Every Mafia's Favorite Girl

Chapter 78: "A Client To Save"

The heavy doors to the observation deck burst open with a thunderous bang.

One of the guards drove a boot into the rusted frame, the impact reverberating through the aging facility as he and his partner carried Aren into the dimly lit room.

"Bloody hell," one of them grunted, adjusting his grip on the chair. "You actually believe sixteen elite mercenaries died extracting this girl? She’s light as a feather, chair and all."

The other guard shrugged and nudged the door shut behind them.

"Who knows what really happened? I did see the SUV drivers looking pale as ghosts on the way back. Then again, those blokes aren’t real mercenaries. Either Daria’s talking out of her ass, or this chick is something genuinely terrifying."

With a dull thud, the chair hit the concrete floor.

Both men looked down at Aren’s bound form, each wearing a different expression of skepticism and curiosity.

Her small frame was wrapped tightly in industrial restraints, her face swollen and bruised from repeated blows, platinum hair hanging across her features.

Nothing about her appearance matched the stories they had heard. They exchanged a glance before breaking into mocking laughter.

"Definitely Daria bluffing," the first man spat onto the floor.

The second tipped his head toward the ceiling. "Think the boss actually pulls it off this time? Think he finally kills the Don?"

The first clicked his tongue dismissively. "Based on his track record? Not a chance I’d bet money on it. The madam looked ready to disown his useless ass."

On the chair, slumped forward in a flawless imitation of a drug-induced coma, Aren missed nothing. One particular word lodged itself immediately in her mind.

’Madam.’

The implication settled into place almost instantly.

’So Liviana Sartori really is behind this operation.’

’The restaurant ambush too.’

’And with Daria involved... they’re probably responsible for the six prisoners as well.’

Her thoughts shifted toward a more immediate concern.

’Now the question is how exactly I’m supposed to get out of these ropes and this chair.’

Before she could pursue the thought further, a rough hand seized her chin and turned her face from side to side, examining the bruises much the same way Gael had downstairs.

"Goddamn," the first guard muttered. "Can you believe this? Even looking like that, she’s still gorgeous!"

The second man’s eyes instantly darted toward the door. "Hey. Don’t start getting ideas," he warned sharply. "Keep your hands to yourself! We’re in the middle of a high-profile operation!"

The first guard looked entirely unconcerned. His gaze drifted over the restraints securing Aren to the chair.

"Oh, come on," he scoffed. "Like you’re not thinking the same thing."

The second shifted uneasily. "So what?!" he snapped. "Leave her alone and let’s get downstairs. I plan on living long enough to become a Sartori capo."

His partner ignored him completely.

Whatever ugly intentions had taken root in his head, he had no interest in concealing them.

"Relax," he said with a sneer. "Who’s going to know? We’re two floors above everyone else. Nobody’s hearing a thing up here."

With that, the first guard’s attention shifted entirely to the ropes. His fingers worked clumsily at the knots, trying to loosen the restraints.

The moment Aren felt his hands move toward the restraints, her stomach instantly twisted with disgust.

’Damn it.’

She forced herself to remain focused.

’Stay in operative mode.’

The urge to react immediately surged through her, but she crushed it down.

’Not yet.’

’I’m still restrained.’

’Reacting now accomplishes nothing.’

Her body stayed limp. Her breathing remained slow and steady.

Suddenly, the second man lunged forward and grabbed his wrist.

"Are you insane?!" he hissed. "Didn’t Daria specifically warn us not to mess with the ropes? What if she wasn’t exaggerating? What if this woman actually is dangerous?"

The first guard jerked his arm free and continued tugging at the restraints.

"For fuck’s sake, look at her," he snapped. "She’s been slapped half to death and hasn’t even twitched. She’s completely drugged out of her mind."

He flashed his partner a crooked grin and clapped him on the shoulder.

"You in or not? If not, stand outside and keep watch. I’ll finish up and be out in a minute."

The second guard stared at him in disbelief, but the hesitation in his eyes betrayed him.

His gaze flicked toward the door, then back to Aren’s motionless face. For several long seconds he visibly wrestled with himself before his resolve finally cracked.

"Fine," he muttered. "Just make it quick."

Moving hurriedly, he crouched beside the chair and began working at the restraints securing Aren’s legs.

The first guard smirked as his hands moved faster over the ropes binding Aren’s torso, but impatience quickly got the better of him.

With an irritated click of his tongue, he pulled a folding knife from his vest and began sawing through the thick hemp restraints.

A few rough cuts later, the main rope gave way. It slackened at once and slithered down Aren’s body, pooling uselessly around the chair legs.

"There we go." His eyes gleamed with ugly anticipation as he looked her over from head to toe.

"Fucking hell, hurry up," the second guard muttered, rising from his crouch so quickly he nearly stumbled.

He stepped up behind the chair and reached out, fingers aggressively tangling into her hair to yank her head back, anxiety and excitement battling visibly across his face.

The first guard caught the look and grinned.

A sense of triumph settled over him as he raised the knife and pressed the flat of the blade against Aren’s bruised cheek.

The metal dragged lightly across her skin as he leaned closer, his breath hot and foul.

"Sit back and relax, Lady Ariana," he drawled. "We’ve got you."

"No."

The single word cut through the room like a knife.

Both men froze.

Aren’s eyes opened.

"I refuse to relax."

The first guard never had time to understand what had gone wrong.

Aren’s hand flashed upward. A sharp strike landed against his wrist with enough force to shatter bone.

The knife dropped from his grasp.

She caught it cleanly mid-fall, rotated the handle in her palm, and drove the blade straight into the base of his neck.

SCHWCK!

Blood erupted from the wound, spraying across the room and splattering over the second guard’s face.

The first guard’s mouth opened soundlessly.

Both hands flew to his throat as crimson pumped violently between his fingers as he collapsed onto the concrete, twitching and choking in his own blood before finally going still.

The second guard went deathly pale, his hands instantly slipping from her hair as his fingers went completely numb. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

"Fuck... fuck! Fuck!"

Survival instinct overwhelmed everything else. He spun and bolted for the door, but he never reached it.

By the time his hand stretched toward the handle, Aren was already behind him.

One hand locked around his jaw from behind, wrenching his head backward. The other drove the knife across his throat in a brutal horizontal slash.

SCHLUCK.

The blade slashed clean across his throat.

The man released a wet choking sound before his knees folded beneath him, his body collapsing into the rapidly spreading pool of his own blood.

Silence returned to the observation deck, broken only by the distant vibration of machinery and the faint drip of blood.

Aren stood motionless between the bodies, the knife hanging loosely in her hand. Her expression remained strangely serene as she looked from one corpse to the other.

’Hmm.’

’That was a lot of blood.’

’I must look like an absolute mess right now.’

A small sigh escaped her.

’Hopefully I won’t scare them too badly when I go downstairs to deal with them.’

With that mild hope in mind, she bent down and collected every weapon from the two guards, securing two loaded handguns and an additional pocket knife. Then she quietly turned the handle and slipped into the dark stairwell beyond.

Below, the pump room echoed with the constant thrum of industrial machinery.

Aren descended without hurry.

In the pump room beneath her, Daria heard approaching footsteps reverberating through the concrete structure. Irritation immediately crept into her voice.

"What took you two idiots so long?"

No answer came.

Instead, the heavy metal door swung inward with a groan.

Every conversation in the room died instantly. The sight waiting beyond the doorway seemed to drain the color from every face present.

Aren stood framed beneath the harsh industrial lights. Fresh blood covered half her face and stained the front of her white shirt and jeans.

Combined with the bruises already decorating her features, she looked less like a kidnapped heiress and more like something that had crawled out of a massacre.

Among everyone present, Daria’s reaction was the most dramatic. The color drained from her face so quickly it was almost painful to watch.

’How is this even possible?!’

’The sedative should have lasted another hour at least!’

’Those two bastards!’

’Those two horny bastards definitely did something stupid!’

Across the room, Aren remained perfectly calm. She swept her gaze over the gathered men and began counting.

’Fifteen men. Plus Daria.’

’Oh, Daria is unarmed. Big mistake.’

’There may be more outside. They’ll probably come running once they hear gunfire.’

’Doesn’t matter anyway.’

"Hi," she said politely. "Sorry for the poor visual presentation. Things got a little messy upstairs."

Not a single person answered her.

Every survival instinct in the room ignited simultaneously as fifteen men reached for their weapons at once.

Slides racked.

Safeties clicked off.

Daria’s composure finally shattered.

"Kill that bitch!" she screamed. "Fire!"

Aren had been waiting for that.

Calmly — very calmly — she stepped back and pulled the heavy door shut, bracing herself as the room erupted into a deafening storm.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Gunfire hammered the metal barrier.

Dust and debris filled the corridor as rounds tore through everything in sight.

Through it all, Aren walked several unhurried paces to the side and pressed herself against a concrete wall beyond the line of fire.

Methodically, she disengaged the safeties on both pistols and began counting again.

Five seconds passed.

Ten.

Fifteen.

The barrage finally began to falter.

Magazines emptied.

Bolts locked back.

Men scrambled to reload.

’Alright.’

’Serious mode on.’

With a pistol in each hand, she nudged the bullet-riddled door open and stepped back into the room.

Across from her stood fifteen men caught in the vulnerable heartbeat between empty magazines and fresh rounds.

Aren raised both guns as she walked inside.

"Now," her fingers settled on the triggers, "if you’ll excuse me, I can’t play with all of you for very long. I have a client to save."