I Was Killed on My Birthday, and My Mother Called Me a Liar

They rewrapped my body and sealed it in a black waterproof body bag.

Like handling a worthless piece of merchandise.

I was carried to the lowest level of the Ferraro Manor.

That was where the family disposed of their "shady" possessions.

Salvato was there.

He managed the family's underground medical facility and was the most familiar with the corpses.

The heavy iron door closed, cutting off all outside sound.

Cold white light shone on my remains.

"Identifying me will be troublesome," Salvato said, removing his mask, his tone as calm as discussing the weather. "The face is completely destroyed, and the fingerprints are gone."

"We'll have to go through the family's DNA channels; it'll take at least a few days."

He finished speaking and rewrapped the body shroud around me.

His movements were devoid of any extra emotion.

My mother nodded.

She didn't look at me again.

As if confirming that the body was no longer of any value.

She removed her gloves and turned to leave.

Dominic stood to the side, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment.

At that instant, his expression finally changed slightly.

“Donna Ferraro,” he said in a low voice, “whoever her daughter is, her family is in hell right now.”

“We have to find her.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a suppressed anger.

My mother didn’t respond.

It was as if she’d heard those words far too many times.

Dominic paused, then smiled again.

“However, with you here, this person won’t live much longer.”

She was used to this kind of flattery.

She didn’t even bother to show any emotion.

“Retrieve the files,” she said calmly. “Retrieve all similar cross-regional methods recently.”

“I don’t believe this was a solo operation.”

The order fell, as swift and decisive as a knife.

I stood to the side, watching her.

Just like when I was a child.

I’d known since I was very young that she was strong.

Strong enough to inspire awe.

The corridors of Ferraro Manor are long.

As a child, I often hid around a corner, watching her walk by.

She was surrounded by a group of armed men.

Everyone bowed their heads, barely daring to breathe.

The sound of her high heels clicking on the ground felt like a hammer blow to the heart.

They called her—

"The Goddess of Justice."

The most untouchable person in the underworld.

At committee meetings, she always sat in the center.

Calm, her tone steady.

"The family's interests are above all else."

"Procedures cannot be broken."

No one dared to contradict her when she said these words.

I was once proud.

And I longed for it.

I wanted to be like her.

But later I understood.

She never considered me "part of the family."

I suddenly wanted to ask her:

If one day, the person you dissected was me,

Would you stop?

Would you be sad? The answer, I already knew.

—No.

I remember it clearly.

She grabbed my neck and pinned me against the wall.

Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice hoarse.

“I’d rather you were the one who died.”

At that moment, I forgot to struggle.

Now, thinking back.

She was probably serious.

The night grew deeper.

The manor was eerily quiet.

Only the low hum of the surveillance system echoed in the air.

Dominic glanced at her.

Her shoulders were slightly tense.

It was a rare sight of exhaustion.

He spoke tentatively.

“Donna Ferraro, I’ll keep an eye on the rest.”

“You should go back and be with your daughter.”

“It’s her birthday today.”

My mother paused.

She looked down at her phone.

The moment the screen lit up, her expression softened.

There was even a hint of a smile. That smile, I'd never seen before.

"Not my daughter," she said casually, as if correcting a trivial mistake. "She's my niece."

"She's waiting for me at the manor for dinner."

With that, she turned and left.

Even her footsteps were lighter than before.

Like…impatient.

I stood there.

Suddenly, I felt a chill.

Dominic didn't move.

He took a cigarette from his pocket, slowly twirling it between his fingers, but didn't light it.

He muttered something under his breath.

"Niece…"

"She comes to the manor often."

"But her biological daughter…I've never seen her even once."

He paused.

As if suddenly realizing something.

But he didn't continue thinking about it.

I looked at him.

Suddenly, I found it ridiculous.

This question.

I've asked myself countless times.

Unfortunately.

I died before I could find the answer.