Every Mafia's Favorite Girl

Chapter 72: "Regret"

Aren lifted a small picture frame from the shelf beside the bed in Ariana Lombardi’s bedroom.

The photograph captured a family frozen in a happier time.

A little girl with dark hair — not the platinum blonde she would wear in her later years — stood between her parents, smiling with a bright, innocent joy only childhood could possess.

There was no trace of the arrogance, cruelty, or corruption that would one day consume her.

Looking at that carefree child, Aren found it difficult to reconcile the image before her with the young woman whose life had become a tragedy.

’What happened to you?’

The thought drifted through her with quiet sorrow. Carefully, she returned the frame to its place before turning toward Gian.

"Father," she said quietly, "thank you... for keeping everything exactly as it was."

Gian had grown too emotional to remain standing. Slowly, he lowered himself into the armchair tucked in the corner of the room.

"Your mother..." he began softly. "She died when you were still too young."

His voice carried the weight of years spent regretting what could never be undone.

"Back then, I buried myself in work. The House... our business... there was always another crisis demanding my attention."

A bitter smile touched his lips before he looked away, unable to meet his daughter’s eyes.

"If I were ever given the chance to turn back time..." He let out a quiet breath. "I’d spend more of it with you."

Aren remained silent.

She couldn’t truly understand the regrets of a parent, but she understood regret itself.

’If I could turn back time... I’d save every member of my organization.’

’I’d change every mission that took someone away.’ freewёbnoνel.com

"You’ve done what you could," she said at last.

Sensing the conversation sinking beneath its own sorrow, Gian cleared his throat.

"Truthfully," he said, "I didn’t ask you upstairs just to show you your room. I wanted a chance to speak with you privately... without anyone else listening."

Aren gave him her full attention.

"Yes, Father? What is it you wish to discuss?"

Gian hesitated only briefly.

"Your contracts... with the other Houses."

His words came slowly, as though each one was unpleasant to utter.

"Lately... I’ve heard some rather terrible rumors. About you. About those contracts."

His gaze searched hers.

"Are they... true?"

Aren tilted her head.

"What things?"

Gian visibly struggled to force the words out.

"The Castellano Club."

His voice dropped even lower.

"And... you... with the Accardi consigliere."

Recognition dawned across Aren’s face.

"Ah..."

Her answer came without hesitation.

"Yes, Father! Everything you’ve heard is true."

Something inside Gian quietly collapsed.

It wasn’t humiliation.

That emotion had long since burned itself out. What remained was something far heavier — a father’s crushing conviction that he had failed his own daughter.

Aren watched the silent conflict unfold across every line etched into his weary face.

"But please don’t worry, Father," she said gently. "I’m managing every contract properly." freēwebnovel.com

She offered him a reassuring smile.

"I won’t disappoint you or House Lombardi. At least... not anymore."

Gian released a long, weary sigh.

Unwilling to linger on a subject that plainly wounded them both, he steered the conversation elsewhere.

"What about Caio Sartori?"

At once, Aren’s expression softened into an unmistakable smile.

"Like I told you before, Don Caio has treated me very well. He’s very kind. He even personally approved every one of my ice cream flavors."

Gian blinked.

"Caio Sartori... helped you with the ice cream?"

Aren nodded enthusiastically.

"He bought me an ice cream machine. And he was actually the one who suggested I bring my creations here so we could consider adding them to the menus of our businesses."

Silence settled over the room.

Gian simply stared at her.

In all the years he had known Caio Sartori, the young Don had done little besides scheme for opportunities to expand House Sartori’s territory at Lombardi’s expense.

But a business proposal? From Caio?

The very idea itself bordered on absurd.

Yet even that surprising revelation failed to ease the concern weighing upon him.

"You shouldn’t become too close to Caio Sartori," he said at last.

Aren blinked.

"But... why?"

Gian leaned back in his chair.

"Caio is a young man surrounded by trouble. House Sartori is facing turmoil of its own. Surely you remember that the previous Don — Macario Sartori, Caio’s father — was assassinated about a year ago?"

Aren nodded.

"I remember."

"The succession wasn’t settled peacefully," Gian continued. "Caio ultimately became Don, but in doing so he made enemies on every side — both within House Sartori and beyond it."

His expression hardened.

"You should be careful. I don’t want you caught in the middle of that struggle."

Aren immediately began connecting the pieces.

’This is the perfect opportunity to learn more about the assassination attempts.’

"Father," she asked carefully, "what else do you know about House Sartori? I wish to learn more, for... my own safety."

Gian considered the question for a moment, then asked,

"I don’t know whether you remember this, but Caio has a younger brother."

"A younger brother?"

He nodded slowly.

"Cesare Sartori."

His expression grew thoughtful.

"Cesare is hardly a public figure. From what I’ve heard, he’s quiet. Introverted. Caio sent him away to study medicine in another city. Officially, it was for his education. In reality... it was a convenient way to keep the boy from competing directly with him for the succession."

He folded both hands together, voice growing more serious as he continued.

"Then there was Liviana Sartori, his aunt. At the time, that sly, cunning woman had more than enough influence to become Donna of House Sartori herself. If anyone should have inherited the throne..."

He shook his head slowly.

"...it would have been her. Not Caio."

Aren absorbed every word in silence.

She remembered Liviana’s gentle smile, her patient manner, and the quiet warmth she had shown during each of their encounters.

Nothing about the woman she remembered suggested ambition or malice.

’Either Don Gian misjudged her... or she’s far better at hiding herself than I realize.’

"I understand," Aren replied with a small nod. "I’ll remember what you’ve told me, Father."

A faint smile spread across Gian’s face, quietly pleased that his daughter had listened with such care.

"Shall we head downstairs?" he suggested. "Perhaps we can enjoy a little more of that remarkable ice cream. I’d hate for your tea to grow cold."

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

Together, they returned to the living room.

No sooner had they taken their seats than Carlo appeared, quietly refilling their half-finished teacups with freshly brewed tea.

They spent the next while on lighter matters — Aren’s baking experiments, Mrs. Pecora’s strict rules around the house, and Biscuit’s peculiar sleeping habits.

Between stories, Aren sampled another spoonful of ice cream and sipped her tea, her occasional blushes filling the room with pure, disarming warmth.

Gian listened with visible delight, the burden on his shoulders easing little by little as he watched the light on his daughter’s expression.

He still barely recognized her as the girl he had raised.

He also found he no longer cared.

Eventually, Aren glanced at the clock and rose from the sofa.

"I should be going now, Father." She offered him a gentle smile. "You should get some rest."

Gian looked genuinely startled.

"So soon?" He set his teacup back onto its saucer reluctantly. "You could stay a little longer. Perhaps have lunch with me?"

"Maybe next Sunday?" Aren suggested warmly, gesturing toward Alice and Daria, who still waited patiently nearby. "I should return the maids to Mrs. Pecora soon. But before that, I was thinking of taking them to a café."

Disappointment briefly crossed Gian’s face before softening into understanding.

"...Ah. I see." He rose slowly, returning her smile with quiet affection. "Then come. Let me walk you to the door, at the very least."

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

They made their way outside once more.

The rain had eased into a gentle drizzle, though the sky remained heavy with layered gray clouds that pressed low over the estate.

When Aren finally reached the waiting sedan, she turned and waved toward Gian and the assembled household staff gathered beneath umbrellas.

Her smile was so bright that, for a fleeting moment, it seemed capable of chasing the gloom entirely from the weather itself.

The car doors closed.

Moments later, the Lombardi estate receded behind them as the sedan rolled through the front gates and into the rain-slicked streets.

Inside the quiet cabin, Alice finally broke the silence.

"My lady," she asked with visible surprise, "do you truly intend to take us to a café?"

"Of course," Aren replied from the passenger seat. "It’s the one Daria recommended before. Would you like to come too, Alice?"

Before Alice could respond, Daria spoke in her usual pleasant tone.

"Actually, my lady... another place has just come to mind."

"Oh?" Aren turned to look at her. "You have somewhere else in mind, Daria?"

"Indeed." Daria smiled. "It’s near the Moretti district. Since we’re already in this part of the city, we’ll reach it much faster than driving all the way back to Primavera in the city center."

The driver stiffened almost imperceptibly at the name, glancing up into the rearview mirror at Daria.

"The Moretti district?" he repeated, skepticism edging into his voice. "There’s actually somewhere worth visiting around there?"

Aren found herself equally intrigued.

From everything she had learned about Borgata, the Moretti district was infamous like the House itself.

Officially, their legitimate business was waste management — a filthy industry that conveniently masked countless darker operations beneath its surface.

Bodies. Blood. Evidence. Contract killings.

No government official was foolish enough to inspect the city’s sewer networks closely enough to discover how many bones had disappeared into the depths of Moretti territory.

As a result, the district was dominated by industrial facilities, warehouses, treatment plants, and aging infrastructure.

Luxury was virtually nonexistent.

Tourist destinations even less so.

Yet, Daria remained perfectly confident.

"It’s only near the district, my lady, not inside it," she explained pleasantly. "I’ve been there before. Their cakes and bread are wonderful. I’m certain you’ve never visited a place quite like it."

Alice’s curiosity was immediately piqued.

"That actually sounds rather interesting." She turned toward Aren. "I’ve never been anywhere near the Moretti district before. I’d love to see it. What do you think?"

Aren considered it in quiet thought.

’Daria’s recommendations for the florist and the café both turned out well.’

’She seems to know these small places far better than I do.’

’And... I’d like to see the Moretti district with my own eyes. Good field experience.’

Having made her decision, she looked toward the driver.

"Could you please take us to the place Daria recommended? I’d love to try it."

"Of course, my lady," the driver answered evenly.

Whether she enjoyed the destination or not made little difference to him; it was simply another assignment.

He glanced at Daria once more through the mirror.

"May I have the address, miss?"

Daria’s smile deepened ever so slightly.

"Of course."