“Dad, please come get me—he hit me again.” Then my daughter screamed, something crashed, and the call ended. Twenty minutes later, I found her on a white Persian rug with a swollen cheek and torn blouse while her mother-in-law smirked beside her. I covered my daughter with my coat, photographed the room, and made one call. They saw only an old man with a battered pickup—until the lead detective entered and addressed me as “Chief.”

I crouched lower in the dark bushes and pressed my ear against the cold glass.

The heavy rain masked the sound of my breathing.

Jessica looked at Michael with absolute disgust.

She told him he was the most useless son a mother could ever ask for.

She said his inability to control his temper had ruined a perfectly hidden operation.

Michael sobbed and begged her to give him another chance.

He promised he could still fix the missing money and silence Emily.

Jessica laughed a dry, chilling laugh.

She stepped forward and pressed the barrel of the gun against Michael's forehead.

She told him that Emily was already tied up in the basement vault.

She said the cartel demanded a sacrifice for the police attention he brought to their door.

She informed Michael that his death would be staged as a tragic suicide.

She planned to tell the police that he killed Thomas and then killed himself out of guilt.

Michael screamed for mercy.

I could not wait any longer.

I drew my weapon and smashed the glass window with my elbow.

I stepped through the shattered frame and aimed my gun at Jessica.

I ordered her to drop the weapon immediately.

Jessica did not even flinch at the sound of the breaking glass.

She turned her head slowly and looked at me with a cold, dead smile.

She did not lower her silver pistol.

Instead, she fired a single shot directly into Michael's chest.

Michael collapsed onto the expensive rug, gasping for air as blood soaked his shirt.

Jessica turned the gun toward me and fired twice.

I dove behind a heavy oak dining table as bullets splintered the wood above my head.

I returned fire, aiming low to disable her legs.

My bullet struck her right thigh, sending her crashing to the floor with a scream of pain.

I moved quickly out from behind the cover and kicked the gun out of her hand.

I pinned her wounded shoulder to the ground with my heavy boot.

I demanded the keys to the basement vault.

Jessica spat blood onto my shoes and laughed wildly.

“Which daughter is yours?” should have been a harmless question

The first wineglass shattered at 8:07 p.m

The moment the mafia boss’s wife called me “an illiterate servant,”

She told me I was already too late to save my precious daughter.

She smiled maliciously and said the bomb in the basement was armed to detonate in three minutes.

Chapter 6 - The Mother's True Face