Chapter 6

The sunlight in Sicily was blindingly bright.

Lorenzo stood in his bespoke black suit in front of the high-backed red velvet chair that symbolized supreme power.

He must have been glancing at the entrance from time to time.

He was waiting for me.

After all, in our countless arguments before, I was always the one to bow my head first.

He was certain that, for the sake of the family's face and our so-called "marital bond," I would swallow all my grievances and attend his coronation.

However, seconds turned into minutes, and the heavy doors remained shut.

The anxiety in Lorenzo's eyes grew intense. Subconsciously, he twisted the ruby pinky ring that represented the power of the Don.

"Stop looking, Lorenzo."

Sophia, dressed in a white lace gown even more lavish than a Mama’s ceremonial dress, intimately linked her arm through his, practically pressing her entire body against him.

She stroked her flat stomach and whispered in his ear like a snake hissing venom.

"Elena isn't coming. She was just putting on a show last night to trick you. Since you didn't go back, she's definitely throwing a tantrum."

"Today is a big day for the family. All the Elders are watching. For the sake of stability, you can't let us become a laughingstock. I will stand by your side as your companion to witness the moment you become the Don of the Corleone family."

Lorenzo looked at the woman beside him, then at the empty entrance. The flicker of expectation in his eyes finally hardened into disappointment and cold resolve.

He took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and finally nodded to everyone present.

"Proceed with the ceremony."

The pipe organ began to play a solemn hymn.

Dozens of Capos, who controlled the European underground black money empire, formed two lines. One by one, they stepped forward, knelt on one knee, and kissed the ring on Lorenzo's hand.

"*Bacio le mani, Don Corleone.*" (I kiss the hands, Don Corleone.)

The uniform sound of oaths echoed through the hall.

Sophia stood by his side, basking in the reverent gazes that were meant for me, her face unable to hide her triumph and greed.

Just as the last Elder bent down.

*Boom—!*

The heavy oak doors, which at this moment symbolized absolute authority, were violently shoved open from the outside.

The massive noise cut off the organ music. Everyone turned around in shock.

Backlit by the sun, I stood in the doorway.

But I wasn't wearing the festive, glorious gown befitting a Mama.

I was wearing high-couture black mourning weeds.

A black veil covered most of my face, a black skirt trailed on the ground, and a white camellia was pinned to my chest.

It was the traditional Sicilian funeral attire for a widow mourning her late husband.

I was mourning my dead love.

The hall instantly exploded into chaos, whispers buzzing like a swarm of bees.

The moment Lorenzo saw me, a look of surprise and joy burst into his eyes.

He instinctively pushed Sophia away and took a step forward. "Elena! You're alright? I knew you would come..."

His words choked in his throat as he saw the formation behind me.

Behind me, there were no family bodyguards.

Following me in were seven white-haired old men—the entire Commission, the supreme arbitration body of the Mafia.

And four stone-faced senior FBI agents in dark blue windbreakers.

Lorenzo's face turned ashen instantly.

Bringing the FBI to a Mafia succession ceremony was a flagrant provocation of Omertà.

"Elena! Have you lost your mind? What are the Feds doing here?!" Lorenzo roared in a hushed voice, his eyes filled with disbelief and hurt. "Do you want to destroy the family?"

I ignored his rage.

Walking in my four-inch heels, I stepped onto the red carpet, my black hem billowing behind me like ink.

I walked straight to the foot of the dais. Separated by three steps, I looked down coldly at the man I had loved for twelve years.

"Lorenzo, do you think going through the ritual makes you the master of the Corleone family?"

I removed the black veil, revealing the gauze still oozing blood on my forehead.

In that instant, Lorenzo's pupils constricted sharply. He reached out, wanting to touch my wound. "Elena... you..."

I coldly dodged his hand.

An FBI agent behind me stepped forward, took a sealed manila envelope from his briefcase, and spread it open in front of everyone.

"This is the 'Ultimate Trust Deed' established by the late Godfather."

I turned around to face the Mafia bosses below, my voice cold and steady.

"My father predicted this day would come. To prevent the family from falling into the hands of outsiders or traitors, he segregated the family's assets."

"All legal businesses—including casino licenses across Europe and America, shipping lines, real estate, and the exclusive franchises for the arms conglomerate—have been placed into an independent trust."

I pulled a fountain pen from my chest pocket and uncapped it.

"The only key to activate this trust is the handwritten signature of a daughter with pure Corleone blood—me, Elena Corleone."

Deathly silence fell over the hall.

Everyone understood what this meant.

Without the support of these laundered legal assets and arms transport lines, the so-called Godfather was nothing more than a glorified street thug managing a bunch of hooligans, without even the money to make payroll.

Sophia's face turned pale instantly. She shrieked, "That's impossible! Dad wouldn't leave Lorenzo out of the will! This must be a forgery!"

"Forgery?"

The Chief Elder of the Commission leaned on his cane and stepped forward, shooting a cold glare at Sophia.

"This deed was witnessed by the Commission and archived by the FBI as a third-party notary. Who dares to question it?"

Lorenzo froze in place. His hands were trembling; the Don's ring that had been glittering moments ago now felt like a branding iron burning his skin.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with shattered pain. "Elena, do we really have to go this far? I am your husband..."

"You *were*."

I cut him off coldly.

In front of everyone, I took the unsigned document and slammed it hard into his face.

The papers flew into the air, scattering like paper money for the dead.

"Since you chose that counterfeit Princess and the bastard in her belly..."

"Then you can keep your hollow title of Godfather and play house."

I looked around the room, my gaze sharp as a knife.

"I, Elena Corleone, hereby declare—"

"I do not recognize Lorenzo as the Don."