Chapter 90: "Downstairs"

Eduardo Marchetti was halfway through a strategy meeting when the interruption came.

The conference room was lined with senior advisors, engineers, and logistics officers, their attention fixed on the technical schematics projected across the far wall.

"...The recoil reduction is acceptable," one advisor was saying, tapping a section of the blueprint. "However, mass production will require—"

Knock. Knock.

The sharp rap cut cleanly through the room.

Eduardo’s brows drew together.

’Who dares interrupt me now?’

An irritated silence settled over the table until he looked toward the soldier stationed beside the door.

"...Open it."

The soldier obeyed immediately. The door swung inward, revealing Diego standing outside.

One single glance told Eduardo the man had come at a run. His breathing was uneven, his posture taut with urgency.

"Boss."

Eduardo regarded him with an expression carved from stone.

"This had better be important."

"It is." Diego swallowed. "House Sartori is here for a large restocking order."

Eduardo frowned.

"What do you mean, House Sartori?"

"I mean..." Diego hesitated for the briefest moment. "...the Sartori Don himself. Don Caio is here."

Eduardo stared at him in silence.

"And..." Diego continued more cautiously, "...he brought a full security and transportation convoy with him. They’re currently parked outside the main courtyard."

Silence swallowed the conference room whole.

Not a single advisor moved.

Not a page turned.

Eduardo offered no visible reaction. No surprise crossed his face.

He simply pushed back his chair and rose to his feet, the scrape of wood against polished marble echoing unnaturally loudly through the room.

"Where is he?"

"The main workshop, Boss."

Eduardo stopped.

"...The workshop?"

Without another word, he strode out of the conference room. His advisors and an escort of armed Marchetti soldiers immediately fell into step behind him.

Every stride felt colder than the last.

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

Moments later, the heavy workshop doors burst open.

Eduardo entered first, followed by a procession of armed Marchetti soldiers.

Every face wore the same grim readiness, as though expecting an armed confrontation, yet the entire group never made it more than two steps before stopping dead in their tracks.

"What the...?" several uttered.

The workshop had descended into absolute madness.

At the far end of the room, Ricci stood pressed against a reinforced concrete wall.

Or rather, pinned there by sheer terror.

His face had gone completely pale. Sweat streamed down both temples despite the cool air circulating through the workshop, while his trembling hands clutched the protective vest strapped across his chest as though it were the only thing standing between him and certain death.

"N-no..."

His voice quavered miserably.

"Lady Ariana... please... I still have a wife... and children..."

Nearly twenty meters away, Aren calmly adjusted the optic mounted atop an experimental rifle resting against her shoulder.

"Don’t worry, Ricci."

Her expression couldn’t have looked more reassuring.

"Nothing bad is going to happen."

Ricci’s eyes immediately watered.

"That’s exactly what people say right before something bad happens!"

Around the workshop, the remaining technicians had long since abandoned any pretense of professionalism.

Half a dozen engineers crouched behind thick steel workbenches, cautiously peeking over the tops as though sheltering inside battlefield bunkers.

One silently clasped his hands together in prayer.

Another crossed himself.

A third slowly shook his head.

’Thank God she picked Ricci...’

’Please don’t let me be next...’

’I’ll happily work overtime every day if she never asks me to volunteer...’

Perched atop a nearby supply crate, Biscuit sat with impeccable posture.

His ears stood straight, his tiny face grave with concentration as he watched the entire experiment unfold.

Only Aren appeared entirely at ease.

She settled the rifle against her shoulder once more and peered through the optic.

"Ricci."

"Mm-my Lady?"

"Please stay perfectly still."

Ricci’s knees nearly buckled beneath him.

"I-I don’t think I can!"

"You can."

She smiled encouragingly.

"I believe in you."

"I DON’T BELIEVE IN ME!"

Before she could reassure him again, Aren noticed movement near the entrance. Her attention shifted toward the newly arrived group.

"Oh."

Her face brightened instantly.

"Don Eduardo."

She gave a cheerful wave.

"Hi. Good afternoon."

Only then did everyone else finally notice Eduardo’s arrival. The technicians nearly jumped out of their skin.

"Boss!"

"Good afternoon, Boss!"

Eduardo slowly surveyed the surreal scene before him. His gaze lingered briefly on Ricci’s horrified face.

Then on Aren.

Then on the rifle.

Finally, he asked the question occupying everyone’s mind.

"...Where is Caio Sartori?"

"Oh."

Aren lowered the rifle and pointed toward the reinforced steel door leading underground.

"Don Caio is downstairs with Jordan."

That answer somehow made even less sense.

"...Downstairs?" Eduardo repeated.

"Yes." Aren nodded happily. "They’re at the firing range. Would you like me to take you there?"

"No." His answer came immediately. "I know the way."

Without another wasted second, Eduardo headed toward the underground range, his entourage hurrying after him.

Behind them, Aren scooped Biscuit into her arms before happily skipping after the group.

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

The underground firing range somehow proved even stranger.

Separated by thick bulletproof glass, two adjacent shooting lanes thundered beneath a relentless storm of gunfire.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Caio occupied one lane.

Jordan occupied the next.

Both men wore ballistic glasses and hearing protection, each calmly emptying magazine after magazine into distant silhouettes with frightening precision.

Electronic scoreboards glowed overhead.

Jordan fired first.

Six rapid shots.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Six clean impacts clustered tightly around center mass.

His timer flashed.

"Two-point-three-one," Jordan announced through his headset.

Caio glanced sideways.

"Hm."

His pistol rose.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Five shots.

Five perfect impacts.

His timer stopped.

"One-point-nine-eight."

Jordan clicked his tongue.

"You skipped one round."

"I skipped the unnecessary one."

Jordan slammed another magazine into his pistol.

"So your solution to slower shooting is... firing less?"

"My solution," Caio replied evenly while chambering another round, "is not wasting ammunition."

Jordan smirked.

"Says the guy here buying half our warehouse."

Another string of shots echoed through the range.

Neither of them noticed Eduardo entering behind the observation glass. The range was simply too loud.

Aren watched the pair helplessly.

’They’re competing again.’

Carefully setting Biscuit onto the floor, she reached over and pressed the flashing amber warning button mounted beside the observation window.

Amber lights immediately pulsed throughout the range. Both men instinctively lowered their pistols before turning toward the observation area.

Aren stepped inside with an enthusiastic wave.

"Don Caio! Don Eduardo is here to see you about your order!"

Caio removed his earmuffs and shooting glasses before turning toward Eduardo.

A relaxed grin crossed his face.

"Took you long enough. Busy day?"

Eduardo answered with a visible grimace.

"You’re supposed to send advance notice. Not arrive at my front gate with enough vehicles to invade a district."

Caio shrugged matter-of-factly.

"Advance notice wasn’t possible. We had... a rather unique operation last night. I need an immediate restock."

Eduardo accepted the explanation without comment. Instead, his attention shifted toward Jordan, who had begun removing his hearing protection.

"And what exactly are you doing down here? I expected you upstairs working in the workshop."

Jordan set his pistol onto the bench.

"Our client wanted to evaluate several new models. I’m giving him a demonstration."

Aren nodded rapidly.

"That’s right. I showed Don Caio several models that better match House Sartori’s current combat structure. These are all revived prototypes that Ricci has taken up again recently."

She pointed toward the nearby weapon rack.

Eduardo’s gaze followed her finger until it settled on the display, then lingered there longer than anyone expected.

Mounted neatly across the wall were several rifles and carbines he had personally overseen during development.

Lighter platforms.

Improved recoil systems.

Faster barrel swaps.

Configurations he had quietly judged superior years ago, yet had never introduced into House Marchetti’s standard defense package.

Not because they weren’t better — but because none of the other Houses had ever requested them. Now, someone had apparently recognized their value almost immediately.

His gaze drifted briefly toward Aren.

’She chose every one of them.’

’Without my recommendation.’

For the briefest instant, quiet satisfaction stirred within him.

’She really does understand weapons.’

The faint flicker vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, along with his earlier irritation.

Turning back to Caio, he asked evenly,

"So. You intend to restock with these?"

Caio smirked.

"I didn’t know you were hiding so many interesting toys in this building. You should’ve shown them to me last year."

Eduardo answered in the same even tone.

"I’ve simply continued supplying House Sartori with the configurations your family has preferred for generations. Now, shall we discuss your order?"

"Of course."

Caio stepped away from the firing lane. Before following Eduardo, however, he walked directly toward Aren.

Leaning down, he spoke quietly enough that only she could hear.

"Take a break. I’ll be back soon."

Then, without the slightest hesitation, he cupped her cheek and kissed her — not on the cheek, nor on the forehead as he had earlier.

Directly on her lips.

Aren’s eyes widened.

A rosy blush spread almost instantly across her face.

"Caio..." she murmured against his lips. "There are a lot of people here..."

"So?"

The answer came effortlessly, though a trace of irritation crept into his voice.

"Consider this my payback for that client speech."

Before Aren could make sense of his words, he kissed her deeply one last time before finally pulling away.

Around them, the room had fallen deathly silent.

Every technician, every soldier, every engineer — every pair of eyes in the workshop — was fixed on them, though no one dared utter a word.

The meaning behind the gesture could not have been clearer. This wasn’t affection reserved for private moments.

It was an open declaration.

Eduardo’s gaze drifted instinctively toward his eldest son.

Jordan hadn’t moved. He stood perfectly still, like a statue carved from stone.

Only the rigid set of his jaw betrayed the turmoil beneath his composure.

’...Damn it.’

Eduardo caught that look immediately. Clearing his throat, he broke the silence.

"We have business to discuss. Let’s go."

Without another comment, he turned and headed for the exit.

Caio gave Aren one last gentle smile before following him, accompanied by all the Marchetti soldiers and technicians.

The door closed behind them.

Only after the group disappeared did Jordan finally seem to breathe again.

He stood in silence for several seconds before slowly walking over to Aren. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than usual.

"...Wanna head to the kitchen?"

Aren looked up in surprise.

"Now?"

"Yeah."

A faint smile found his lips, though it never reached his eyes.

"We can make the dough first. Then come back here and finish working while it rests. After that... we’ll bake."

Aren’s face lit up instantly. She nodded so enthusiastically that Biscuit barked in agreement.

"Okie!"

Without the slightest hesitation, she reached out, caught Jordan’s sleeve, and gave it an eager tug.

"Come on! Biscuit, let’s go too!"

The little dog happily trotted after them.

Together, the three of them headed toward the kitchen.

Aren chatted cheerfully the entire walk, completely absorbed in thoughts of bread and recipes. She never noticed that Jordan’s smile remained painfully rigid from beginning to end.