Chapter 88: "Nazario"

Meanwhile, at the vehicle, another argument had already erupted between the Sartori Don and the Marchetti heir.

"You call that driving?" Caio complained, irritation plain on his face. "You should’ve taken the first highway. We would’ve gotten here faster."

"And get stuck in traffic?" Jordan shot back without missing a beat. "Don’t talk like you know Marchetti District better than I do."

Caught squarely between them, Aren was easily the longest-suffering person in the conversation.

She had listened to this exact argument for the entire drive — a relentless debate over routes, intersections, and shortcuts — and by the time they reached the estate, her head felt ready to split.

’Please... no more road arguments with the two of them in one car.’

’I regret everything.’

A tiny, exhausted sigh escaped her before she looked from one man to the other.

"Please," she pleaded softly. "Can we just go inside? I don’t want to make Ricci wait."

Caio’s attention shifted to her at once, blue eyes narrowing.

"Who the hell is Ricci?"

"He’s the head technician in the main workshop," Aren explained. "He mentioned he had a lot of prototypes he wanted me to test after last week."

"Hmph."

Caio finally let out a long breath, relieved it wasn’t some heir he’d never heard of.

Stepping closer, he slid one hand behind her head, fingers disappearing into her hair as he gently drew her toward him.

Then, without taking his eyes off Jordan for even a second, he pressed a lingering kiss directly to her forehead.

Heat instantly flooded Aren’s cheeks.

Every trace of warmth vanished from Jordan’s face.

A smirk lifted at the corner of Caio’s mouth.

"Let’s go inside," he murmured, watching with immense satisfaction as Jordan’s face darkened another shade. "We’ll wrap this up quickly and head home."

Embarrassment crashed over Aren in waves. She made no move to pull away, only murmuring shyly,

"...Okay"

Across from them, Jordan’s hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

’This goddamn bastard.’

Refusing to let Caio enjoy the moment any longer, Jordan strode forward and deliberately placed a hand on Aren’s shoulder, pulling her attention away from the kiss.

"Come," he said. "Let’s not keep Ricci waiting. We’ve still got our bread session afterward, don’t we?"

At the mere mention of bread, every lingering trace of embarrassment disappeared from Aren’s face, replaced by a radiant smile that seemed to brighten the entire courtyard.

"Yes!" she said, voice bright with excitement. "The bread session! I’ve been looking forward to it all week!"

Even Biscuit perked up in her arms, letting out an eager bark before stretching both tiny paws toward Jordan.

Jordan chuckled.

’My greatest ally.’

He reached out instinctively, and Biscuit climbed into his arms without the slightest hesitation.

"Let’s finish everything quickly and go make dough," Jordan said. "Looks like Biscuit’s excited too."

Aren watched as Biscuit settled comfortably against Jordan’s chest with a contented little huff. The sight drew such a warm smile from her that she slipped entirely free of Caio’s embrace and hurried ahead beside Jordan.

"Come, Don Caio!" she called over her shoulder. "I want to show you the workshop!"

Yet before she’d even finished speaking, her attention had already wandered back to Biscuit in Jordan’s arms.

Left standing on the pavement, Caio became utterly motionless.

’...This goddamn punk.’

His expression hardened as he watched Jordan and Aren stroll away together, chatting and smiling while Biscuit lounged happily between them.

From behind, they looked uncannily like a young couple taking their dog for an afternoon walk.

Without taking his eyes off Jordan’s retreating back, Caio lifted a single hand in silent summons.

Leo understood immediately.

He had been riding in one of the convoy vehicles behind them, supposedly enjoying one of the rare days off his Don had granted the entire district.

Instead, he’d been summoned back to work because Caio Sartori had abruptly decided to accompany Aren to the Marchetti compound under the perfectly reasonable excuse of negotiating a weapons restocking order — one that could have just as easily waited until tomorrow.

Closing the car door with his usual composure, Leo approached.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Find Eduardo," Caio said calmly, though his gaze continued firing bullets into Jordan’s back. "Tell him we’re here regarding the restocking order."

His eyes narrowed.

"Now, I’ve got a more important matter to deal with."

Leo wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

’Called it the moment we left the estate.’

"It’ll be taken care of, Boss."

Caio gave a single nod before setting off toward the main building in long, purposeful strides, quickly catching up to Aren and Jordan.

Unfortunately for the pair, they never actually reached the front steps.

They had barely crossed half the courtyard when a loud, familiar voice rang across the training grounds.

"Hey! Jordan! Lombardi girl!"

Aren turned at once.

Approaching from the nearby practice fields was Oscar, still glistening with sweat from training, accompanied by a loose cluster of equally sweat-soaked Marchetti soldiers.

Beside him walked another young man she had never formally met, though the resemblance to Jordan and Oscar was unmistakable.

He shared the sharp features and athletic build of his brothers, yet unlike either of them, he carried an air of perpetual boredom, as though the world rarely managed to hold his attention for more than a few moments.

’That must be Nazario Marchetti,’ Aren concluded quickly.

Jordan’s expression darkened the instant he saw them.

"Didn’t I tell you to address her properly?" he muttered toward Oscar.

His irritation gave way to mild surprise when he noticed Nazario beside him.

"Since when are you two training together? Didn’t Father make it clear he wanted us training separately?"

"He did," Oscar replied, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck. "But we’re just sparring for fun, not officially training together."

He let out an exaggerated sigh before adding, "Besides, Nazario’s becoming just as grumpy as you. He wouldn’t even spar with me."

Aren almost laughed.

’Oscar is like the younger brother I never had.’

The thought made warmth stir quietly in her chest.

Gradually, her attention drifted toward Nazario.

He still hadn’t spoken. Instead, he simply observed her with those heavy-lidded eyes until their gazes met.

’But Nazario...,’ her gaze sharpened.’Nazario seems truly dangerous.’

Bored as he looked, his physique spoke of relentless discipline: broad shoulders, powerful musculature, and an effortless balance that radiated quiet confidence.

For the briefest instant, Aren caught the faintest glimmer of amusement beneath Nazario’s otherwise sleepy expression — as though he had caught the caution in her eyes — before he finally stepped forward.

"You must be Ariana Lombardi."

Aren nodded politely.

"Yes. And you must be... Nazario?"

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly.

"You know me?"

"I only guessed," Aren admitted. "I’ve heard about you from Jordan."

Something about that answer seemed to please him.

"I see." He studied her for a moment before asking, "I heard you wanted to join the Trials. Is that true?"

Aren blinked in surprise.

"How do you know? I haven’t even registered yet."

He tipped his head toward Oscar.

"Oscar told me you were interested."

The corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smirk.

"Wanna spar, then?"

"Nazario."

Jordan’s voice cut cleanly through the courtyard, dropping several degrees colder.

"She’s not sparring with you. Go practice by yourself. We’ve got work to do."

Nazario merely shrugged.

"If you’re looking for Ricci, I just saw him head to the canteen for tea. Besides..." His smirk widened. "Who said anything about me? It’s Oscar who’s been whining about needing a sparring partner."

Oscar pointed at himself.

"Me?"

A heartbeat later, realization dawned, and his face lit up.

"Oh! Yeah! That’s right! I’ve wanted to spar with you ever since last time, Lombardi. Wanna do it now? The training grounds are perfect today."

Jordan’s expression turned positively thunderous as he gestured sharply toward Aren’s bruised face.

"Absolutely not. Can’t you see she’s injured? Whether she’s entering the Trials or not, she’s not sparring with anyone today."

Nazario clicked his tongue dismissively, waving a hand toward Aren’s face.

"Come on, Jordan. You call that injured? You’re going to offend half the Marchetti soldiers if you call those wounds."

His sleepy eyes settled calmly on Aren.

"Girl or not, that’s hardly enough to stop someone from training. If she can’t handle something like this, there’s no chance she’ll survive the Trials."

Behind Nazario, several soldiers exchanged knowing glances before nodding almost imperceptibly in agreement.

Jordan’s jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles stood out along his neck.

"No."

The answer came flat and absolute.

"No sparring. Nothing."

"You don’t speak for her."

Nazario dismissed the objection without so much as another glance, treating his older brother’s words as though they had never been spoken.

Instead, his attention returned entirely to Aren.

"So... Miss Lombardi. What do you say? Are you going to spar with Oscar, or not?"