of that...’

’But... that sounds a little like my situation.’

Jeremiah leaned forward, amusement dancing behind his eyes.

"And who is the fortunate gentleman receiving these white peonies, may I ask?"

Aren looked up, blinking.

"How do you know they’re not for Don Gian?"

"I happened to notice the flowers you purchased for your father earlier," he replied simply. "White tulips and blue hydrangeas. So I assumed these peonies were intended for someone else."

Aren’s gaze instantly dropped to the floor. Warmth flooded her face now that someone had pointed out her secret thoughts aloud.

"You’re... correct," she admitted shyly. "The white peonies... I’m thinking of buying them for Don Caio."

For the briefest instant, Jeremiah’s smile cracked.

It was subtle. Barely visible.

A muscle in his cheek tightened so violently it began to twitch. He quickly concealed it behind a soft chuckle before Aren could notice.

"For Caio Sartori?" he mused. "Your relationship with him must be... progressing very well, then."

"Well..." Aren tilted her head. "We’ve gotten quite close."

Heat surged across her face as memories from that morning flashed through her mind. Before her embarrassment could deepen, she dipped her head gratefully.

"Thank you very much for explaining everything, Mister Castellano. I won’t take up any more of your valuable time."

With that, she hurried through the café doors, leaving behind a Jeremiah who still appeared to be smiling like a saint, despite the fact that his facial muscles were now twitching so violently they hurt.

Without hesitation, he abandoned his unicorn gelato and strode to the order counter.

He offered the cashier a smile so beautiful she nearly forgot how to breathe, then ordered three boxes of garlic butter croissants along with two cartons of gelato for Marco.

Once everything had been packed, he slipped out through the glass doors, leaving behind a trail of swooning hearts in his wake.

The moment he stepped into the luxurious white car waiting at the curb, however, every trace of warmth disappeared.

The smile disappeared.

The charm evaporated.

Only ice remained.

Without a word, he shoved the bags into Marco’s arms.

Marco immediately snatched them up eagerly.

"Finally, Young Boss. Do you have any idea how long—"

The rest of the complaint died in his throat. freewebnoveℓ.com

Experience had taught him that whenever Jeremiah wore that expression, something had gone catastrophically wrong.

Very wisely, he lowered his voice.

"Um... Young Boss? Everything alright?"

Almost immediately, the icy expression dissolved form Jeremiah’s face.

Warmth flowed back across his features so seamlessly that it was difficult to believe the icy expression had ever existed at all.

"Everything is just fine, Marco," he said pleasantly. "However... there is a tiny adjustment we need to make."

Marco instantly suspected he was not going to enjoy this conversation.

"Adjustment?" he repeated cautiously. "What adjustment?"

Jeremiah turned toward Marco, smiling with flawless serenity.

"The flower order."

His smile brightened.

"Cancel it."

Marco’s face twisted in horror.

"But, Young Boss!" he nearly shouted. "I already paid for everything! Arranged the deliveries! Scheduled the decorators! I even threatened the florist just to secure those black roses before anyone else bought them!"

Jeremiah’s smile never wavered.

"Cancel it."

Marco looked moments away from tearing out his own hair.

"Young Boss! You know perfectly well there is no canceling the order at this point! We’re going to receive the entire shipment. Hundreds of flowers!"

Jeremiah’s smile somehow became even gentler.

"Cancel it."

"Sir!" Marco exploded. "We’re talking about enough flowers to fill an entire fighting arena! What exactly am I supposed to do with all of them?"

Jeremiah merely shrugged, already sounding bored by the discussion.

"Whatever you like. Decorate the casino lobby. Decorate your house. Set them on fire. I truly don’t mind."

Another shrug.

"Just place another order."

Marco stared at him in utter disbelief.

"...You can’t possibly be serious. You want me to buy another entire shipment?"

"Exactly," Jeremiah replied, as casually as though discussing the weather. "The same quantity. But this time..."

His lips curved upward in quiet satisfaction.

"...only one type of flower."

By now, Marco had reached the conclusion that arguing further would accomplish absolutely nothing.

Pulling out a croissant, he took a furious bite and chewed as though it might lower his blood pressure.

"Fine! What exactly is this brilliant flower you have in mind? Just say it!"

Jeremiah’s smile turned almost dreamlike.

"White peonies."

Marco stared at him.

"Just... white peonies? Covering the whole place?"

To Marco, that sounded less like decorations for a press conference and more like an extremely expensive funeral.

Jeremiah, meanwhile, had already stopped listening. He was already looking out the window again, his expression distant and dreamy, as though he could already see the completed arrangement unfolded before his eyes.

Rows upon rows of pristine white blossoms.

An endless sea of petals.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his smile widened.

"Just white peonies..." he murmured. "Shy, bashful, guarded white peonies. Blooming beautifully in every direction."