Seeing the malice on their faces, I couldn't help but let out a sarcastic laugh.

Five years ago, the Corleone family was just another nickel-and-dime street crew, getting squeezed by the big players until they had nowhere left to run.

On a rainy night, Henry, covered in blood, knelt before me, grabbing the hem of my coat and begging me to help him.

He swore, red-eyed, that if I became his consigliere, he'd give me half of whatever empire he built.

Now, the turf was secure, the empire was built, and he was terrified I had too much power.

He’d rather trust a silver-tongued liar like Lucy, someone he could control, than the partner who’d built it all with him from scratch.

It’s always the same story with greedy men in power.

“I’ll give you my things. But if you or your goons lay a hand on me, Henry, I can burn this whole place down with you in it. And you know damn well I’m capable of it.”

I stared at him, all the old deference gone from my voice.

Henry’s expression shifted. After all these years, he knew I wasn’t bluffing.

Finally, he relented. “Fine. You hand them over yourself.”

I tossed my car keys, the keys to the family safe houses, and all of my work phones onto the table.

Under the wary eyes of his bodyguards, I walked out of the mansion I had poured five years of my life into, without a single look back.

The moment I stepped outside, the winter sun hit my face, and I felt a lightness I hadn't known in years.

For the past five years, my nerves had been shot from cleaning up Henry’s messes.

Even on holidays, I was stuck in New York, always on call, ready for the next gang war to break out.

I couldn’t even remember the last time I took a real vacation.

And now, I was free.

Using my personal account, I chartered a private jet to Sicily and booked a top-tier seaside villa.

When the plane landed and the warm sea breeze whipped through my hair, I snapped a picture of the azure coast and posted it on my private social media. The caption: “Out of the game. Enjoying the sun.”

After posting, I refreshed my feed and saw a new post from Lucy.

The photo showed her in a luxury boutique on Fifth Avenue in New York, juggling a dozen Hermès and Chanel bags, a delirious smile plastered on her face.

Her caption read: “As the new consigliere of the Corleone family, I’m so busy I don’t even have a moment to rest. But it’s all worth it for the family!”

I looked at the post and laughed out loud.

Busy with family business? Or busy burning through the last of the Corleone family’s cash?

I couldn’t be bothered. I blocked her account.

Just as I was settling onto a lounge chair at the villa, raising a glass of chilled champagne to my lips, my personal phone buzzed.

The screen showed a private, unlisted number.

I answered.

“Good afternoon, Miss Madeline,” a deep, magnetic voice, laced with authority, came through the line. “This is Lorenzo Vitiello.”

Lorenzo Vitiello. The Don of the most powerful and ancient mafia family in North America.

“Mr. Vitiello. This is a surprise,” I said, taking a sip of champagne.

“I heard you left that small-time operation of Corleone’s,” Lorenzo said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Henry is a fool. He didn’t deserve your talent. The Vitiello family has always admired your mind. The position of our new consigliere is yours, if you want it. I promise you, you will have power and status you could never have dreamed of with the Corleones. The entire North American underworld will listen when you speak.”

It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

The Vitiello family was a hundred times more powerful than the Corleones.

“It would be my honor, Mr. Vitiello,” I said after a moment’s thought. “I look forward to working with you.”

After hanging up, I enjoyed my dinner in a state of pure satisfaction.

Then, the next day, I got a call I didn’t want.

It was Henry.

“Madeline! I was just looking at the books. You skimmed fifty grand from the last smuggling run! You’re a goddamn thief!”

Listening to Henry’s righteous, hysterical screaming, for a second I thought I was hearing things.

Skimmed from a smuggling run?

The accusation was so absurd I laughed. “Henry, have you lost your mind? The other party in last week’s deal demanded an extra deposit. To keep the deal from falling through, I fronted the fifty grand from my own pocket, then reimbursed myself from the family account. As for the voucher, I already gave it to you.”

“Voucher? What voucher? I never saw any voucher!” There was no shame in his voice. “Madeline, stop making up stories. That piece of paper isn’t here now, so there’s no proof! I say you skimmed it, so you skimmed it! The Corleone family has no place for a two-bit thief like you!”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

I knew exactly what this was. He was just trying to screw with me.

My clean break from the family clearly wasn't enough for him.

“Give the money back!” Henry ordered viciously.

“Fine,” I said, a smirk playing on my lips. I was too tired to even argue with him. “Fifty thousand dollars. I’ll send it over. Consider it my severance payment to the Corleone family. From now on, I have nothing to do with any of you.”

“Fifty? You wish!” Seeing me agree so easily, his greed kicked into high gear.

He let out a triumphant sneer. “Family rules say you get punished for stealing. Since you’ve already run from New York, you can buy your way out. Triple penalty. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars!”

I didn’t want to listen to his bullshit anymore. “Done.”

Not that he’d be alive long enough to enjoy it.

Tomorrow, he’d be the one on his knees, begging.

I transferred the money immediately.

“See, you know what’s good for you, Madeline,” Henry said, gloating, before hanging up.

Listening to the dial tone, I put down my phone, a cold smile on my face.

Enjoy your last party, Henry.

The next morning, the Sicilian sky was clear and bright.

To show how much they valued me, the Vitiello family—the Don, his capos, and the elders—had all come to Sicily to hold a formal ceremony to welcome me.

I wore a tailored, custom black suit, my long hair pulled back to reveal a sharp, elegant profile.

The core members of the Vitiello family stood with solemn expressions, their eyes filled with respect.

Don Vitiello sat at the head of the table. His eyes, which had seen everything, rested on me with deep appreciation.

“Madeline,” he said, rising slowly. In his hand was a sapphire pin, the symbol of the family’s highest honor and power. “From this day forward, you will be the consigliere of the Vitiello family. Your word is the family’s will.”

He personally pinned the sapphire emblem to my suit.

In an instant, the hall erupted in thunderous applause.

At that moment, standing at the pinnacle of power, I felt my ambition and satisfaction swell.

This was my battlefield, not playing house with a bunch of idiots in the Corleone family.

But just as everyone raised their glasses to congratulate me and the celebration reached its peak, my phone began to vibrate violently, an unwelcome intrusion.

I pulled it out.

The screen flashed with Henry’s number.

I irritably declined the call. It rang again. And again.

I thought for a moment. If I remembered correctly, this was right about the time the Colombians made their move in my past life.

I gave a slight nod to the Don beside me, then walked to a terrace on the side of the hall and answered.

This time, the voice on the other end wasn't gloating or arrogant like last night.

Henry's voice was shaking, a raw mix of terror, desperation, and hysteria.

In the background, I could faintly hear the pop of gunshots and screams.

He roared, his voice cracking, “Madeline, what the hell kind of intel did you give us?!”

“The deal with the Colombians went south, they’re killing our guys! You need to get back here and fix this mess!”