Abandoned by My Husband, I Chose To Become the Don

It was just past eleven at night when the special priority alert on my encrypted satellite phone pinged.

Intelligence had intercepted a post just uploaded to the Dark Web.

I opened it. Sophia was smiling innocently at the camera. The background was the highest-level safe house Lorenzo had arranged for her protection.

The video had clearly been recorded just minutes ago.

"Did a little artistic touch-up on a certain high-and-mighty 'Signorina' today."

She waved the tattoo gun at the camera, ink still dripping from the nozzle, her eyes full of provocation.

"Guess what I gave her? An inverted 'Angel's Eye'! In the Corleone family, that is the brand of a rat."

"You guys didn't see it. She's pushing thirty, still acting like some untouchable heiress. I drove that ink deep into her dermis. She’ll have to carry that shame for the rest of her life."

The encrypted comment section was a carnival for her little lackeys: "Long live the Principessa!" "Nice work!"

Sophia grew more excited as she spoke, toying with the luxury goods Lorenzo had given her.

"I’ve seen plenty of women like her. Relying on their so-called bloodline, always acting dignified in front of the Made Men."

She sighed with feigned pity. "Too bad. No matter how much Elena struggles, it’s useless. Lorenzo is wrapped around my finger."

"Next time, I’ll livestream something even better—watch me kick Elena out of New York and become the true Mama of the Corleone family."

The video shook violently for a second, then cut off abruptly, as if something had breached the room.

I let out a cold laugh and turned off the screen.

Sophia.

I was the one who gave her that name.

Five years ago, during the riots in the slums of Naples, I found her in a pile of corpses.

A fifteen-year-old girl curled up in the gutter like a rat, covered in blood, nearly beaten to death over half a loaf of bread.

Her eyes held that desperate, beast-like will to survive.

Back then, she was just a nameless stray, clutching the hem of my muddy dress, begging for help.

In a moment of softness, I didn't just save her; I brought her before my father, the Godfather, and persuaded him to adopt her.

I gave her a new life, turning a beggar into the esteemed "Principessa" of the Corleone family.

Now, she was using the power and affection my father and I had given her to carve the brand of a "traitor" into my back.

To humiliate me in front of the entire family.

She even dared to covet my position in the hierarchy and destroy my marriage.

But what truly chilled my heart was Lorenzo.

He knew a daughter of the Corleone bloodline could not tolerate such humiliation. Yet, to maintain the facade of "sibling harmony" within the family, he chose to sacrifice my dignity.

I knew he might be tiptoeing around the old Don's dying wish to look after Sophia.

But I had no interest in a balancing act that came at my expense.

Just then, my phone vibrated.

It was an encrypted message from the leader of "The Soldatos"—the private paramilitary force my father had left solely to me:

"Elena, target secured. We bypassed Lorenzo's security detail. ETA twenty minutes to your private underground armory."

Twenty minutes later, the heavy blast doors of my underground armory slowly groaned open. Dozens of fully armed Soldatos stood at attention in two rows.

Two masked enforcers dragged Sophia in and threw her onto the cold concrete floor like a dead dog.

She struggled to look up. Her arrogant gaze was now filled with terror, especially when she saw the Corleone crests surrounding her.

"Elena! Are you crazy?"

Something clicked in her mind, and she screamed, her voice shrill but lacking real confidence.

"How dare you kidnap me without authorization! Lorenzo will never forgive you when he finds out!"

"I am a Princess of the Corleone family too! I represent the family's face! If you dare touch a hair on my head, the family won't let you off!"

I looked down at her and chuckled softly.

"When Lorenzo proposed to me, he swore he would never let me suffer the slightest grievance."

Her expression twisted for a moment.

I held a piece of white buckskin cloth, slowly and methodically polishing a silver antique revolver.

"Do you think that adopted title of yours allows you to walk all over me?"

She looked at the dark muzzle of the gun, and her body began to tremble violently.

*Click.*

I snapped the cylinder shut and elegantly chambered a round.

"You've got one thing wrong."

"I am not just Lorenzo's wife."

"I am the only Corleone Mama."

"In the world of Cosa Nostra, no one dares to insult me."