The morning sun tried its best to shine over Nueva Citta, but the Narumi household looked like a crime scene from a soap opera with a low-budget military subplot. The front gate was hanging at an angle, riddled with bullets. The air stank of urine—thanks to Tipay's arinola stunt—and somewhere near the porch, someone had stepped in Droopy's uncollected business, which now tracked faintly into the living room.
A crime scene technician stood nearby, taking photos with a tablet that kept crashing.
Inside, the family was slumped across the room like survivors of an alien invasion.
Conrad sat on the couch, bandaged across the forehead with a wet towel pressed to his neck. Jamie sat on one side of him, Stephanie on the other, while Anthony leaned into the armrest, still holding his basketball from the night before. The three kids, shaken and silent, clung to their father in a group hug that was more necessary than it was comfortable.
Jose sat across from them, clipboard in hand, scribbling with his usual cold efficiency.
"I'm telling you, Joe," Conrad said, rubbing his eyes, "it's either Rabe, Melanio, or maybe—at the lowest tier—someone sent by the Medranos."
Jose nodded. "Rabe makes the most sense. Ray and Bernadette wouldn't know how to kill a cockroach without a butler and five lawyers present."
"I got a message earlier," Conrad continued, stretching his legs. "Karl and Riho messaged. Asked if I needed more protection."
"Karl Marino?" Jamie asked, startled.
"Yep," Conrad said, almost proudly. "And the First Lady too. I turned them down."
"Why?" Stephanie asked.
"Because," Conrad said, grinning. "It's embarrassing. Feels like asking your ex if you can borrow her umbrella during a monsoon."
Bethany walked past with a mop and raised an eyebrow. "Ain't they sweet, though?"
"My wife knows Riho from some education summit," Conrad added. "They played tennis. I got in trouble for laughing at Riho's serve."
Jose tapped his pen against the clipboard. "In any case, you need to lie low. Stay in Manila for a while. Just until we figure out who exactly thought shooting at your gate was a productive use of bullets."
"I will," Conrad said, glancing at his kids. "But not until I get answers. Rabe's the kind who throws grenades just to see who flinches."
The front door creaked open.
Everyone turned.
Herberto shuffled in, still in pajamas and rubber slippers, his worried expression not quite masking his usual creepiness.
"Anthony?" he called out.
Anthony sat up. "Mr. Herberto?"
"I heard what happened," Herberto said. "Are you alright?"
"Of course you heard what happened," Tipay muttered from her recliner, sipping soup. "You live three blocks away and probably pressed your ear to the cement."
Bethany whistled the opening notes of "YMCA."
Anthony nodded politely. "I'm okay, but thank you for asking."
Herberto smiled. "If you need anything—anything at all—you just let me know."
Conrad stood. "Alright. We're going to Manila. We're not waiting for round two."
Jamie's phone buzzed.
She checked the screen. Her voice softened. "It's Bernard."
She answered, walking toward the window.
"Jamie?" Bernard's voice came through, cautious, worried. "I heard what happened. Are you alright?"
"We're fine. Shaken, but fine," she said.
"Are you sure? I mean, I can send someone, or—"
"I appreciate it," Jamie said, cutting him off gently. "Really. But we're okay now."
"If you need anything," Bernard said again, "just tell me."
"I'm fine. But thanks for the offer," she said, then ended the call with a small exhale.
Moments later, the Narumi family piled into the SUV. Stephanie carried the emergency snack kit. Anthony grabbed his basketball again. Bethany drove, muttering about traffic. Conrad sat in the passenger seat with his phone buzzing in his pocket.
Midnight, a luxury condominium overlooking Manila Bay.
The Narumis had settled into a sleek penthouse suite on the 35th floor. The furniture gleamed with modern elegance—cold colors, glass fixtures, and thick soundproof walls that muffled the chaos of the city below.
The three kids were already asleep in their respective rooms. Bethany snored on the L-shaped couch, one leg dangling off the edge. Glenn, who had somehow followed them to Manila, was passed out in the kitchen bar stool with a half-eaten cheesecake slice in front of him.
Conrad stood on the balcony in an oversized hoodie, sipping a warm cup of instant coffee.
His phone buzzed again.
It was Kako.
He answered. Her face lit up the screen—her hair done, lipstick perfect, a muted Tokyo airport behind her.
"I'm glad nothing happened to you and the kids," Kako said immediately.
"Yeah," Conrad replied, softer than usual. "I wouldn't forgive myself if anything happened to them, you know. Other than you, they're all I have."
Kako looked down for a moment, almost touched—then casually flipped the camera to show her boarding gate.
"Surprise," she said. "I booked a ticket. I'm flying to Manila."
Conrad blinked. "You're coming back?"
"Yes. Your house was shot up. My mother's throwing toilet pots. Our children are practically traumatized. I can't manage this from Tokyo anymore."
Conrad actually smiled. "Thank God you're returning. I didn't think you'd come this soon."
Kako narrowed her eyes, playfully. "Getting a little overwhelmed?"
"Let's just say... I'll explain everything when you arrive."
She nodded. "I land in eight hours. Don't let Mama Tipay welcome me with a shotgun."
Conrad raised his coffee cup. "No promises."
-----
8:21 AM, Manila Bay Penthouse, 35th floor.
The sun had just begun to rise over Manila, painting the bay in streaks of dull gold and dirty pink. The air was thick, as always, but inside the Narumi penthouse, a rare hush had settled.
Then came the soft ding of the elevator, followed by the sound of designer heels clicking gently on polished marble.
Kako stepped into the foyer.
She was dressed in crisp cream slacks and a navy-blue blouse, effortlessly elegant even after a red-eye flight. Her carry-on suitcase rolled behind her like a shadow, and in her arms, a modest paper bag of Tokyo treats.
She paused at the entrance of the living area—eyes scanning the suite, noting the modern furniture, the subtle signs of disarray, and the three pairs of shoes scattered near the hallway.
Then she saw them.
Jamie was first to notice.
Her daughter had just stepped out of the bedroom, her hair still slightly messy from sleep. She froze mid-step, eyes wide, breath catching.
"Mama?" she whispered.
Kako didn't speak. She only smiled.
Jamie ran forward.
The embrace was instant—tight, trembling, and overdue by years. Jamie buried her face in her mother's shoulder, arms wrapping around her like a lifeline.
"I'm here," Kako whispered. "I'm here now."
Anthony peeked out from the hallway, rubbing his eyes. When he saw his mother, he stopped dead in his tracks.
"I thought you were—" he started, voice cracking.
"Come here, anak," Kako said, extending one arm.
He ran to her, burying his face on the other shoulder, hugging her waist like he was ten again.
Stephanie didn't rush.
She stood a few feet away, eyes red but dry, her mouth set in a line.
Kako saw her hesitation and opened her arms again.
"I know," she said softly. "I know I was gone too long."
Stephanie stared at her. "Don't say sorry."
"I wasn't going to," Kako said, smiling. "I was going to say... I missed your sarcasm."
Stephanie walked over and leaned in awkwardly. A long, stiff second passed. Then she let out a breath and melted into the hug.
For a moment, the room breathed with them—nothing but arms wrapped tightly, tears unshed, and hearts trying to stitch themselves back together.
Conrad stood by the kitchen, silent.
He watched, arms crossed, eyes soft behind a cup of cold coffee. There was no jealousy, no pride. Only awe.
Later, they gathered around the breakfast counter—Bethany brewed fresh coffee, Johnny cooked eggs shirtless, and Glenn served fruit wearing sunglasses and mismatched slippers.
Kako sat between her children, her hand never fully letting go of Jamie's.
"So," she said, calmly. "Tell me everything."
And they did.
Piece by piece, between bites and gulps, Jamie recounted the shooting. Anthony filled in the yelling. Stephanie described the panic. Bethany added the tactical commentary. Glenn reenacted his dive behind the ficus plant.
Kako listened with surgical focus, her face unreadable.
When it was over, she leaned back and exhaled deeply.
"This is unacceptable," she said. "I should've been here."
"You're here now," Jamie said. "That's what matters."
Conrad finally joined the table, still wearing his faded hoodie.
He sat beside her, slid a cup of coffee toward her, and said quietly, "Thank you... for coming back."
Kako turned to him. "I never left."
"No," he corrected, "you did."
She didn't deny it.
That night, the penthouse had calmed.
Bethany and Johnny took the kids out for fast food and a movie to distract them. Glenn passed out by the pool.
The sky over Manila was cloudy, thick with monsoon tension.
In the master bedroom, Conrad stood at the balcony, looking out at the sea. He wore a fresh shirt, but still looked like a man aged ten years in one night.
Behind him, Kako entered quietly, carrying two glasses of red wine.
"You look like a statue," she said, handing him a glass.
"I feel like a monument," he muttered. "To idiocy."
She smiled faintly, sipping. "You survived."
"I shouldn't have to 'survive' in my own home."
Kako leaned on the balcony beside him. They stood in silence for a while, watching the faraway lights of ships blink across the bay.
Then he said, "I was scared."
Kako looked at him.
"I'm not used to saying that," he admitted. "But I was. When the bullets started flying—when I realized the kids were upstairs, alone—I felt like I'd already failed."
"You didn't," she said softly.
"I did." He looked at her now, face open, raw. "I let you do everything abroad while I stayed here and turned our house into a sitcom-slash-warground. And now our kids know what an ambush sounds like."
"I've been absent too, Cons," Kako said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I let the years pile up behind the excuse of 'duty.' I missed recitals. Report cards. Arguments. First heartbreaks."
He turned toward her, eyes tired. "So what do we do?"
She met his gaze. "We fix it."
"How?"
"By staying."
He blinked.
"I'm not going back to Tokyo," she said. "I spoke with my board this morning. I've resigned. I'll be here. With you. With the kids. We rebuild from the inside."
Conrad didn't say anything.
He set down his wine, stepped closer, and pulled her into his arms.
Not with heat. But with relief.
"Are you sure?" he whispered into her shoulder.
"I've never been more sure."
He kissed her—gently, then again with growing depth. She responded like someone finding a familiar rhythm after years of silence.
When they finally broke apart, he laughed under his breath.
"What?"
"You taste like Narra wine."
"You taste like bad decisions and chili oil."
They both laughed.
And in that laughter, something long-forgotten returned to the room.
A promise. A presence. A second chance.
---
News travels fast in Nueva Citta del Pieve.
Especially when the news is this juicy: Kako is back. And not just back—but reinstated.
She arrived in heels and authority, slipping into the political vacuum Conrad left behind after his chaotic shootout. Business associates whispered. Mayors' wives blanched. The city's power brokers adjusted their schedules and refilled their anxiety meds.
By morning, it was official: Conrad was resting. And Kako? She was back at the helm.
Inside the penthouse, the rarest of things was happening—a peaceful Narumi breakfast.
For the first time in years, all five family members were seated at the kitchen island, and nobody was screaming, crying, or being chased by a house lizard. The glass doors to the balcony were wide open, letting in the early breeze. On the television, muted news headlines about the "Narumi Suburb Siege" scrolled below a smiling anchor.
Conrad stood at the stove in an apron that read GRILLIN' LIKE A VILLAIN, flipping longganisa with a flourish. He looked alive again—tired, yes, but glowing in the quiet chaos of domestic life.
Jamie sipped her coffee, curled into a chair with her legs tucked underneath her. Anthony poured syrup all over his pancakes, somehow also scrolling TikTok. Stephanie, unusually cheerful, was mid-rant about how coffee was the superior stimulant to sibling drama.
Droopy sat near the fridge, tongue lolling, tail lazily tapping against the tiles.
Kako sat at the head of the counter, legs crossed, expression soft as she watched her family. Her eyes were observant, but there was a warmth to her posture, a silent approval of the scene unfolding around her.
"This is the first time we've had breakfast together in what?" she asked. "Three years?"
"Four," Jamie corrected. "Anthony was still pretending to be a magician."
"Hey!" Anthony said, mouth full. "I was training."
"You were burning scarves," Stephanie deadpanned.
Conrad set down a new batch of scrambled eggs on the counter with mock ceremony. "Madam Kako," he said, presenting the plate with a flourish, "breakfast is served."
She arched an eyebrow. "Look at you. Domestic and delusional."
He bowed. "At your service, ma'am."
Jamie grinned behind her cup. Anthony mock-choked. Stephanie muttered, "Get a room."
Conrad pulled out his phone and checked the calendar. Then he turned to Kako, voice casual.
"Hey. You remember that charity gala at the Civic League tonight?"
Kako nodded. "The one where people pretend to care about flood rehabilitation while judging each other's jewelry? Yes."
"Well," Conrad said, stretching his shoulders, "technically I'm supposed to go."
"You're not fit for anything beyond cooking right now," she replied, eyeing the bandage still visible under his collar.
"Exactly," he said. "So I was thinking... you take my place."
Kako didn't answer right away.
He added, "Bring Jamie and Stephanie with you. Bernadette's going. I'm sure she'll love seeing you back in the spotlight."
Jamie froze mid-bite.
Stephanie raised an eyebrow. "Oh boy."
Kako leaned back, eyes gleaming. "A gala. With Bernadette. How nostalgic."
Conrad smirked. "I figured you'd enjoy watching her sweat."
Kako didn't smile. But she didn't need to.
"I'll go," she said. "But only if Bethany drives."
Bethany, passing by with a blender, saluted with one hand. "At your service, boss lady."
"I want you in full armor," Kako added. "Preferably black. Leather. With heels."
"Say less," Bethany winked.
That evening, the charity dinner at the Civic League ballroom was as overdone as ever. Chandelier lighting. Iced shrimp cocktails. A string quartet that had already played "Clair de Lune" three times. The city's elite milled around in gowns and gossip, clinking wine glasses with false humility.
When Kako entered the ballroom, silence swept the nearest corner.
She was in a charcoal evening gown, minimalist but lethal, with hair swept into an elegant twist and diamond earrings that looked like they could cut glass. Jamie, in a navy satin dress, walked beside her with practiced poise. Stephanie trailed behind in a deep green pantsuit and combat boots, sipping soda like she hated everyone on sight.
And then there was Bethany—a walking contradiction in a tailored black suit with stilettos, looking like a nightclub bouncer who moonlighted as a K-pop backup dancer. One hand on her earpiece. The other ready to punch someone.
"I feel like we're walking into an assassination attempt," Stephanie muttered.
"We might be," Jamie whispered. "Smile anyway."
Kako surveyed the room with regal calm.
Then she saw her.
Bernadette stood near the fountain display in a red power gown, perfectly composed, flanked by her two most explosive assets: Bernard, in a navy suit with barely disguised panic in his eyes, and Bernardine, who was more interested in Instagram filters than anything happening in 3D.
Their eyes met across the ballroom like a cold war was about to begin.
Bernadette smiled.
Kako smiled back.
Neither blinked.
Bernard leaned to his mother. "Should I go say hi?"
"No," Bernadette said. "She's here for theatrics."
Across the room, Jamie noticed Bernard and gave him a slight nod.
He looked back with visible relief.
Kako finally spoke. "Let's greet her. I want to see how many fake niceties she has left in her reserve."
Bethany cleared a path through the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea.
When the two groups met at the center of the ballroom, the air between them could've frozen soup.
"Bernadette," Kako said, her tone honey-smooth.
"Kako," Bernadette replied. "So good to see you back. Alive. And in heels."
Kako glanced down at Bernadette's dress. "Still shopping from the House of Try-Hard, I see."
Bernadette's smile thinned. "I assume you're here in place of your husband?"
"Yes. He needed rest. You know how exhausting it is when someone tries to murder your entire family."
"Tragic," Bernadette said. "The city's gotten so... unstable."
"Agreed," Kako replied. "Which is why I'm here now. To stabilize it."
They clinked wine glasses like swords. A silent chorus of observers nearby waited, breath held.
Then Kako turned to Jamie and Stephanie. "Girls, say hello to the woman who once tried to sue your father for demolishing a condemned planetarium."
Jamie waved politely. Stephanie saluted.
Bernadette's jaw twitched.
Across the room, the string quartet started a new number.
Kako smiled without warmth.
The opening act of her return was complete.
---
The Civic League gala ballroom was now fully alive. Light jazz murmured from the corner stage, and servers moved like shadows between tables bearing shrimp cocktails and overpriced canapés. But the real spectacle wasn't on stage or at the silent auction.
It was in the center of the room, where Kako and Bernadette stood in calculated stillness, framed by chandeliers and scrutiny. They were speaking politely, but the air between them was made of daggers.
"So you're back to clean up Conrad's mess?" Bernadette said with a tilt of her glass.
"No," Kako replied smoothly. "I'm here to remind people why he needed me in the first place."
Bernadette chuckled. "It takes a certain type of woman to come back after letting her husband get nearly assassinated."
Kako smiled without blinking. "And it takes a very specific kind of woman to dress like a First Lady but act like a demolition crew."
The silence around them thickened. Politicians nearby turned their shoulders just slightly to eavesdrop.
Bernadette narrowed her eyes. "You know, I remember when you used to host these events with poise. Now you're sending bodybuilders in lip gloss as escorts."
Bethany, standing just behind Kako, cocked her head. "You wanna find out how fast a bodybuilder in lip gloss can flip a table?"
"Bethany," Kako said without turning, "I'll handle this."
"Yes, ma'am."
Bernadette smiled tightly. "Some of us play chess, Kako. Some of us dress the pawns."
"And some of us think we're queens," Kako replied, "until we realize we're just standing diagonally across the wrong board."
The crowd watching gasped as though a gun had been fired. Bernadette's nostrils flared.
But Kako stepped back gracefully. "I should make my rounds. It's exhausting being missed."
She turned, signaling Jamie and Stephanie with the slightest tilt of her chin.
Jamie smirked. Stephanie whispered, "Please let me deck her one day."
"Soon," Jamie muttered.
As they walked away, Stephanie peeled off to get a drink.
Kako watched her daughters go, then turned to Bethany. "If anyone gets too close, scare them."
"I'm great at that," Bethany said, cracking her knuckles.
Meanwhile, Jamie had drifted toward the marble fountain at the edge of the ballroom. The crowd noise softened with distance. The water trickled gently from the lion-shaped spout, surrounded by rose petals floating like lazy daydreams.
She dipped a fork into a tiny dessert plate and tried a tartlet—something overpriced with mango and gold flakes.
"Too sweet," she muttered.
"Still the same picky mouth," came a familiar voice.
She turned.
Bernard stood a few feet away, a champagne flute in hand, looking like he hadn't slept well, but still tried. His suit was tailored, but his collar was slightly askew.
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Did your mom drag you here?"
"'Drag' is generous. She threatened to revoke my dental plan."
Jamie laughed, just once. Then popped the rest of the tartlet into her mouth.
Bernard noticed.
"You've got something on your—" He pointed vaguely at her lip.
She wiped her chin. "Here?"
"No. Other side."
She tried again.
"Still not it."
Before she could reach again, he stepped forward—reflexively—and reached up to wipe it himself.
His thumb brushed gently along the corner of her mouth.
But the touch lingered for a half second too long.
Jamie froze.
Bernard seemed to realize it, too. Their eyes locked.
He started to pull his hand away.
And somehow—he didn't.
Instead, he leaned in.
She didn't move.
Their lips met—soft, sudden, nothing dramatic—but just enough to break whatever careful distance they'd been maintaining for weeks.
When they pulled back, Jamie blinked.
Bernard cleared his throat. "That was... not intentional."
"Was it?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
He hesitated. "Maybe fifty percent."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then said, "Seventy-five, maybe."
They both smiled, awkward and too honest.
Bernard stepped back. "Well. Good talk."
"Great talk," Jamie said, turning toward the fountain again, pretending to be interested in the lion's face.
"I'll just be over there," he added, walking away too quickly.
"Cool," she called after him. "Tell your mom she looks like the devil in Chanel."
"I think she takes that as a compliment."
Jamie exhaled, trying not to smile. But she did anyway.
Back inside, Kako watched from a distance. She had seen enough of the moment to know what it meant—and more importantly, what it could mean.
Bethany leaned in beside her. "Should we break that up?"
"No," Kako said, sipping her wine. "Let it simmer."
Bethany nodded. "You're scary when you plot."
"I'm not plotting," Kako said. "I'm planting."