Donna Sofia Marino's birthday is held on Valentine's Day.

When Francesco Rossi, the Underboss of the Costa family, announces the news on behalf of Don Enzo Costa, everyone in the family is very happy.

Well, everyone but me.

As expected, Francesco is quick to add, "Someone needs to guard the headquarters. Camilla, you'll be the one in charge of this task."

"What the Underboss means is that you don't really carry out any missions in your daily life. Besides, you have tons of spare time anyway. This time, you are to guard the headquarters so that you can deal with any emergencies that might arise."

I just smirk sarcastically.

The truth is, I'm always the one dealing with the most dangerous matters concerning the Costa family.

The transactions of the firearms worth hundreds of millions of dollars are successfully carried out thanks to the plan I've spent countless sleepless nights perfecting.

When a crossfire breaks out, I'm always on the frontlines, fighting for the family's glory despite getting injured.

While I'm given the title as the executive director, I'm never given any actual power. In truth, my standing is lower than that of a soldato.

I'm always the one carrying out the hardest, the most menial, not to mention the most dangerous tasks. But every time credit is given, it's never given to me.

I've been enduring this injustice for five long years. This time, I no longer want to keep enduring anymore.

With a smile on my face, I stand up from my seat.

"Alright then, Underboss Rossi. I shall guard the headquarters. But this will be the last time I ever do this. After this task is completed, I will officially leave the Costa family once and for all."

As soon as my voice faded, a bang echoed through the conference room. In the almost pin-drop silence, the sound of Don Costa's glass striking the marble table was exceptionally loud.

Immediately after, a low murmur began to ripple through the room.

The first to speak was Francesco. "Seriously? All that over this? You're usually so quiet—didn't think you'd make such a big deal out of something so small."

Antonio Greco, a Capo under the family's Underboss, grumbled in a gruff voice, "Exactly. She's usually the least busy anyway. Asking her to stay back and manage the family's affairs was a sign of trust, yet here she is getting all worked up about it."

"I can't believe you're throwing a tantrum again like a spoiled princess, as if guarding the family isn't important," he muttered under his breath, clearly displeased. "This isn't the place for your little fits."

Beside him, the Consigliere Dario Zanon leaned lazily against the back of his chair, revealing the double-gun skull tattoo on his arm.

"What's the matter, Camilla?" he asked calmly. "Is there something you're unhappy about?

"Or do you think that after five years of hard work for the family, you still haven't received a share of the family trust fund, and that's why you're making a scene here? Have you ever stopped to consider your own worth?"

Marco Lombardi, the Capo in charge of the family's network information, closed his laptop and chimed in, "Young people shouldn't be so full of resentment. You want to leave the family?

"Do you really think the outside world is easy to navigate? Without the family's protection, you could end up dead in the streets without even knowing why. If you really leave the family, you won't even know where to go to cry about it."

"That's right," echoed voices from around the room.

Pietro Leone, the Capo seated at the far end of the table, was someone who often panicked in the face of unexpected situations. I had helped him countless times, meticulously planning every detail of his security arrangements for meetings.

Now, his voice was the loudest, and his words the most venomous.

"Don Costa, you mustn't go soft on her. She's been with the family for five years, and all she's done is run errands—no skilled work to speak of. This is something everyone has witnessed with their own eyes.

"What has she actually contributed to the family so far? Have we ever seen her on the front lines? Did she secure an arms deal? Or broker a drug transaction? It's only under our family's protection that she's been able to live comfortably and safely.

"Without it, she'd have ended up dead in some alley long ago. She's just seeing that the family is overwhelmed with business lately and thinks her moment has come. That's why she's threatening to leave the family."

His every word was like a needle dipped in poison.

I looked at Pietro, thinking back to five days ago when I reviewed the Messina family intel he compiled. It was disorganized, illogical, and riddled with gaps.

I was the one who stayed up until 4:00 am to help him reorganize the family structure, verify the data, and draft a clear, actionable collaboration plan.

He took that completely revamped report, with its precise data, and used it to successfully secure a year-long, billion-dollar drug trafficking deal with the Messina family.

When he returned, glowing with pride, he bought coffee for everyone in the office.

Everyone except me.

Don Costa lit a cigar and, at the same time, put a stop to the growing murmurs in the room. His face was hidden behind a veil of exhaled smoke, making his expression impossible to read.

Only his voice cut through, cold and tinged with a disdain so deep it seemed etched into his bones. That same disdain had been playing out since the day I first walked into this family office five years ago.

Back then, he had also held a cigar in his left hand while he picked up my sparse, unimpressive résumé with the other.

"You're Camilla? Your educational background is rather plain, though your major is passable. What exactly can you do? Your academic record and background are nothing special, and you're just the daughter of a common Soldato.

"This family doesn't carry dead weight. Start at the bottom for now. You won't be handling any projects yet. Just help out where you can and familiarize yourself with the environment. You should consider yourself lucky just to be working with the family."

My early days were indeed spent on menial tasks such as serving coffee, ordering takeout, handling deliveries, printing, copying, and sorting through mountains of outdated reports.

However, I wasn't going to let my skills go to waste.

To get up to speed quickly, I stayed behind every day after everyone else left, poring over the internal server files. I quickly sorted and memorized the family names, their intertwined power structures, and business distributions.

I also noted down each family's history, operational scope, and territorial divisions for arms and drug trafficking.

Every time I brought coffee, I would humbly ask the Capos, "Boss, how did you compile the arms data for this family? How do you manage client follow-up so effectively?"

The replies were always the same. "That's none of your concern. I'm busy—don't bother me. You wouldn't understand even if I told you."

They wouldn't even look up.

But I still pressed on, tirelessly digging through files. While others went home to rest, I stayed behind, sifting through data at our branch offices and studying the key factors behind the family's past successes.

Once, a Capo named Riccardo Barbieri was rushing to submit a report on the causes of a clash between two families in Belmaria along with firearm data, but he accidentally mixed up critical information between them.

I noticed it while bringing him coffee and, after some hesitation, decided to point it out.

His expression immediately changed. He quickly closed the file and waved me off impatiently, saying, "Mind your own business. Get out of here."

Later, the revised report—with accurate data thanks to my heads-up—helped the family successfully close a five-billion-dollar arms deal.

Riccardo received praise and rewards from Don Costa that even the tattoos on his arm seemed to radiate excitement, yet not a single word was mentioned about me.

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."

"Don Costa, Camilla is clearly just bluffing, so there's no need to take it to heart. She's been sheltered by the family for five years, yet she's accomplished nothing herself.

"She's probably afraid you'll punish her, so she's making excuses to cover up her own incompetence and just wants to give up entirely," Riccardo added.

Marco chimed in at just the right moment. "Camilla, no offense, but you really are too petty and always making a fuss over every little thing.

"Isn't helping each other out what being part of a family is all about? That's how it works here. Just apologize properly to Don Costa, settle down from now on, and don't ruin Donna's special day by upsetting him."

They took turns reprimanding me, each word sharper and more cutting than the last.

The very people who had drained me dry and picked me clean were the ones hailed as heroes within the family.

Moreover, all those sleepless nights I spent organizing data and risking my life on the most dangerous deals were now dismissed by them as just coasting along.

Looking at these familiar, hypocritical faces and Don Costa's growing impatience, I felt the fiery anger burning inside me suddenly turned ice cold.

I rose slowly once more. Then, with my back straight, I spoke with a smile.

"Don Costa, esteemed Capos, thank you for your insightful remarks. In my five years with the family, I started by serving each of you iced long blacks every day.

"Then, it evolved into planning smuggling routes, managing security at transaction sites, and even securing deals worth billions of dollars in drug distribution rights.

"Every single one of those tasks was something I pulled off for you, working around the clock without rest. When things went wrong or danger arose, I was the one on the front line, risking everything.

"In your eyes, perhaps these were trivial matters. But they brought immense profit to the family. Yet, this is what you call just coasting along. As for Donna's birthday party, I indeed have no right to attend.

"I no longer need to learn, nor do I need to train anymore. Leaving the family is neither a joke nor a threat. It is my formal notice."

I turned my gaze once more to Don Costa, Francesco, and all the Capos present.

"For the remaining week, I will only handle the most basic tasks assigned by the Underboss. I hope that after I'm gone, every deal you make still goes as smoothly as before—no bloodshed, no hard work. Good luck to you all."

I then looked straight at Don Costa. "Don Costa, thank you for letting me work here for the past five years. It's a pity I was never truly meant to enjoy it."

With that, I bowed slightly to Don Costa. Then, I turned and walked out of the conference room.

Back at my workstation, I began packing up what little personal belongings I had. I set aside the handful of notebooks and the mug I used daily, then casually opened my laptop.

I found the family group and drafted an email, formally stating my departure in one week.

"To all the Capos in the family, for this final week, I will only handle my assigned duties. There are no specific matters requiring handover. Please do not trouble me further. Thank you."

Less than five minutes after sending the email, I saw the Capos begin to emerge from the conference room. They huddled together, their voices rising and falling in waves of dismissive chatter. It was a constant, buzzing hum that seemed to fill the air.

Sitting next to my laptop, I could hear Riccardo's voice clearly. "Talk about being ungrateful. Who does she think she is? We gave her an out, and she still wouldn't take it. Let's see how long she can keep up this act."

"Give her the title of Executive Director, and she starts getting too big for her boots. She doesn't even hold a real position," Marco cursed.

Pietro's cold voice followed. "All she ever did was serve us coffee. She couldn't handle real work if she tried. It's only out of Don Costa's kindness that she even had a place here. And now she dares to leave the family?"

The others smirked and echoed in agreement, "All attitude and no skill, yet she's acting like some big shot. Let's see how long she lasts. I bet she'll be crawling back to Don Costa for protection soon enough."

After returning to my seat, I opened my laptop and clicked on the project folders I had compiled through countless sleepless nights. I selected the entire folder and confirmed permanent deletion without hesitation.

In less than eight seconds, it was done. A wave of unprecedented relief washed over me. It was the first real moment of relaxation I had felt in five years.

I took off my headset and shut down the laptop. Then, under the bewildered gazes of the Capos, I walked out of the family office with my head held high.

For the first time in five years, I left the family office on time.

The evening breeze outside felt surprisingly fresh and soothing.