When the Godfather’s Stepdaughter Treated Me As Her Mistress

At the Moretti family wedding, my stepsister had convinced herself that I was a secretary who'd seduced the Don and was spending his hush money on luxury goods. She stared at my expensive outfit, her brow furrowed with anger, yet she had to keep up an air of refinement as she made her snide remarks. "A lowly secretary doing odd jobs—how could someone on that tiny salary afford luxury brands? Dressing yourself up so flamboyantly—you're just here to fish for a rich husband, aren't you?" Relying on the fact that her mother was about to marry the Don, she was dead set on climbing to the pinnacle of money and power, determined to trample everyone underfoot and then bask in their admiration. But the seat of honor at the head table—the one she wanted—was occupied by me. She didn't dare ask her stepfather for it, nor did she have the authority to order anyone else around, so she reached out to shove me off. I dodged, and she vented her fury in a shrill voice. "Get down here, or I'll make you disappear." I sat there calmly, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, and sank into thought again. Did she not know that I was the heir to this vast Moretti Mafia family? That all these assets were left to me by my mother? That the so-called Don on the surface—my father—was merely a proxy? What was wrong with the future heir to the Moretti crime family sitting at the head table at a subordinate's wedding? As a daughter, I'd come to attend my own father's wedding, only to be slandered as a vain mistress who'd slept her way to the top? ...