Chapter 229: "There Is A Place"

"So, you see," Sofia said, helping herself to another matcha cookie, "when someone was generous enough to deliver that cheating traitor straight to my doorstep, what choice did I have but to skin the motherfucker alive?"

She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and continued in the same conversational tone.

"Of course, I made sure to chop off his dick first. Along with a few other parts. Nothing too vital, mind you. I didn’t want the bastard bleeding to death before I was finished with him."

Across the table, Rosalia and Oscar listened with the rapt attention of people enjoying the finest horror story they’d heard all year. Aren and Jordan, meanwhile, quietly sipped their tea.

The five of them had gathered around a table in a quiet corner of the Marchetti compound’s canteen, enjoying a break from work. Between them sat the box of assorted cookies Aren had brought, steadily growing emptier as Sofia continued her account of Manuel Cardozo’s unfortunate fate.

Oscar was the first to interrupt.

"Wait, Sis. Didn’t he tell you who the hell beat him up, tied him up, and shipped him to our place?"

"How the hell was he supposed to tell me?" Sofia scoffed. "Whoever beat him up did such a thorough job of breaking his jaw that the bastard could barely move his mouth. He couldn’t even scream properly when I got started."

Oscar nodded, visibly impressed.

Rosalia, however, raised a hand.

"But hold on, Sofia. Did you actually do any of the things you just described?"

"Of course I didn’t get to!"

Sofia rolled her eyes, looking genuinely offended that her sister had mistaken her enthusiasm for a literal account of events.

"What do you take me for? You think I’d make that kind of mess, let Father discover I’d murdered a Moretti capo, and then sit around waiting for him to murder me in return? I dealt with the scumbag quickly and put him somewhere nobody will ever find him. End of story."

Oscar and Rosalia exchanged a look, then both nodded slowly.

It was a remarkably sensible decision, all things considered. They understood, without needing to discuss it, that whatever had happened to Manuel Cardozo was a secret they would be taking to their graves.

Beside Jordan, Aren continued drinking her tea.

She had listened to Sofia’s account with the same polite attentiveness as everyone else, although she was considerably less surprised by the condition in which Manuel had arrived at the Marchetti compound.

Eventually, Sofia noticed how little Aren was contributing to the conversation.

"Lady Ariana."

Aren looked up.

"Yes?"

Sofia regarded her with a hard, assessing expression.

"Don’t you find any of this repulsive? I mean, I’m sure Manuel was just another fling among your many, many lovers, but you two did sleep together. Surely you must feel something about what I’ve just told you."

The atmosphere around the table changed almost immediately.

Jordan went rigid.

So did Oscar and Rosalia.

The three Marchettis exchanged brief glances before turning their attention to Aren, each aware that Sofia had just brought up a subject capable of ruining an otherwise pleasant afternoon.

Aren, however, simply set down her teacup.

"Well, as I’ve told you before," she answered calmly, "I deeply regret having engaged in sexual activities with him while he was your fiancé. I despise him for what happened, so I certainly have no reason to defend him."

Sofia studied her face.

There was no defensiveness in Aren’s voice, no attempt to excuse the affair or diminish Sofia’s grievance. She spoke as though the matter had already been settled in her own mind, and whatever judgment Sofia wished to pass on Manuel was hers to make.

"Well, then. Very good."

Sofia’s expression remained stern, but some of the tension had gone out of her shoulders.

"I appreciate that you have no objections to me taking revenge on my ex-fiancé. And I’d appreciate it just as much if you kept your mouth shut about this. Father doesn’t need to know, and neither does anyone else in this compound."

"You have my word," Aren replied with a small smile. "I won’t tell anyone."

Beside her, Jordan felt a quiet relief settle over him.

He knew how deeply Sofia resented Ariana, and he’d never been certain whether that resentment could be overcome. Yet here they were, sharing tea and cookies while Sofia discussed her former fiancé.

It was hardly a declaration of sisterly affection, but Jordan knew Sofia well enough to recognize its significance. The realization made him happier than he would have expected.

Unfortunately, that happiness lasted only until Oscar opened his mouth again.

"Speaking of you, Ariana," he said, reaching for his favorite strawberry cookie, "I’ve been seeing your advertisements all over the Castellano clubs lately. They’re even going to make merchandise of you, aren’t they?"

Aren turned toward him.

"Oh, yes. Mister Castellano mentioned something like that."

Rosalia turned to her as well, although her expression was considerably more concerned.

"I’ve also been meaning to ask you about your fights at the Castellano Club, Lady Ariana. I heard you’ve started fighting four men at once. I even heard your next match is going to be against an entire team. Is that true?"

Jordan’s hand stopped halfway to his teacup, his pleasant mood vanishing.

He turned sharply toward Rosalia.

"What did you just say?"

His voice had acquired an edge that made everyone at the table look at him, but he was already turning toward Aren.

"You’ve been fighting four men at once? An entire team at the Pit? How many people, exactly?"

Aren’s shoulders gave a small, involuntary jerk.

She knew Jordan worried about her matches, but the sudden severity of his tone caught her off guard. She met his stare with a strained little smile.

"Well... yes, I’ve been fighting four. As for the team matches, I heard it might be ten or fifteen. The exact number hasn’t been decided yet."

Jordan stared harder.

"Ten or fifteen?"

"That’s just how things have been going at the Pit lately," she explained hurriedly. "Mister Castellano proposed several arrangements that he said would increase revenue considerably. I thought they were manageable, so I agreed."

Jordan felt an immediate urge to drag both hands through his hair.

He hadn’t been to the Pit in weeks.

Work at the workshop had kept him occupied, and after watching Aren defeat Nico Baldi so convincingly, he’d gradually become more comfortable with the idea of her fighting there.

Whenever he asked how her matches were going, she assured him that "everything is fine." What he hadn’t realized was that her definition of "everything is fine" apparently included fighting four men at once, and now Jeremiah Castellano intended to put her up against an entire fucking team.

"Ariana."

Jordan was trying very hard not to raise his voice in the middle of the canteen.

"When we’re finished with our break, could we please... talk about this?"

Aren nodded at once, already regretting not telling him about the arrangements earlier.

"Ah, yes. Of course."

She hadn’t thought the increased number of opponents would be particularly alarming once he understood how comfortably she was winning, but the distress in his voice suggested otherwise.

Across the table, the other three Marchettis had already recognized the warning signs. A storm was brewing, and none of them had any intention of remaining at the table when it broke.

Sofia was the first to move.

"Well, I think my break is over!" She gathered her belongings with sudden efficiency. "Better get back to the workshop before Ricci starts looking for me."

Rosalia was already closing the cookie box.

"Thank you for bringing these, Lady Ariana. I’ll take the rest with us."

"And I’ll eat everything!" Oscar announced decisively. "See you around!"

Within moments, all three had abandoned the table and disappeared through the canteen doors, taking the remaining cookies with them.

Jordan watched them go.

Under ordinary circumstances, he might have objected to Oscar claiming an entire box of cookies that Aren had brought for everyone.

At present, however, he had never been more grateful for his siblings’ willingness to mind their own business, even if that willingness was motivated primarily by self-preservation.

When he turned back to Aren, she was watching him patiently, as though waiting for him to explain precisely which part of the arrangement troubled him.

Jordan took another breath and tried to keep his expression calm.

"Whenever I asked about your fights, you told me everything was normal at the Pit."

"Well... that was technically true." She tilted her head slightly. "Although the number of opponents has changed, I’ve kept winning. I haven’t lost a single match, and I’ve actually been finishing them much more efficiently lately."

Jordan closed his eyes for a moment.

"Ariana."

He took both her hands.

"I’m glad you’re winning. I really am. But fighting one opponent is not the same as fighting four, let alone an entire team. The risks are completely different."

Aren considered his argument.

"Well, I managed four quite comfortably in my last match, so I should be able to handle ten without much difficulty."

Jordan’s grip tightened slightly.

She continued, unaware that her reassurance was having the opposite effect.

"The latest proposal is actually an endurance match against a team of twenty, with one opponent after another and no breaks. So ten should be quite manageable."

Now, Jordan could only stare.

’Twenty?’

’Did she just say twenty fucking men?’

For several seconds, he couldn’t decide which impulse was stronger: the desire to find Jeremiah Castellano and punch him in the face for proposing something so insane, or the urge to shake some sense into his girlfriend for agreeing to it.

Neither would accomplish anything useful. He knew that. Unfortunately, knowing it did remarkably little to ease his frustration.

"Please, Ariana, listen to me."

He took another breath, forcing himself to speak slowly.

"I know you’re skilled. I’ve seen what you can do. But this is madness. What is that lunatic Jeremiah Castellano thinking, putting you into matches like these? And why would you even agree to them?"

Aren fell silent.

There was a perfectly good explanation for her decision, but it involved the arrangement she’d made with Jeremiah. It wasn’t something she could simply explain to Jordan, no matter how much she disliked seeing him upset.

She didn’t want to lie to him, either.

She had promised to think about what she could tell him. Perhaps it was time to honor that promise.

"Jordan..."

Her voice had grown quieter.

"What if I told you I could handle twenty opponents without much difficulty?"

Jordan paused.

Something about her tone had changed. Until now, she’d been defending her decision with practical arguments, but this question sounded different.

It was softer, more deliberate.

He studied her face.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember when I told you I’d think about what I could tell you?"

Jordan went very still.

"Of course."

His voice had grown quieter, too.

"You... want to tell me now?"

"Yes."

She gave a small but decisive nod.

"Is there somewhere more private we can talk? Or would you prefer that I wait until one of our dates?"

Jordan barely registered the second option. The argument about the Pit, the twenty opponents, even his anger at Jeremiah Castellano had abruptly become secondary.

"There is a place."

He rose, still holding her hand.

"Come to my quarters."