Jaehyun stood in the grand hall of the courthouse in Palermo, his reflection caught in the gleaming marble floors. The heavy air of formality pressed down on him, but he stood straight and unwavering, his body language betraying none of the nerves twisting in his gut. He had survived starvation, poison, and the brutal transformation forced upon him. Compared to all of that, this was merely a formality—a new identity to seal the person he had become.
Isabella De Rossi stood beside him, dressed in a black designer suit that exuded power. Her presence dominated the room, her sharp gaze warning all in attendance that this was not a ceremony to be taken lightly. She held a small, satisfied smile, like a sculptor admiring their finished masterpiece. Jaehyun—or Luca, as he was about to become—felt the weight of her expectations settle on him like a crown.
The judge, an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard, entered the room and took his place at the bench. He adjusted his glasses, eyeing the godmother and her soon-to-be heir with a mixture of respect and unease. The court clerk handed him a stack of documents, and he began the formalities.
"Jaehyun Choi," the judge said, his Italian accented but deliberate, "do you understand the nature of this proceeding?"
"I do," Jaehyun responded, his voice smooth and steady in perfect Italian. The language had become second nature to him, his long nights of study under Isabella's watchful eye paying off. He no longer stumbled over the words or hesitated; his accent was flawless, his tone confident. He wasn't merely speaking Italian—he was owning it, as if it had always been his native tongue.
"And do you willingly accept the adoption by Isabella De Rossi, recognizing her as your legal mother and agreeing to bear her family name?"
Jaehyun's eyes flicked to Isabella, whose gaze bore into him like steel. This was the final step in her plan to forge him into her successor. She had stripped him of everything he was, and now she would give him something new: a name, a legacy, and a future.
"I do," he said firmly.
The judge nodded and turned to Isabella. "Signora De Rossi, do you willingly accept Jaehyun Choi as your adopted son, recognizing him as an heir to your name and estate?"
Isabella's smile widened ever so slightly. "I do."
The judge took a pen and scrawled his signature across the bottom of the document. "Then it is done. From this day forward, Jaehyun Choi is legally recognized as Luca De Rossi, a citizen of Italy and a member of the De Rossi family."
Luca. The name felt foreign yet familiar, like a suit tailored to fit but still waiting to be broken in. Jaehyun Choi was no more. In his place stood Luca De Rossi, a man who had been forged in blood, fire, and pain.
After the ceremony, Isabella led Luca to the steps of the courthouse, where her black limousine awaited. The Sicilian sun cast a golden glow over the city, and Luca squinted against the brightness. It had been a long time since he had been outside for anything other than training or missions. The world beyond the compound felt strange, almost surreal.
Isabella lit a cigarette as they stood on the steps, her sharp features softened slightly by the sunlight. She handed Luca a sleek leather wallet embossed with the De Rossi family crest.
"Inside, you'll find your new identification," she said. "Italian passport, driver's license, credit cards. You are Luca De Rossi now. Not Jaehyun Choi. That boy is dead."
Luca opened the wallet, his eyes scanning the documents. His new name stared back at him in bold letters: Luca De Rossi. Beneath it was a photograph of himself, though he barely recognized the man in the picture. His once soft, round face was now angular and chiseled, his dark eyes cold and unreadable. He looked like a stranger—and yet, he felt more like himself than he ever had before.
"Do you understand what this means?" Isabella asked, exhaling a plume of smoke.
"Yes," Luca said. His voice was calm, resolute. "It means I belong to this family now."
Isabella chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "Belong? No, Luca. You are this family. You are my heir. My blood may not run through your veins, but my will does. From now on, your loyalty is to me and the De Rossi name. Nothing else matters."
Luca nodded, his expression unyielding. "I won't fail you."
Isabella smiled, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. "No, you won't. Because if you do, there won't be anything left of you to fail."
That evening, a lavish celebration was held in the main hall of the De Rossi estate. The room was filled with the who's who of the Italian underworld—capos, lieutenants, enforcers, and their families. They had all come to witness the official introduction of Luca De Rossi, the godmother's chosen successor.
Luca entered the room in a tailored black suit, every inch the image of a young mafia prince. Conversations hushed as he walked past, heads turning to take in the man who had replaced Jaehyun Choi. He felt their gazes, their curiosity, their skepticism—but he didn't falter. He had spent three years preparing for this moment, and he wouldn't let it go to waste.
Isabella raised her glass, silencing the room. "Ladies and gentlemen," she began, her voice carrying effortlessly, "tonight, we celebrate the birth of a new De Rossi. My son, Luca."
The crowd erupted into applause, though Luca could sense the undertones of judgment and doubt in some of the faces. They would test him, he knew. They would challenge his place in the family. And he would prove them all wrong.
As the night wore on, Luca mingled with the guests, his Italian flawless and his demeanor polished. He played the part of the dutiful son, charming and composed. But beneath the surface, he was watching, listening, learning. Every handshake, every conversation was an opportunity to gather information, to understand the power dynamics at play.
By the end of the evening, one thing was clear: Luca De Rossi was no longer an outsider. He was a player in this dangerous game, and he intended to win.
Later, as he stood alone on the balcony overlooking the estate, Luca allowed himself a moment of reflection. The spoiled, obese heir to a chaebol fortune was gone, replaced by a man who had been broken and rebuilt in the image of his godmother's vision. He had a new name, a new face, a new identity.
But beneath it all, a small, hidden part of him still remembered. He remembered the family that had abandoned him, the siblings who had laughed at his failure, the father who had dismissed him as worthless. That part of him burned with quiet rage, a fire that he kept hidden from even Isabella.
One day, he thought. One day, he would return to Korea—not as the Jaehyun they had discarded, but as Luca De Rossi. And when that day came, they would finally understand what they had created.