Every Mafia's Favorite Girl

Chapter 71: "A Little Happier"

One by one, the ice cream containers were unpacked and arranged across the coffee table.

A single scoop from each selected flavor was carefully placed into a tall glass dessert cup, accompanied by a small silver spoon.

Gian studied the first serving with open curiosity. It looked nothing like any ice cream — or even gelato — he had ever encountered.

Swirls of pink melted into deep violet, streaked with what resembled crimson syrup. Yet instead of sweetness alone, an unexpected aroma drifted upward, carrying the unmistakable warmth of chili. freewёbnoνel.com

His brows rose.

Slowly, he lifted a spoonful to his mouth.

He tasted it carefully, allowing the flavors to unfold one after another. A moment later, genuine astonishment spread across his face.

Never, in all his years, would he have imagined that chili could complement strawberries and grapes so perfectly.

The sweetness arrived first, followed by bright fruit, then a lingering warmth that bloomed pleasantly across his tongue rather than overpowering it.

"Ariana," he said, looking at her with undisguised amazement, "how did you ever come up with something like this?"

Aren’s cheeks immediately flushed crimson.

’He... he actually likes it?’

"Is it truly that good, Father?" she asked, unable to hide the hopeful excitement in her voice.

"It’s beyond good," Gian replied without hesitation. "It’s magnificent. Our restaurants serve only the finest cuisine. You know that. I’ve tasted dishes prepared by some of the world’s best chefs."

He glanced down at the melting scoop again, shaking his head in disbelief.

"This is creative... unexpected... and genuinely mind-blowing."

"Really?" Aren leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. "Then... what would you think about putting something like this on the menu? At our hotels... or perhaps even the nightclubs?"

Gian blinked.

"You truly want that?"

She nodded eagerly.

"I brought more flavors," she gestured toward the unopened containers lined across the table. "Please try all of them before you decide."

Gian’s gaze drifted toward the remaining tubs before shifting to the elderly butler standing patiently nearby.

"What do you think, Carlo?" he asked with a smile. "Come. Taste my daughter’s ice cream and tell me your honest opinion."

The butler, Carlo, looked noticeably hesitant. The bizarre colors alone were enough to make any respectable butler question his life choices.

Still, after composing himself, Carlo stepped forward with a respectful bow.

"With your permission, sir."

One flavor became two.

Two became five.

Then eight.

Each spoonful painted a different expression across both men’s faces — surprise, confusion, curiosity, delight.

Some combinations shouldn’t have worked.

Yet somehow... they did.

By the time they finished, their palates had endured such an outrageous parade of flavors that distinguishing one from another had become almost impossible.

Even so, both men wore identical expressions — the look of people who had just watched everything they believed about ice cream crumble before being rebuilt into something entirely new.

Gian finally set his dessert cup onto the table.

"Well, Carlo?"

The butler carefully placed down his own cup before folding his hands respectfully behind his back.

"I’ve overseen this household for twenty years, sir," he said thoughtfully. "Before that, I spent my career in luxury hospitality. In all that time..."

He gave Aren an appreciative glance.

"I’ve never tasted anything quite like Lady Ariana’s creations."

"Exactly!" Gian exclaimed, clearly delighted to have someone confirm his own thoughts. "Perhaps these could become desserts at our hotels. We choose several favorites... the ones most likely to appeal to our guests."

"Or rotate them seasonally," Carlo suggested. "Our young lady has already created sixteen different flavors, sir."

Gian’s eyes brightened.

"Excellent idea."

He turned back toward Aren, warmth filling his smile.

"Would something like that be what you had in mind, my dear?"

Aren had been quietly containing her excitement while the two men discussed possibilities. Now, she could no longer hide it.

"I’d be overjoyed, Father," she said, nodding enthusiastically. "I only hoped you would support the idea."

She immediately reached for her phone and began opening photographs of earlier batches.

"I’ve made many more," Aren said proudly, showing Gian each photograph one after another. "But... most of them had run out before today."

The truth was, many of those experimental flavors had never survived long enough for anyone else to taste them after Caio had shamelessly claimed them for himself, leaving no room whatsoever for objections.

"Would you like to try all of them eventually?" Aren added with a bright smile. "I could come again next Sunday... and bring new samples."

Gian froze.

He looked from the photographs back to her face.

"You..."

His voice caught.

"...You would come again?"

Aren stiffened slightly as she noticed the emotion welling in Gian’s eyes once more.

’Did I say something strange?’

"Of course." She nodded without hesitation. "Would that be convenient? I imagine you’ve been very busy lately."

The question made Gian wave both hands almost frantically.

"No, no! Not busy, sweetheart," he insisted at once. "You may visit whenever you wish. I’ll always make time for you."

Aren’s entire face blossomed into a radiant smile.

"Then I’ll come every Sunday, if that’s acceptable," she said happily. "I’ll bring something each time. Ice cream... bread, if it turns out well... or cupcakes."

She smiled to herself.

"I think gatherings always become a little happier when there’s something sweet to share."

Every word she spoke seemed to brighten the room, despite the rain pouring relentlessly beyond the tall windows.

Around them, members of the Lombardi household quietly exchanged glances with misty eyes. Seeing the Don and his daughter like this again felt almost miraculous.

Yet, amidst that rare moment of tenderness, Gian had gone very still. His gaze drifted toward the rain-streaked windows.

"Your mother used to say the same thing," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

Instantly, the warmth in the room faded into a gentle silence.

Aren lowered her eyes.

’...What should I say?’

From everything she had learned about the original Ariana Lombardi, her mother, Annetta Lombardi, had died of cancer when Ariana was only eight years old.

Gian had never remarried. Hearing him speak now, it was painfully obvious that the years had done nothing to lessen the emptiness her absence had left behind.

Perhaps realizing he had darkened the mood himself, Gian slowly rose from his chair.

"Would you like to walk around for a while?" he asked, gesturing toward the upper floors. "Perhaps... see your room? I’ve kept everything exactly as it was..." His voice faltered before he quietly finished, "...since you left."

Aren rose immediately.

"Of course, Father."

The butler and several maids instantly stepped forward to accompany them, but Gian raised a hand to stop them.

"No need," he said. "Return to your duties. If I require anything, I’ll call for you."

"Yes, sir," Carlo replied with a respectful bow. "I’ll keep the tea warm for your return."

Together, Gian and Aren made their way toward the grand staircase, climbing side by side while the servants quietly dispersed throughout the estate, each carrying their own mixture of relief, gratitude, and lingering emotion.

None of them noticed the brief, razor-sharp glint that flashed through Daria’s eyes.

Her gaze settled for only an instant on Aren’s unfinished teacup.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the calculating expression vanished, replaced once more by the pleasant, dutiful smile she wore so effortlessly.