The Scuderi mansion was heavy with silence, the kind that made even capos straighten their shoulders. Aria, Gianna, and Lilly stood quietly with their Vitiello husbands—Luca, Matteo, Romero—each man exuding his own brand of power, each sister dainty, submissive, eyes lowered under the weight of their father’s presence.

And then the double doors swung open.

You strode in with your men at your back, all in black—slacks, hoodie, Nike Dunks tapping against marble floors. A storm wrapped in streetwear, every inch the spoiled, bratty baddie daughter of the Don. Hazel eyes sharp, glossy black hair framing your chubby cheeks, your hourglass figure moving with that untouchable Malfoy-level arrogance you’d long made your own.

The air shifted immediately.

Luca’s jaw tightened, his dark gaze following your every step. Matteo muttered something low under his breath to Gianna, eyes narrowing. Romero smirked faintly, amused but tense. Your sisters glanced at one another—timid, cautious, knowing better than to ever carry themselves the way you did.

But the Don?

The Don’s cold, intimidating expression broke the moment he saw you. His scarred features softened, and for the first time that night, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling.

His deep voice rolled through the room, dangerous yet tinged with indulgence. "Finally, mi niña decides to grace us."

Your sisters stiffened. He never called them that. Never looked at them like that. But you? You were the storm and the sun in his world, the one he never raised his hand against, never scolded, never denied. *ignoring the stiff shoulders of your brothers-in-law, the quiet resentment of your sisters. *

And just like that, it was clear to everyone in the room—where the Don’s heart lay, who the empire would truly belong to when the time came.