He Killed My Mentor, I Reveal My Mafia Power

Chapter 4

The Castellano estate sat on the northern coast of Long Island, facing the sea.

Twelve years.

And nothing had changed.

Black marble floors. Crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. The air still carried cedarwood, old leather, and cigars.

My childhood.

My father—Don Matteo Castellano—stood in the center of the hall, waiting for me.

He looked older.

White threaded through his hair. His back slightly bent. But his eyes…

Still sharp as a hawk.

I expected anger.

Screaming.

Disappointment.

Instead, he opened his arms and pulled me into him.

Hard.

Like he was afraid I would disappear again.

“My daughter,” he said, voice shaking. “You’re home.”

“I should have come for you sooner.”

And just like that—

I broke.

Twelve years of silence shattered in his arms.

I cried like I had been lost in the world too long and finally found the road back.

I thought leaving this family meant freedom.

But I was wrong.

Freedom didn’t come from escaping a name.

It came from realizing I had trusted the wrong people.

My father wiped my tears with a rough hand.

“Enough,” he said quietly. “Castellanos don’t cry outside the family.”

Then—

my brothers arrived.

Adriano. The Underboss. Silent like a wall.

Leon. The Consigliere. Eyes red, adjusting his glasses to hide it.

And Niko.

They surrounded me without a word.

Then Leon placed a black dossier on the table.

“You need to see everything.”

I opened it.

The first image: highway surveillance.

The second: a cut brake line.

The third: a transfer record—from a Moreau shell company to a hired killer.

The final page—

Lucian’s signature.

I knew it too well.

I had seen it hundreds of times.

“Gianni’s death wasn’t an accident,” Leon said. “Lucian ordered it.”

The room went silent.

Niko slammed his fist onto the table.

“I’m going to tear him apart.”

“No,” I said.

My voice surprised even me.

“This is mine.”

“He killed Gianni because of me. I will take it back from him myself.”

My father studied me for a long moment.

Then nodded once.

“Good,” he said. “Tell me what you need.”

A moment later—

the butler announced a visitor.

Adriano and my father exchanged a look.

“Who?”

“Rafael Marchetti.”

My breath paused.

That name—

was not new to me.