The Landlord’s Forbidden Hands - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading The Landlord’s Forbidden Hands, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of The Landlord’s Forbidden Hands.
The shrill wail of police sirens cut through the tension like a knife.
The innkeeper's face drained of color. He stood frozen, his panicked eyes darting around the room for an escape—but it was too late.
The door burst open.
"Freeze!" The lead officer's command rang out as several cops rushed in, tackling the innkeeper to the ground. He thrashed for a second before going limp under their grip.
My husband and I finally exhaled, our bodies trembling with the aftershock of our close call.
"How—? Who called them?!" the innkeeper snarled, his voice thick with rage.
"I did." My husband stepped forward, handing a wire recorder to the officers. "Everything you need is on here."
The innkeeper's jaw dropped. "You—how—?"
I pulled out a photograph and held it inches from his face. "Recognize her?"
His hands shook as he took it. "Sophia... Laurent? Where did you—? Who are you?"
"Her sister." My voice was ice. "You ruined her."
His expression twisted in stunned horror.
He tried to speak, but a sharp command from the officers shut him down.
As the police questioned us, the truth spilled out.
My younger sister, Sophia, had stayed at this inn months ago—and suffered at his hands. Too terrified to report it, she had only recently confided in me.
This trip to Lugano? Our "honeymoon" was a cover. We came for justice.
We chose this inn deliberately, and just as we'd suspected, he showed his true colors.
My husband had the recorder ready. The strange incense? We'd guessed he'd drugged it to disorient me.
A search of the inn turned up more evidence—hidden herbs, suspicious substances. The pieces fell into place.
Later, at the station, my fear hardened into something fiercer: resolve.
This man would pay for what he'd done to Sophia.
And in the end, he did.
The trial was swift. The sentence—long.
Justice, at last.
The innkeeper's face drained of color. He stood frozen, his panicked eyes darting around the room for an escape—but it was too late.
The door burst open.
"Freeze!" The lead officer's command rang out as several cops rushed in, tackling the innkeeper to the ground. He thrashed for a second before going limp under their grip.
My husband and I finally exhaled, our bodies trembling with the aftershock of our close call.
"How—? Who called them?!" the innkeeper snarled, his voice thick with rage.
"I did." My husband stepped forward, handing a wire recorder to the officers. "Everything you need is on here."
The innkeeper's jaw dropped. "You—how—?"
I pulled out a photograph and held it inches from his face. "Recognize her?"
His hands shook as he took it. "Sophia... Laurent? Where did you—? Who are you?"
"Her sister." My voice was ice. "You ruined her."
His expression twisted in stunned horror.
He tried to speak, but a sharp command from the officers shut him down.
As the police questioned us, the truth spilled out.
My younger sister, Sophia, had stayed at this inn months ago—and suffered at his hands. Too terrified to report it, she had only recently confided in me.
This trip to Lugano? Our "honeymoon" was a cover. We came for justice.
We chose this inn deliberately, and just as we'd suspected, he showed his true colors.
My husband had the recorder ready. The strange incense? We'd guessed he'd drugged it to disorient me.
A search of the inn turned up more evidence—hidden herbs, suspicious substances. The pieces fell into place.
Later, at the station, my fear hardened into something fiercer: resolve.
This man would pay for what he'd done to Sophia.
And in the end, he did.
The trial was swift. The sentence—long.
Justice, at last.
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