For the past few days, almost no one at Ferraro Manor has slept a wink.
Not because of grief.
But because—things have spiraled out of control.
In the underworld, corpses are acceptable.
But not on their own turf, and without a trace.
That would be a challenge to authority.
And an insult to "Donna Ferraro."
The family's law enforcement organization, "The Justice Organization," has mobilized its entire force.
All outposts, all informants, all peripheral connections—all have been mobilized.
They must resolve this before the vultures of the Federation smell the blood—
It must be resolved.
My mother hasn't left the underground operations room for three days.
The lights there are deathly white, the air as cold as a morgue.
She's kept going with coffee, like a machine that never stops.
Seraphina isn't here.
She went north to "visit" the Marchetti family.
Naturally—
No one brings my mother food anymore.
Late at night.
Dominic walked in carrying a case of coffee and pastries.
He handed out paper cups one by one, a smile on his face.
“Your precious niece didn’t bring lunch today?”
He said casually, then turned to my mother.
“And—Mrs. Ferraro.”
“Your biological daughter, I’ve never actually seen her even once.”
He swirled the coffee in his hand.
“You’re not hiding her, are you? Afraid we’ll take her away?”
My mother paused, her espresso sizzling.
Her brow furrowed.
“Don’t mention her.” Her tone was as cold as a knife. “It’s annoying to even think about her.”
Dominic didn’t notice.
He leaned against the table, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers.
“True.” He smiled. “I heard you were removed from your seat on the committee a few years ago for illegally carrying a gun.”
“I haven’t had a chance to go back since.”
He clapped his hands.
As if lamenting her loss.
“But this time is different.”
“If this case goes well—”
“That position might just be yours.”
The air fell silent for a moment.
My mother looked up at him.
Her eyes were cold and devoid of warmth.
“Dominic.”
“If you don’t want to spend your whole life at the bottom.”
“Stop talking nonsense.”
She slammed her cup down.
“Get to work.”
At that moment.
The entire operations room fell silent.
I stood beside her.
Suddenly, I felt like laughing.
So.
My life.
If it could bring her back to that position.
In her eyes—
it would probably be a worthwhile trade.
“Mom.”
“If that’s really the case.”
“Then the cost of ‘raising’ me all these years will finally be recouped.”
I said softly to myself.
I don’t know why.
She suddenly paused.
It was as if something had gently touched a nerve.
She took out her phone.
Frowning, she scrolled through it for a while.
As if searching for something.
Then—
She dialed a number.
My number.
She hadn't even saved a name.
Just a cold, impersonal number.
In contrast.
Seraphina's name was pinned at the very top.
Next to it was a small red heart.
The phone rang a few times.
No answer.
Her patience quickly wore off.
"Tsk."
She put her phone away, her tone full of disgust.
"Haven't replied for days."
"Where has she gone to sell herself again?"
She sneered.
"With that face of hers, who would want her?"
"What a waste."
I stood there.
Suddenly, I didn't feel sad anymore.
Just a little empty.
“Mom.”
“You really…hate me.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’ll never see me again.”
“You should be happy.”
The people in the operations room fell silent.
No one dared to speak.
They had never seen her like this—
Speaking such words to her own daughter.
Someone lowered their head to flip through documents.
Someone subtly shifted their chair.
The air was heavy, suffocating.
Two in the morning.
Finally, someone pushed open the door.
Salvato Greco walked in.
He looked completely drained.
His white coat was stained with indelible dark marks.
His fingers were red and cracked from repeated disinfection.
He held a stack of reports in his hand.
“There’s progress.”
Everyone looked up.
The air instantly tensed.
He handed over the documents.
His voice was low.
“The victim had multiple signs of continuous sexual abuse.”
“And—”
He paused.
“We found something deliberately hidden inside her.”
My mother looked up.
Her gaze sharpened instantly.
“What?”
Salvato pulled a photograph from a file folder.
Placed it on the table.
“A pendant.”
“The killer removed it and hid it inside her.”
“Like…deliberately concealing their identity.”
I leaned closer.
Just one glance.
I froze.
It was mine.
A silver pendant I'd worn since childhood.
The edges were worn smooth.
Engraved with two letters.
V.F.
I instinctively reached up to touch my neck.
Empty.
Nothing there.
It was given to me by my father before he died.
He said.
“Take it with you.”
“Even if I’m not here, someone will remember who you are.”
My mother’s hand slowly tightened around the photograph.
Her knuckles turned white, one by one.
“Are you sure?”
Her voice was low.
So low it didn’t sound like her.
Salvato nodded.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“It was well hidden; I almost missed it.”
“Judging from the bone age, the victim is no more than twenty years old.”
His voice held a barely suppressed anger.
“So young.”
“Tortured like this.”
Someone muttered under their breath in the operations room.
Dominic walked over.
He looked down at the photograph.
The cigarette was still in his hand.
But he forgot to turn it.
He frowned.
Staring at the two letters.
“V…F?”
He murmured.
“What does this mean?”
I looked at the two letters.
Suddenly, I felt a little ridiculous.
Those were the initials of my name.
Valentina Ferraro.
Right in her hands.
Right before her eyes.
But she hadn't recognized me yet.
