Chapter 145: "For Ariana Lombardi And Myself"

For the briefest instant, Nazario stiffened.

The movement was so subtle that Eduardo never noticed.

Beside him, Natalia merely lowered her gaze, her expression remaining perfectly composed.

"Well..." Nazario drawled thoughtfully, as though genuinely considering the question. "I’d guess he’s taking a nap somewhere... or maybe fooling around in the gym. Who knows? I caught a glimpse of him earlier before I came here."

Eduardo frowned.

"The gym? At a time like this?"

Nazario merely shrugged.

"You know Oscar, Father. Always training. Always looking for another fight. If that’s what he’s doing..." He spread his hands lazily. "Let him. His loss."

Eduardo let out a quiet sigh. Training was one of the few things he could hardly reprimand.

"Fine." He waved a dismissive hand. "Go change into your attire for the final round, then come up to the gallery. Several Dons from the other Houses are visiting."

"Whew... more Dons?" Nazario whistled. "Sure, Father. I’ll be up in a bit."

Natalia smiled pleasantly.

"Please go ahead first, Don Eduardo. I’d like to congratulate Nazario personally. I’ll be upstairs in a minute."

Eduardo offered no objection.

"Take your time."

Only after he had walked far enough away that she was certain he could no longer overhear them did Natalia step slightly closer to Nazario.

Her smile remained warm and congratulatory.

Her voice did not.

"How did the job go?"

Nazario glanced sideways at her.

"Can’t wait until later, can you?"

Natalia’s smile never wavered.

"Start talking before I lose my patience."

Nazario barked out a laugh.

"Taken care of, of course. What did you expect, sis? It was me handling it." A smug grin spread across his face. "Did quite a thorough job too. There’s no way Jordan’s getting out of there anytime soon. Don’t start missing him too early."

Natalia gave no visible reaction.

"And Ariana Lombardi?"

"No idea." He shrugged. "Never ran into her down there. Go ask your little rats once they get back. My responsibilities to you ended the moment I walked out."

With that, Nazario turned away and strolled leisurely toward the locker room tucked into one corner of the warehouse, waving one hand over his shoulder without looking back.

Once he disappeared, Natalia likewise turned and made her way back toward the spectator gallery, every bit the gracious noblewoman who had simply taken the time to congratulate a successful contestant.

High above, Giovanni looked over the moment Eduardo returned to his seat.

"Well now," he said cheerfully, "after such an unfortunate disqualification for our dear Sofia and Rosalia, that wasn’t such a bad outcome after all, was it, Don Eduardo?"

At the mention of his daughters, Eduardo’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he smoothed the front of his suit.

"Let’s not dwell on it. At least one of my five children still understands what is expected of them."

Seated beside him, Gian lifted an eyebrow.

He knew little of the inner workings of the Marchetti family, but he certainly hadn’t missed Eduardo publicly berating his daughter only moments earlier.

’You’re making the same mistake I once made, Eduardo...’

"Congratulations," Gian said calmly. "That young man was certainly impressive... but I wouldn’t be quite so harsh with my own daughter, Don Eduardo."

His gaze lingered on Eduardo for a moment.

"You may find yourself... regretting it one day."

Eduardo looked almost offended.

"My daughters are held to different standards, Don Gian. I suggest you not project your family onto mine."

Gian merely inclined his head.

"Fair enough."

He turned his attention back toward the exit.

He had no intention of involving himself in the notoriously severe discipline of House Marchetti. Besides, he had worries of his own.

His daughter still hadn’t emerged.

With every passing minute, the fear gnawed at him that she might appear just as Sofia had — unconscious, soaked to the bone, and barely alive.

Some time later, Nazario finally arrived at the spectator gallery.

His gaze swept across the four Dons.

’Ah... House Lombardi and House Sartori.’

’They’re both here for that woman?’

’Too bad.’

’They’re probably about to collect a corpse.’

’That poor woman has likely drowned somewhere below thanks to Natalia’s little pets.’

Amused as he was by her likely fate, a sharper thought quickly cut through.

’Still... I’ll be Don someday. Might as well greet my future peers.’

Burying the thought beneath a lazy smirk, he sauntered toward the front row.

"What a pleasure," he said, sweeping his gaze across the gathered leaders. "Four Dons in one place. Are we holding another Summit?"

Giovanni brightened immediately.

"Well now! Perfect timing, Nazario. Come, come. Sit with Uncle Giovanni."

Gian spared him a brief glance before returning his attention to the exit.

"Well done, young man."

"Thanks, Don Gian," Nazario replied with a shrug.

His gaze then shifted to the last Don... who still hadn’t so much as lifted his eyes to acknowledge him.

Something in Nazario’s expression darkened almost imperceptibly.

’Just wait until I’m Don, Caio Sartori.’

Suppressing the thought beneath another careless smile, he took the empty seat beside Giovanni.

Caio, meanwhile, had no attention to spare for anyone else.

He had come here for one person.

That person still hadn’t emerged.

’Come on, Aren... where are you?’

’No, please, God.’

’Don’t let anything bad happen to her.’

Fortunately, Caio didn’t have to wait much longer. At that exact moment, another ripple of gasps spread through the crowd below.

Someone had seen the doorknob move.

Almost instantly, everyone rose to their feet, eager to see who the next contestant would be to emerge.

Creak.

This time, the exit door didn’t slowly swing outward as it had before.

It burst open beneath a powerful kick.

THUD—CRASH!

Jordan Marchetti stepped into the warehouse.

And in his arms...

Ariana Lombardi.

The entire warehouse fell as silent as a graveyard at midnight.

Hundreds of eyes locked onto the unconscious blonde cradled against Jordan’s chest. She was soaked from head to toe, every bit as drenched and unconscious as Sofia had been when she emerged earlier.

This time, however, compared to the two Marchetti princesses...

There was one unmistakable difference.

In the hand supporting Aren’s lower body, Jordan held two brass coins the size of a palm.

The moment he stepped fully into the light, he tossed them both onto the concrete.

CLUNK.

CLANK.

The coins rolled noisily across the warehouse floor before gradually spinning to a stop.

Jordan swept his gaze across the stunned crowd once before his voice rang through the deathly silence.

"For Ariana Lombardi and myself!" he declared, loud and clear. "These two coins are ours!"