Chapter 2

From then on, things spiraled further out of control.

What began as occasional help became a fixed part of my daily workload.

When Pietro was tasked with planning the smuggling route for that year's latest arms shipment, his approach was reckless and bold. But the details were practically nonexistent.

He tossed a pile of disorganized documents my way and said, "Camilla, you're fairly meticulous, so why don't you sort this information out for me?"

I stayed up all night researching detailed intel on other families' smuggling routes, doing everything I could to minimize risks and propose highly reliable route recommendations.

In the end, I pieced together the fragments he'd given me into a coherent, actionable report.

After I handed it over, Pietro didn't even make any changes. Instead, he just presented it as his own work and ended up earning Don Costa's approval and recognition.

With his alcohol-fogged mind often in a haze, Marco would carry his laptop over to my desk every time he had to handle security personnel distribution for arms deals.

Placing the laptop down, he'd say, "Camilla, the security team's mobility coverage keeps falling short in these blind spots. Could you take a look and see what the problem is? I need to step out for a bit to handle something."

I never studied professional security or computer programming, so I had to rely on careful observation since joining and whatever networking knowledge I could pick up on my own.

I'd run simulation after simulation, analyze security logs from every successful trade, and sometimes spend the entire day buried in my screen, fine-tuning the security layout.

Once the distribution issues were resolved, Marco would only say, "Not bad, kid. You're alright, I guess."

Riccardo's databases were truly maddening, and he'd toss them to me without a second thought.

"Camilla, I've got a meeting to run to. Can you sort through these two databases? It's kind of urgent, so get on it fast. I'll need them by the time I'm back this afternoon."

He always took it for granted that I'd handle his rushed and tedious tasks, yet I consistently delivered results beyond expectations. And it was him who gained all the credit in front of Don Costa with those precise, impeccable, and crystal clear reports.

The most ridiculous part was that at every celebration, I was always just a spectator. All the rewards passed me by, and I remained the one perpetually left on the outside.

They celebrated with arms around each other's shoulders, toasting and calling one another "fratello" as they drank.

Occasionally, someone might glance toward the corner where I sat and raised a glass in my direction. It was a symbolic gesture, as if that alone was a great honor bestowed upon me.

And after that… Well, there was no after that.

Year after year, the project bonuses and family trust fund distributions slipped past me. Never once was there a share for me.

My dedication to the family and my relentless effort ultimately earned little more than a dismissive wave, an almost contemptuous acknowledgment.

Don Costa knew everything.

Countless times in the early hours, he'd see my desk buried under mountains of project files and me nearly swallowed by them.

Once in a while, if I was lucky, I'd hear his hoarse, almost weightless voice drift by.

"Young people should do more work—the rewards will eventually come."

Yet, my name never appeared on any list of rewards.

In the end, they gave me the hollow title of "Executive Director". It was a label without an ounce of real authority, leaving me with less influence than even a Soldato.

"Camilla!" Don Costa's voice, low and seething with suppressed anger, pulled me back from my memories. "If you have concerns, voice them. The family handles matters fairly and justly.

"Address the issue directly—there's no need to keep threatening to leave. After all these years with the family, you ought to reflect honestly on the opportunities you've been given.

"Look around. Everyone here has earned their place in the family's inner circle through deep experience, seasoned judgment, and exceptional skill. In the beginning, you weren't even qualified to work in the core office area.

"But I saw potential in you—a young person with uncommon resilience and a refusal to back down—so I made an exception and brought you straight into the heart of the family.

"I didn't pressure you. I gave you time to learn, starting with simple tasks and errands. Yet, after all these years, instead of mastering real skills, you've learned how to put on airs and manipulate people.

"What have you truly accomplished in these five years? And now, over a single assignment to stay behind and guard the family, you throw a tantrum? Isn't that immature and irresponsible?"

"Don Costa is right!" Pietro, ever the first to flatter and agree, rushed to chime in and criticize me. "Camilla, the family has nurtured you for five years and invested so many resources in you, yet you show no gratitude at all.

"Don Costa hasn't even held it against you. Staying behind to guard the family is also work. Did you expect everyone to go off and enjoy themselves while leaving the family's safety unattended?

"You're being terribly immature. How can you keep talking about leaving the family so casually? You have no sense of dedication. You're just selfish."

Riccardo added, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "Seems to me she knows she's incompetent. Whenever there's real danger, she just hides behind the rest of us like a little coward, looking for an excuse to run. Give her an independent mission, and she'd definitely mess it up."