Chapter 5

Don Corleone froze in place, his pupils shrinking sharply. It was as if an invisible bolt of lightning struck him.

“Th-this…” Don Corleone’s voice began to tremble.

His gaze was locked on the birthmark beneath my collarbone. Shock, wild joy, and grief churned violently in his eyes, too complex to name.

“This mark… Where did it come from?!” His voice was hoarse.

Vincent misunderstood completely. He thought Don Corleone was displeased, or worse, that he’d taken a liking to that “special” patch of skin.

He immediately shouted at the top of his lungs, afraid others might not hear him.

“Don Corleone! This girl may be low-born, but her body is top-notch! Look at that red mark, so seductive! She was born to serve a man like you! A natural sl*t!”

Carmela hurried to chime in, terrified of falling behind.

“Yes, yes, Don Corleone! This little b*tch has been loose since she was young! Just look at that birthmark! It screams filth! If you like it, I’ll strip off these useless clothes right now so you can see her clearly, inside and out!”

Sonny stood to the side, grinning stupidly, as if he’d seen a new ray of hope.

“Angelina, look. Don Corleone really likes you! Heh, even b*tches get lucky sometimes!”

The three of them scrambled over each other, hurling the most vicious, filthy insults at me. They trampled my dignity again and again, all to trade it for a pitiful sliver of their own survival.

Don Corleone’s hand trembled violently in the air. His eyes reddened.

“Shut… up…” he forced out through clenched teeth.

“Don’t worry! She can take it! You can play however you want—” Vincent kept babbling.

“I said shut up!!!”

Don Corleone’s foot slammed hard into Vincent’s chest.

“Crack!” The sound of ribs breaking rang out clearly.

Vincent didn’t even have time to scream. His body flew backward like a torn sack, smashing into the wall several meters away. He spat out a mouthful of blood and collapsed, motionless.

The joy on Carmela and Sonny’s faces froze. They were terrified, mouths open, but no sound came out.

Don Corleone’s eyes were bloodshot as he pointed at Vincent, who was barely clinging to life on the floor.

“What… did you call her?!

“A sl*t?! Trash?! Meat for others to play with?!”

He suddenly turned to me. Two muddy streams of tears spilled from the eyes of this cold, ruthless don.

“So… so similar…

“This birthmark… these eyes… You are… Sophia’s daughter…”

“No! Impossible!” Carmela shrieked first, her scream sharp enough to pierce ears.

“Don Corleone! You’ve been fooled! How could this b*tch be your daughter?! It’s fake! A tattoo! We picked her up beside a trash can. She’s a b*st*rd! A mutt!”

“Yes! It’s a tattoo!” Sonny roared, jealousy driving him nearly mad, eyes blood-red.

“This b*tch would do anything to climb up the ladder! Don Corleone, don’t believe her lies!”

Don Corleone slowly straightened and wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes with his fingertips.

When he looked up again, only bone-deep authority remained on his face.

“A tattoo?” He let out a cold laugh. His voice was quiet but heavy enough to suffocate the entire hall.

“This is the ‘Iris Mark’, inherited only by the Corleone family’s direct bloodline. When emotions surge or body temperature rises, it appears red. No tattoo technique in the world can replicate it.”

His gaze swept across the room. Finally, it nailed itself like an ice spike into the three trembling, death-pale “family members”.

“You said… she’s a b*st*rd? A mutt?”

Don Corleone took a deep breath, gathering every ounce of strength in his body, and declared to New York’s underworld and the entire world.

“She is the daughter I, Don Corleone, have searched for over twenty years, spending fortunes and turning the earth upside down to find—my biological daughter!

“My only bloodline in this world! My treasured jewel!”