After My Daughter Died, I Revealed I Was the Mafia Boss

"Donna, you've spent years lying low and turning the organization legitimate. You did all that so you could one day reunite with Ms. Cecily openly. If you reveal yourself now, everything you've built could fall apart. Your enemies will come after you again."

My lieutenant, Leon Ward, tried to talk me out of it.

The East Coast Don had grown much stronger. I knew this was a terrible time to resurface.

But my daughter was dead. What did any of my sacrifices matter now?

Even if it meant endless war, even if I died taking them down, I would drag the Griffiths family to hell with me!

"Leon, I've made my decision. Don't try to stop me."

With that, I boarded my yacht and left the island where I had been hiding for ten years.

Before heading to the Griffiths estate, I contacted a prosthetic makeup artist I had worked with many times.

I heard Selwyn was searching for Cecily by the sea, so he probably didn't know she was dead.

Before taking revenge, I wanted to take my daughter's place and find out exactly what she had endured.

Cecily already looked a lot like me. We even had similar builds. With a few changes to my face, I could pass for her. The only problem was the tattoo on my hand.

To avoid suspicion, I gritted my teeth and cut away the tattooed skin before leaving.

Once everything was ready, I headed for the estate.

From a distance, I heard the servants at the gate gossiping about Cecily.

"So that bitch Cecily ran away? Now we have to clean the entire estate. They should break her legs and see how far she gets next time!"

"Exactly. Remember when it was pouring and Ms. Iliana put a dog collar on her? She made her kneel in the courtyard and scrub the stones. That was hilarious."

"She never learns. She got Mr. Selwyn drunk and climbed into his bed. What a shameless slut."

Just then, an elderly woman hobbled toward them. "Erin, th-that's a lie! Selwyn was drunk. He forced himself on Ms. Cecily..."

I knew that voice. It belonged to Marta Ellis.

But she looked nothing like the Marta I remembered. A burn scar covered part of her face, and she walked with a limp.

Years ago, I had entrusted Cecily to her care.

She had been unable to tell me what Cecily had endured all these years. Looking at her now, I knew she must have suffered too.

My daughter. My dearest Cecily. You suffered worse than I imagined.

Pain tore through my chest, and hatred surged inside me.

But I pushed it down and continued toward the estate.