Damian Volkov had fired every nurse who dared enter his room, and the entire mansion had learned to fear the dying mafia boss behind the forbidden door. But when my deaf four-year-old daughter slipped inside and placed her tiny hand over his failing heart, the ruthless man whispered something that made every guard in the hallway freeze.

By Thursday morning, the tension within Grayhaven House had reached a boiling point.

Marcus Vance, a ruthless enforcer with slicked-back dark hair, expensive Italian suits, and cold, calculating eyes, prowled the corridors like a predator waiting for a wounded lion to collapse. He had spent years building a faction of loyalists within Damian’s inner circle, whispering bribes into the ears of guards, cooks, and accountants.

I moved through the mansion with a lead weight in my stomach, carrying a silver tray with fresh linens toward the east wing. Every step felt like walking across a minefield.

As I rounded the corner near the grand staircase, a heavy hand gripped my shoulder, spinning me around.

It was Marcus.

“Well, well,” Marcus smiled, his smile not reaching his dead, reptilian eyes. “The little maid who wanders where she shouldn’t. How is the boss doing, Elena? Is he finally breathing his last?”

I forced my hands to stop shaking, keeping my eyes cast downward in mock subservience. “Mr. Volkov is resting, sir. He is… weak.”

Marcus stepped closer, invading my personal space, the scent of expensive cologne and cheap deceit rolling off him. “Weakness is a disease in this house. And people who associate with the dying tend to catch it. You should keep that deaf little brat of yours locked in your room, Elena. Accidents happen all the time in Baltimore harbor. It would be a shame if a little girl slipped and fell into the dark water.”

My maternal instincts flared with blinding rage. Every instinct screamed at me to scratch his eyes out, but I swallowed the fury, forcing my voice to remain small and trembling. “Yes, Mr. Volkov—I mean, Mr. Vance. I will keep her inside.”

“Good girl,” Marcus sneered, tapping my cheek with the back of his knuckles before walking past me down the hall.

Unbeknownst to Marcus, twenty feet away, partially hidden behind a marble pillar, Lila stood clutching her cloth rabbit. She had slipped out of the suite just for a moment to find me. Her bright yellow boots squeaked softly against the marble. She watched Marcus walk away, her little brow furrowing in deep concentration. Then, she raised her small hand and made a sharp, definitive sign in the air: Monster.

And down the hall, stepping out of the shadows of the east wing with a revolver held casually at his side, Damian Volkov had seen and heard everything.

“Victor,” Damian’s voice sliced through the silence of the corridor like a falling guillotine.

Victor materialized instantly from a side room. “Boss?”

“Double the guard around Elena and her daughter. No one—not a cook, not a maid, not even a senior lieutenant—gets within fifty feet of their suite without my direct written authorization.” Damian’s eyes burned with a dark, terrifying fire as he watched Marcus turn the corner at the end of the hall. “And Victor?”