Mafia Husband’s Cheating with His Adopted Daughter: My Mother Died Under Gunfire

On the day of our twentieth wedding anniversary, my mother and I caught my husband Carter cheating with our adopted daughter, Ava, in the family's underground casino.

Carter didn't hesitate for even a second. He yanked open a drawer, pulled out a handgun, and fired. Several bullets pierced my mother's heart. Blood flooded the floor.

Before I could think about whose blood I had touched, my mother pushed me aside and I was saved. Yet I lost my memory and didn’t remember what exactly happened.

When I woke up, Carter produced the casino surveillance footage and accused me of pulling the trigger.

Facing the police's questioning, my whole body was shaking, tears streaming down my face, I admitted to the crime—sobbed and confessed to everything.

Right before I went into prison, Carter held me tight. He kissed me and promised:

“I’m not leaving you. Not even now. I swear—it’s only you, forever. No matter what happens.”

The thought of taking my life to atone was suppressed by his words. Maybe I hadn’t been abandoned after all.

Not until the third year after my release did I accidentally hear a talk between him and my therapist.

Through the crack of the door, I saw my husband's face—still handsome, as if time had spared him completely.

“Carter,” Mr. Ethan said. He was the therapist assigned to me after I got out. “You personally had her anterior temporal lobe removed to make her forget. Four years in prison nailed her to the crime of "killing her own mother." Why are you still torturing her like this?”

“Last night, Isabella called Ava's name,” Carter said, fist clenched. If I stand inside, will that fist land on me? “I'm afraid she'll remember. I can't take even the slightest risk.”

Ethan shook his head, genuinely confused. “But Ava is her daughter. Calling her name could just be a mother worrying.”

“Let me test her today,” Ethan said. “If there's no problem, you should let her go.”

“No,” Carter cut him off without hesitation. “Increase the dosage. Starting today, every other day you'll put her under deep hypnosis and reinforce the suggestion.”

His voice was flat, decisive. “Not being able to marry Ava is already torture. This is the only way I can make her happy.”

I subconsciously took a step back. The truth was getting closer and closer to me. My brain was instinctively resisting this memory

Mr. Ethan let out a heavy sigh.

“I just don't understand you people. A father is not a father. A daughter is not a daughter. What did Isabella ever do wrong, that you have to ruin her like this? When she got out, she was already severely depressed. I finally got her to stop cutting herself, are you trying to drive her to death?”

Carter's patience snapped. He stood up, clearly done listening.

“She's a plain, ordinary woman. If I hadn't been kind enough to marry her, she and her mother would've died under her father's gun anyway. I saved her life. With that kind of debt, what's wrong with her paying me back with her life?”

“And her mother died because of her in the first place. If Isabella really wanted to die, she would've killed herself in prison. I wouldn't need to soothe her with the promise of no divorce.”

Mr. Ethan looked stunned, murmuring, “B-But... no one is forcing you to stay in this marriage.”

“Divorce?” Carter snorted. “What if she remembers the truth and goes after Ava? I'd rather kill her myself.”

So that was the truth all along. My face was a mess—tears and snot everywhere.

The air felt like it was being squeezed out of the room, inch by inch. I gasped through my mouth, just trying not to choke.

Whenever that bloody image flashed in my mind, I wanted to trade my life for hers. I wanted to pay for it. I wanted the guilt to stop.

Carter grew irritated under Mr. Ethan's stare. He leaned back against the desk and lit a cigarette.

He took a drag and exhaled smoke like a sigh.

“Don't look at me like that. True love isn't a crime. How was I supposed to know I'd fall in love with my own sixteen-year-old daughter when I turned forty?"

He flicked ash, his gaze shadowed. “Is that really my fault?”

He drew in another breath, looking tired. “If Isabella could've given me a child... if she didn't like daughters... if her mother hadn't caught us... would any of this have happened?”

He didn't stop. His face tightened with pain, like he was the one fate had wronged.

“Isabella isn't pretty and doesn't have anything special. Her father is one of the most powerful Dons in America, yet she's an illegitimate daughter who shouldn't even exist. I am the one who offers her twenty-seven years’ happy marriage.”