The most feared mafia boss in Chicago fired me the moment he saw my hands moving toward his silent daughter. He believed I had crossed a line no one survived—but seconds later, the little girl signed a terrifying warning that revealed the real danger wasn't me. It was the trusted man standing right beside her father.

The man with the burn scars stopped breathing.

That was the first thing I noticed.

His name was Silas Crane, Dominic Vale's most trusted adviser, and until ten seconds earlier, he'd been sitting beside an eight-year-old girl who couldn't hear a single word spoken around her.

Now his right hand was trembling beneath the table.

Audrey clung to my sleeve.

Her small fingers moved again.

He hurt Mommy.

Then she signed something that made my heart nearly stop.

He said Daddy would be next.

Dominic stood perfectly still.

"What is she saying?"

I looked at the terrified child.

Then at her father.

"She says Mr. Crane hurt her mother before the bombing."

Silas pushed back his chair.

"That's absurd."

Audrey recoiled so violently that her stuffed rabbit fell to the floor.

I immediately knelt beside her.

You're safe with me, I signed.

She shook her head.

Not safe.

My stomach tightened.

Why?

Her eyes moved toward Silas.

He watches.

Dominic's expression turned frighteningly cold.

"Silas."

His adviser forced a laugh.

"Dominic, you're listening to a waitress who somehow convinced your daughter to accuse me of murder."

I stood slowly.

"I didn't convince her of anything."

"Then how do you explain this?"

"She's using American Sign Language. She's trying to tell you something."

Silas sneered.

"Audrey hasn't communicated properly since the explosion."

"That's because nobody has been listening to her."

Every conversation in Aurelia stopped.

Dominic stared at me.

Then he looked at his daughter.

For the first time, I saw uncertainty replace the iron confidence on his face.

"Audrey?"

The little girl watched his lips without understanding.

I signed his name.

Daddy wants to talk to you.

Her expression crumpled.

Daddy doesn't understand.

The words struck harder than a scream.

Dominic looked at me.

"What did she say?"

My voice softened.

"She thinks you don't understand her."

His jaw tightened.

For three years, he'd hired specialists, purchased expensive communication devices, and surrounded Audrey with people who claimed to know what was best for her.

Yet apparently no one in this house had taught her father how to speak her language.

I turned toward him.

"Mr. Vale, your daughter needs you to learn how to communicate with her."

Silas slammed his palm against the table.

"Enough!"

Audrey flinched.

Dominic's eyes narrowed.

"Sit down, Silas."

The adviser froze.

Then Audrey tugged my sleeve.

Her fingers moved quickly.

Mommy hid something.