Chapter 4

I bent down and picked up the heavy revolver from the floor.

The cool metal against my palm instantly cleared my chaotic thoughts.

I turned, raised the gun, and aimed it steadily at Sonny’s face, which was smeared with snot, tears, and urine.

Sonny screamed in terror, his voice cracking. “Are you insane?! Angelina! I’m your brother! Are you trying to kill your own family?!”

“Put the gun down! You ungrateful wretch!”

Carmela rushed forward to grab it, but a nearby bodyguard kicked her back to the ground. She curled up, gasping in pain.

Dozens of men in black drew their guns at once, dark muzzles all trained on me.

From his seat above, Don Corleone merely lifted a hand, signaling them to stop.

He narrowed his eyes, interest flickering there for the first time.

“Interesting.” He exhaled cigar smoke slowly. “Little girl, you want to kill him?”

I turned my head. Blood from where I’d hit the floor still stained the corner of my mouth.

My voice was clear, steady, without the slightest tremor, echoing through the silent hall, as I looked straight at him.

“Don Corleone, the godson you choose should be someone who dares to gamble with his life.”

I glanced at Sonny, shaking like a sieve. “This piece of trash who wet himself before pulling the trigger is not worthy.”

Then I turned the gun around.

Without hesitation, I pressed the muzzle firmly against my own temple.

“But I am.”

The family of three stared at me in shock, eyes fixed on my finger resting on the trigger.

There was no fear or concern in their gaze, only a feverish, naked anticipation.

They were waiting for the shot and to see my brains splatter.

“Click.”

A crisp, hollow sound—an empty shot.

I’d won the gamble.

Or rather, there was no gamble at all. In my last life, I’d overheard that this was nothing more than Don Corleone’s test of courage. The gun was never loaded.

After all, he didn’t want blood splattered across his own living room.

I casually tossed the revolver back onto the nearby table.

“Clang.” The sharp sound shattered the silence.

“Don Corleone,” I said, brushing damp hair off my forehead. “Was that enough?”

Don Corleone narrowed his eyes and, for the first time, he truly looked me up and down.

He slowly rose to his feet. Deep in his gaze, there was a faint trace of approval.

“You’ve got guts,” he said heavily. “Far better than the piece of trash on the floor.”

At that moment, seeing that I hadn’t died, Vincent’s family of three seemed to come back to life.

“Oh my God!” Carmela slapped her thigh and scrambled up. Her fear instantly turned into shrill abuse as she rushed at me, raising her hand to slap my face.

“You little b*tch! Who were you trying to scare?! What if it went off?! You nearly gave your brother a heart attack!”

“Exactly!” Sonny stopped crying, wiping his face despite the stench. Jealousy made his swollen features even uglier.

“Don Corleone praising you is just him being polite! Don’t get ideas! Since nothing happened, hurry up and apologize! Our family still has to rely on Don Corleone’s protection!”

Vincent rubbed his hands together and hurried up to Don Corleone, pointing at me with a fawning smile.

“Don Corleone, please don’t take offense. This girl was never taught properly. She’s stubborn, but… but her body is one of a kind! Look. Earlier, she struggled so hard that her dress tore…”

When Vincent had yanked me earlier, the left strap and neckline of my gown had been ripped wide open.

Below my collarbone was the birthmark of an iris I’d hidden since childhood with clothes and concealer, fully exposed beneath the crystal chandelier.

Don Corleone had only glanced over casually at first.

Then his gaze froze.