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.

That evening, I got a call from my best friend, Rosa Esposito. For the first time in five years, I actually had time to meet her, and we arranged to meet at Nyx Club.

At 11:00 pm, the ringtone cut sharply through the quiet corner. Glass in hand, I answered my phone—it was Pietro.

The moment the call connected, Pietro's entitled voice came through. "Camilla, is the arms cooperation proposal for next week done? It's due to Don Costa tomorrow. There's been an internal shake-up with the Rinaldi family, and they're pushing to see the contract. Send it to me now."

His voice carried its usual rasp, and there was also a note of annoyance in his bossy, hurried tone.

It made me wonder—had I actually forgotten to send that email to the family group this afternoon?

I couldn't help but let out a self-deprecating chuckle and replied without hesitation, "Are you talking about your own responsibilities? Why are you asking me about your own work?

"Have you had too much to drink? Or did you forget that I'm not even at the level of a basic Soldato in the family? So, I have no authority to touch core tasks."

Pietro probably hadn't expected that response and was caught off guard for a second. There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, followed by a furious roar through the receiver.

"Camilla, what do you think you're doing? Are you trying to rebel? You've always handled these tasks before. Hurry up and send it over—I'm in a rush. Don't play dumb with me. If this gets delayed, you'll face consequences you can't handle."

I scoffed. "Sorry, but I really can't do it. I won't touch tasks that aren't mine anymore. Helping you in the past was a courtesy. Now, choosing not to is my right. Everyone in the family knows the rules, so I can't step out of line."

My smirk grew wider. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to attend to. Goodbye."

Ignoring Pietro's furious shouts on the other end, I hung up and slipped the phone back into my bag.

Rosa and I clinked glasses, sharing a knowing smile, and I felt a deep sense of relief.

The next day, as soon as I settled into my workstation, things began to spiral.

First, Riccardo came over and tossed a mess of firearm and ammunition data at me, along with the figures for an upcoming drug trade, just like he always did.

"Camilla, sort this out properly. We need it for the meeting soon."

Without hesitation, I handed it right back to him. "Riccardo, this detailed work falls under your responsibilities. It's not within my scope to handle."

His expression darkened, and he was practically huffing with anger. Just as he seemed about to curse, he caught the gazes of the other Capos around and forced his temper down.

"Camilla, just do me this favor. I'm swamped today—there's just too much going on."

I spread my hands and shrugged. "I'm busy too, so there's nothing I can do about it."

I put on my headset and started typing, tuning everything else out.

His face shifted through shades of frustration before he finally turned away, muttering under his breath as he left, "Some people are just plain ungrateful."

Less than ten minutes later, Marco approached with his laptop in hand.

"Camilla, take another look—the security personnel placements are still off by just a bit. The elevated points and blind spots keep mismatching with assigned personnel. It's similar to the last issue. Can you adjust it again?"

I simply shook my head without looking up.

He roughly set the laptop on my desk. "It's no big deal. Just fix it quickly. The meeting's about to start. I need to report the deployment to Don Costa soon."

I lifted my head and stared straight at Marco. "Marco, the security deployment is the most critical part of the entire transaction, and I'm not a technician in the security department."

Accustomed to giving orders, Marco frowned and snapped at me, "It's such a small thing. Just take a look and it'll be sorted. Stop dragging your feet. Check it now—the meeting is about to start!"

"I really don't know how," I replied, meeting his gaze with an expression of pure innocence.

The muscles in his face twitched with suppressed anger. Finally, he picked up his laptop and turned away, muttering as he walked off, "She's getting more and more out of line for someone so young."

The strange tension that hung over the morning was finally broken after the lunch break.

Due to a minor upheaval within the partner family involved in the drug trafficking rights deal, they requested an early review of the finalized transaction plan. Thus, the meeting originally set for three days later was suddenly moved to this afternoon.

Renato Clementi, the Capo in charge, was clearly unprepared. He paced back and forth anxiously on the floor, his agitation having reached its peak.

Finally, he stormed over to me and slammed a fist on my desk, the skull tattoo on his arm looking more menacing than ever.

"Camilla, just what exactly are you trying to pull?" he roared, his voice echoing through the office. "You've been handling all the details and content for this deal from the start. Get it done now—don't you dare push back.

"The Abate family has always been ruthless. They're not someone you can afford to cross. Hurry up and get this done. If they aren't satisfied, you won't be able to handle the consequences."