Chapter 15: "May I Demonstrate?"
Eduardo Marchetti stood at the front entrance of the main building of the Marchetti compound like a statue carved from stone.
His dark suit was immaculate, both hands clasped tightly behind his back. Not a single line of his face betrayed emotion.
Behind him, a line of suited men stood in perfect silence, shoulders squared, eyes forward.
The air itself felt tense.
For the past fifteen minutes, not one of them had dared step forward to defend the younger Marchetti.
At last, Eduardo spoke without turning.
"My son truly claimed he needed to deliver this order personally?"
Diego, one of his most trusted soldiers, stepped forward immediately.
"Young Boss insisted the capos would not have enough technical knowledge to answer Miss Lombardi’s questions."
Eduardo gave no visible reaction.
Only his fists tightened behind his back, yet every man present understood exactly what that meant.
Disaster.
Several long seconds passed before Eduardo spoke again.
"Was Jordan informed of tonight’s dinner with House Porto?"
"Yes, Boss. Lady Natalia informed him personally."
"Good." Eduardo’s voice softened by half a degree. "Make sure Natalia doesn’t know the Lombardi heiress visited this estate."
"Yes, Boss."
Silence settled once more over the courtyard.
A moment later, the front gates slowly opened.
Jordan’s silver car rolled in, tires crunching softly over the stone driveway.
The moment Jordan spotted his father waiting outside, his jaw tightened.
’Of course. Father had to come out personally just to make a point.’
Beside him, Aren sat quietly with Biscuit curled in her lap.
One hand absently scratched the little dog’s stomach while she watched the industrial buildings pass outside the window.
Warehouses.
Security towers.
Reinforced loading bays.
The entire estate looked less like a family residence and more like a fortified manufacturing compound.
"We’re here," Jordan said quietly. "The Marchetti compound."
Aren’s eyes drifted toward the line of armed men standing outside the main building, then toward Eduardo.
"Your father seems tense."
Jordan nearly laughed.
Instead, a bitter smirk tugged at his lips.
"That’s a generous interpretation."
The car came to a stop.
Jordan stepped out first, circled around, and opened Aren’s door before facing his father.
"Father," he greeted evenly. "Lady Ariana requested a personal inspection of the workshop facilities."
Eduardo ignored him completely.
His attention stayed locked on the platinum-haired girl stepping out of the car.
When his gaze dropped to the scruffy dog resting comfortably in her arms, his expression hardened further.
"Miss Lombardi," Eduardo greeted.
There was no warmth or welcome in his voice.
Aren approached him in slow strides, taking her time to study the man.
Jordan clearly took after him — same brown hair, same hazel eyes. But while Jordan looked more honed, Eduardo felt heavier and older, like a weapon that had been used many times before.
What caught Aren’s attention most were his hands: calluses, old scars across the fingers, fine marks around the wrists.
’A weapons specialist.’
Her eyes brightened immediately.
"Don Eduardo," she greeted with a polite nod. "Thank you for allowing me to visit the workshop. I’m hoping to select more suitable models for our security teams."
"Thank me?" Eduardo repeated flatly. "I approved nothing."
His gaze shifted sharply toward his son.
"Jordan informed me of your arrival only minutes beforehand. Apparently, he mistook that for permission."
Jordan’s shoulders stiffened slightly, though his voice remained controlled.
"Our contract with House Lombardi is valuable."
"You need not remind me," Eduardo muttered. His tone carried the restrained irritation of a man exercising enormous self-control.
Under different circumstances, he might have dragged Jordan aside and disciplined him in front of the entire estate for bringing the Lombardi disgrace onto Marchetti property.
Instead, he turned sharply toward the workshop entrance.
"This way, Miss Lombardi," he said. "Let us see what standards make you bold enough to reject equipment that has served your House for decades."
Without waiting for a reply, Eduardo walked inside.
His men followed instantly, disciplined and silent.
Jordan lingered behind beside Aren.
"Don’t take it personally," he said quietly. "My father speaks to everyone like that."
Aren and Biscuit looked up at him at the same time, blinking with matching expressions.
"I’m not offended," Aren replied honestly.
Her gaze drifted toward Eduardo’s retreating figure.
"But your father doesn’t seem tense anymore."
Jordan raised an eyebrow.
"No?"
Aren shook her head lightly.
"He seems angry."
This time, Jordan didn’t smirk.
Instead, something softer crossed his face for just a second.
"That," he said quietly, "is also a generous interpretation."
─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─
They followed Eduardo deeper into the main workshop.
The atmosphere shifted the moment the Marchetti Don entered.
Several technicians froze mid-task.
Conversations died instantly.
Every man in the room straightened and offered a sharp salute toward the Don.
Eduardo acknowledged them with brief nods as he passed, his expression unchanged.
Jordan walked beside Aren in silence, though his attention kept drifting toward her instead of the workshop itself.
The excitement she had shown at the Lombardi Hotel had now bloomed into something dangerously close to fascination.
Her eyes kept moving rapidly from station to station. Calibration stations, component trays arranged with military precision, stripped rifle frames awaiting assembly — every detail drew her attention.
’She looks like... a child in a candy shop.’
The thought hit Jordan so abruptly that heat climbed straight into his face. He slowed half a step behind her immediately, crushing the feeling before it could show.
Ahead of them, Eduardo led the group toward a reinforced steel door guarded by two armed men.
The guards unlocked the door the moment they saw the Don. Beyond it waited a private selection chamber.
The room was colder than the rest of the workshop. Reinforced glass displays lined the walls, each holding rows of advanced weapon models.
Compact handguns.
Precision rifles.
Slim tactical blades.
Several pieces looked experimental enough that Aren doubted they officially existed.
Once the heavy door sealed shut behind them, Eduardo turned to the waiting technician.
"Ricci."
A man in his forties stepped forward immediately.
"Yes, Don Eduardo."
"You will assist Miss Lombardi. She found the defense package supplied to House Lombardi... inadequate. See whether anything here meets her standards."
Ricci’s eyes shifted toward Aren. His face stayed professional, but the disbelief underneath it was obvious.
He knew who Ariana Lombardi was supposed to be. A Marchetti weapons chamber was the last place he had ever expected to see her.
"Of course, Miss," Ricci said carefully. "These are our newest defensive models."
He gestured toward the nearest display.
"Most were developed for executive security teams. Reduced recoil systems, upgraded sight alignment, modular attachments—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Aren had paused in front of a handgun display, studying something intensely there instead of listening to him.
"Miss?" Ricci asked, annoyed and uncertain.
"Oh. Sorry." She pointed toward the weapon behind the glass. "You’re still using the Vanguard Core-C frame."
Ricci blinked.
Aren leaned slightly closer, studying the internals more closely through the display.
"But you modified the recoil spring tension," she murmured, almost to herself. "You increased cycling speed for tighter close-range recovery."
Ricci stared at her.
"...Excuse me?"
Aren had already moved to the next display.
"Ah, this one uses ceramic internal plating... The reduced weight is nice, but won’t it overheat faster during sustained rapid fire?"
The room went completely still.
Ricci looked like someone had struck him across the face.
Jordan stared openly.
Eduardo said nothing at all.
Aren continued calmly through the chamber, oblivious to the damage she was causing. She stopped in front of a knife display and crouched.
"Oh, this edge angle... optimized for fabric penetration rather than bone. Pretty clever."
Ricci finally found his voice, sounding strangled.
"Miss... How... how do you know that?"
Aren blinked up at him.
"Ah. I’ve used similar models before."
Dead silence.
Ricci’s brain appeared to shut down entirely.
Jordan’s expression had shifted from surprise into outright fascination.
Eduardo’s eyes narrowed another fraction.
At last, Aren stopped before two relatively modest weapons.
One was compact black handgun with a shortened slide. The other was a slim tactical knife with minimal guard protection.
"I’d like these two, please," she said politely.
Ricci hesitated instantly. "Miss, those are highly specialized close-quarters pieces..."
"Yes."
Aren looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
Ricci looked helplessly toward Eduardo.
At last, Eduardo stepped forward himself.
"And what ammunition would you pair with that handgun?"
"Nightshade JHP," Aren answered.
Eduardo looked almost pleased hearing it.
"Incorrect."
A faint edge of contempt entered his voice.
"Shield Raze rounds are superior."
Aren considered that seriously for a moment.
Then, she looked up at him.
"May I demonstrate?"
Eduardo stiffened almost immediately.
That answer interested him far more than anything she had said since entering the estate.
He turned toward Ricci.
"Prepare Range Three," he ordered, a smirk tugging at his lips. "For Miss Lombardi."
