Abandoned by My Husband, I Chose To Become the Don

Before the day of my husband's succession as the Don, my stepsister personally tattooed the "Inverted Angel's Eye"—the mark of a traitor—onto my back.

My husband didn't just turn a blind eye; when the family vendetta broke out, he withdrew all the elite guards to protect my "pregnant" stepsister, leaving me alone in a defenseless city to face the slaughter. 

"Elena, you are strong enough to protect yourself. But Sophia is fragile, and she is carrying my firstborn. She needs the protection more than you."

Facing a siege of heavy firepower, I survived by the skin of my teeth.

He thought I would swallow the insult for the sake of the family's reputation.

He didn't expect that I would kick open the doors of his coronation ceremony wearing mourning weeds, flanked by the FBI and the Commission, and personally strip him of his title.

"Goodbye, Lorenzo. This time, I choose to be the Don."

Before the day when Lorenzo officially ascends as the Don, as his lawful wife, I must undergo the baptism of family glory at this sacred moment.

Sophia, my stepsister—the "Principessa" adopted by my father—insisted on personally tattooing the "Angel's Eye," the symbol of supreme family authority, onto my back.

The buzzing of the tattoo gun stopped. I looked into the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and my blood instantly froze.

The "Angel's Eye," which should have been looking down upon the masses, was inverted.

In the Code of Omertà, an inverted totem has only one meaning—a police informant, a rat.

Seeing the color drain from my face, Sophia peeled off her rubber gloves and blew the ink off the nozzle with a look of utter innocence.

"It's called deconstructionist art, Elena. Don't tell me you have zero taste?"

I grabbed the whiskey bottle from the table and smashed it at her.

The glass shattered against the wall, shards grazing Sophia's cheek.

In the next second, Lorenzo's powerful hand clamped around my wrist, shielding Sophia behind him.

His brows were furrowed, his eyes filled with warning.

"Sophia is our Principessa. She's just creating art. Have you lost your mind?"

I stared dead into Lorenzo's eyes.

This was the man I had loved for twelve years. Yet in this moment, he chose to be blind to the brand of shame on my back—a mark that warranted the death penalty by family law.

Sophia peeked out from behind him, a smirk of triumph on her lips, but her voice was dripping with feigned vulnerability.

"Lorenzo, you said you liked designs with a rebellious spirit. I just wanted to give her a surprise. Why is she treating me like this?"

My hands were trembling.

Before I could question him, the heavy oak doors of the study were pushed open.

Several Capos in black trench coats walked in, laughing.

"Are the Don-to-be and the Signora preparing for tomorrow's ritual?"

"The unity of the Corleone family is the bedrock of our rule over the European underworld."

"We heard the Signora is receiving the totem of glory. Let us have a look."

Before their voices faded, several sharp gazes landed on my exposed, uncovered back.

The warm compliments came to a screeching halt.

Cigars dropped from their mouths. Their eyes instantly turned dark and cold.

The entire room fell into a deathly silence, the air thick with the scent of gunpowder.

Only Sophia let out a soft laugh, like the whisper of a demon.

Lorenzo's face changed instantly. Subconsciously, he tried to hide Sophia behind him, blocking their scrutinizing stares.

"This is just a small accident."

Sophia pursed her lips, idly playing with the ring in her hand.

"Oops, my hand slipped just a little bit. It's barely inverted."

She glanced at the group of murderous Capos, relying on her status as the adopted daughter to be fearless.

"It's just a minor mistake, why so serious? Only someone with a guilty conscience would be so sensitive about a drawing, right?"

Lorenzo quickly took off his suit jacket and wrapped it tightly around me, covering the hideous "traitor" mark.

He looked at the men, his voice hard and carrying an unquestionable authority.

"Sophia is young and doesn't know the rules. It was an accident."

"You all watched her grow up; don't hold it against a child."

"For the sake of tomorrow's succession ceremony, this matter ends here."

Every word was a calculated chip.

Standing at the center of power, Lorenzo used the guise of maintaining the big picture to drive that knife ruthlessly into my heart.

Hearing this, I let out a cold laugh.

"An accident?"

"I don't accept that."

I slowly tightened the jacket around me, covering the totem that threatened death.

My fingernails dug into my palm, drawing blood, but I felt no pain.

I looked at Lorenzo and enunciated every word clearly.

"Since you, as the Don, cannot adjudicate fairly..."

"Then I will handle this according to my own rules."

I turned and walked out.

As the heavy wooden doors closed, I heard the faint murmurs from inside.

"The Signora's eyes were terrifying just now. She has the old Don's blood in her veins; this isn't over."

Consigliere Domine hesitated before speaking, "If the Signora makes a scene, tomorrow's ceremony..."

Lorenzo's voice carried a trace of exhaustion and certainty.

"She won't. I know Elena. She has a fiery temper, but for me, she can endure anything."

He paused, his tone deepening. "She loves me too much to disobey me."

The men seemed to relax, followed by the sound of clinking glasses.

I never imagined that Lorenzo, who once swore to protect me with his life, would choose to let me bear the suspicion of being a "rat" just to secure his power.

Immediately, someone laughed and flattered him: "True, the Don's charm is irresistible. The Signora will naturally do as she is told."

Standing in the shadows outside the door, looking at the shield crest on the wall that represented family glory, the corner of my mouth hooked into a cruel arc.

Do as I'm told?

Then I wouldn't be worthy of being Mafia.

I got into the bulletproof sedan and took out an encrypted satellite phone.

"Midnight."

"Kidnap Sophia and take her to the safe house in the East District."

"Also, prepare the sharpest skinning knife and a bucket of salt water. I'm going to personally teach her what true art is."