A feared mafia boss spent thirty-seven years believing he was deaf, until a cleaner's eight-year-old daughter pulled an object out of his ear.

Ten minutes later, the study was filled with the low, tense murmurs of Vincent’s most trusted lieutenants—men who had served him for years through sign language and written notes.

Sitting behind his desk once more, Vincent sat in silence, observing them. For the first time in their lives, his men did not know that their leader could hear every whispered exchange, every nervous shuffle of feet, and every muttered complaint in the room.

"Where the hell is Marcus?" whispered Dominic, Vincent’s head of dock operations, leaning against the bookshelf. "He was supposed to be here for the harbor meeting an hour ago."

"Julian called in five minutes ago," replied Leo, the family’s consigliere, checking his encrypted phone. "Said Marcus had a sudden medical emergency in Manhattan. They cleared out his private office downstairs."

Vincent watched their lips move, matching their spoken words to the sounds entering his brain. It was a dizzying experience, but his analytical mind was rapidly adapting.

Vincent raised his hand, slapping his palm flat against the mahogany desk.

BANG.

The sound echoed through the high-ceilinged room like a gunshot. Every lieutenant in the room snapped to attention, freezing in place.

Vincent stood up slowly. He looked at Leo, then at Dominic, and finally at the small velvet box sitting on his desk. He opened the box, revealing the microscopic device that Lily had extracted from his skull.

Without using sign language, without reaching for a pen or pad of paper, Vincent looked directly into Leo’s eyes and spoke in his deep, gravelly, unpolished voice:

"Find... Marcus."

The entire room gasped. Dominic staggered back against the bookshelf, his jaw dropping in sheer horror. Leo dropped his phone onto the carpet, staring at Vincent as if he were looking at a ghost returned from the grave.