Her Aunt Slapped the 7-Year-Old at the Birthday Party — Until the Mafia Boss Walked In

For several agonizing seconds, the only sound in the grand ballroom was the soft rustling of torn velvet and crushed wrapping paper as Marcella slowly pushed herself up from the wreckage of the gift table.

Her perfectly styled hair was ruined, and a dark, angry welt was already forming on her cheek, mirroring the one she had inflicted on the seven-year-old child. But instead of cowering in fear, Marcella rose among the fallen decorations and actually began to smile. It wasn't a smile of surrender; it was a deeply toxic, venomous expression of a cornered viper preparing to strike.

She held her stinging cheek, adjusting her diamond earrings, completely unbothered by the fact that she was surrounded by Dominic’s heavily armed enforcers.

"Hit me again," Marcella dared in a low, vicious threat, her voice laced with absolute, malicious confidence. "...and she learns who her mother chose."

The words struck the room with the force of a physical blow.

For seven years, the official story within the Carvelli syndicate was that Dominic’s beloved wife, Elena, had tragically died during a complicated childbirth. Dominic had raised Lulu with the beautiful memory of a mother who loved her enough to give her life.

But Marcella had always held a terrifying, dark secret over Dominic’s head. She claimed that Elena hadn't wanted the baby at all. Marcella claimed that Elena had actually been planning to completely abandon Dominic and the mafia lifestyle to run away with a rival underboss, but the unexpected pregnancy had trapped her. Marcella constantly threatened to tell little Lulu that her mother despised her and had "chosen" another man over her own family, a psychological weapon designed to completely destroy the innocent child's world.

Dominic froze.

The frighteningly calm aura surrounding the Mafia Boss suddenly grew infinitely colder. He stepped closer to the wreckage of the table, his polished leather shoes crunching over broken gifts.

"Chose instead of me?" Dominic asked, his voice an ice-cold whisper that carried the weight of an executioner's blade.