Chapter 3

Three days later, at Don Corleone’s private estate.

The banquet was extravagant, but a faint, lingering smell of blood hung in the air.

Sonny wore the same suit, patched and re-patched. On the ride over, he’d been shouting about making everyone kneel. Now, he was shaking like someone having a seizure, gripping my wrist so tightly that it hurt.

“Angelina… I… I need to pee…”

“Useless thing! What are you afraid of?!” Carmela wore a borrowed, ill-fitting low-cut evening gown, with cheap foundation flaking off her face.

She hissed in a low voice, “Stand up straight! After tonight, this whole estate will be our family’s backyard!”

Vincent stared greedily at the oil paintings on the walls, his eyes darting around as he silently calculated how many bottles of good liquor each one could be traded for.

“Next. Sonny.” The butler’s voice rang out, cold and emotionless.

We were led to the center of the grand hall.

Hundreds of eyes watched us, as if we were clowns dragged into a circus ring.

At the front, seated on a high-backed gilded chair, was the man who ruled Newford’s underworld—Don Corleone.

He toyed with an unlit cigar, his gaze sharp as a blade. When it swept over us, it was like he was looking at a few filthy rats that had wandered into a sacred hall.

“Sonny?” Don Corleone’s voice was low and hoarse, heavy with pressure as it echoed through the hall. “I hear you want to be my son.”

Sonny’s knees buckled.

“Thud.” He dropped straight onto the cold marble floor, his voice trembling beyond control.

“D-don Corleone… I… I’m Sonny… I-I’m willing to die for you!”

“Die?” Don Corleone let out a soft chuckle that never reached his eyes.

He casually picked up a revolver from the nearby table.

“Click, click.” With practiced movements, he removed five bullets, leaving just one.

He flicked his wrist, and the cylinder slid back into place.

“Clatter.”

The gun slid across the smooth floor and stopped in front of Sonny, the sound piercing.

“My family doesn’t take in trash.”

Don Corleone leaned back. “If you want to go through my door, show me whether your life is hard enough.”

He lifted his chin toward the gun. “Shoot yourself. If it fires, you’re unlucky. If it doesn’t… I’ll take you.”

This was the mafia’s real “interview”.

No sweet words. Just a raw gamble between life and death.

Sonny stared at the dark barrel, frozen, forgetting even how to breathe.

After a few seconds of dead silence, a strong stench spread through the hall.

He’d pissed himself.

“I-I’m not playing! I quit! Mom! Save me! Dad!”

Sonny collapsed completely, scrambling backward like an overgrown infant, snot and tears streaming down his face.

Don Corleone frowned in disgust, as if he’d seen something revolting.

“Trash. Drag him out. Chop him up and feed him to the dogs in the back.”

Two mountain-like bodyguards rushed forward at once, lifting Sonny, now limp as mud, off the ground.

“No! Don Corleone, have mercy on me! Please!”

Carmela let out a pig-like scream and lunged forward, clinging tightly to one guard’s leg.

“Don Corleone! He’s still a child! He doesn’t understand! We have other gifts! Better gifts!”

Seeing wealth and power about to shatter before his eyes, Vincent’s eyes turned bloodshot.

Suddenly, he spun around, grabbed my hair, and with all his strength hurled me straight toward Don Corleone’s feet.

“Don Corleone! Look! This is my daughter, Angelina! She’s young! She’s pretty! Spare my son, and she’ll be yours to do whatever you want! Play with her however you like!”

I slammed hard onto the cold floor. Pain exploded through my knees. I was sure the skin had split.

However, that pain was nothing compared to the freezing cold in my heart.

Carmela, like she’d grabbed her last lifeline, pointed at me and screamed shrilly.

“Yes, yes! Don Corleone! Let this b*tch shoot in Sonny’s place! She’s just a sister. Her life’s worthless! Let her die! She can die ten thousand times as long as you forgive us!”

Even Sonny, already being dragged toward the hall entrance, struggled to turn his head back, roaring at me with pure hatred.

“Angelina! Hurry and pull the trigger! Didn’t you say you loved your little brother most?! Hurry up and die for me!”

I lifted my head, messy black hair covering half my vision.

Through the strands, I looked at the three people who shared my so-called “blood”.

Their twisted, ugly faces were a thousand times worse than demons crawling out of hell.

Strangely, in that moment, I didn’t feel like crying at all.

I planted my hand on the floor and slowly stood up.