Seraphina bit her lip, as if suddenly remembering something.
“Then…what about Valentina?”
“She’s your own daughter…”
Her voice was cautious.
As if speaking for me.
But I knew.
She was just pushing the knife a little deeper.
My mother’s face instantly turned cold.
“Her?”
She scoffed.
“She never calls me Mom.”
“What kind of daughter is she?”
She paused.
Her tone was light and airy.
But it was more ruthless than a knife.
“She’s no different from being dead.”
I was stunned.
Then, I slowly smiled.
So that’s how it is.
“Mom.”
“You’ve finally got what you wanted.”
She hugged Serafina. Like holding her true bloodline.
And me.
Standing to the side.
Like a superfluous shadow.
I suddenly understood something.
It wasn't that I wasn't good enough.
It was that from the very beginning—
She never intended to have me.
Ever since Serafina arrived.
She had been playing the role of the perfect daughter.
Obedient, docile, sensible.
Accompanying her to banquets.
Handling favors for her.
Even when Serafina was busy cleaning up the "dirty work," she would personally deliver meals to the law enforcement office.
She knew what she wanted.
And how to get it.
And me.
I knew nothing.
The night grew deeper.
The manor lights remained bright.
Infrared surveillance cameras swept across the high outer walls.
Armed guards stood ramrod straight.
They protected this family.
A place I never truly belonged to.
I floated in the night.
A cold wind pierced my body.
Suddenly, I wanted to ask.
In this night surrounded by lights.
Would she, for a fleeting moment?
Think of me.
Think of her—
Daughter celebrating her birthday.
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.