“Do not serve that table unless I point at you. Do not stare at his guards. Do not ask questions. And Claire—”

The quiet in the hallway was absolute.

Knox, standing at the top of the stairs, shifted his position slightly, his hand twitching toward his holster. Dominic didn't move. He stood on Claire’s threshold, his dark eyes narrowing into sharp, lethal slits.

“Explain,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.

“Step inside,” Claire said, stepping back into her small apartment. “If your bodyguard stays on the landing, I’ll tell you what your daughter actually signed.”

Dominic signaled Knox with a brief wave of his hand. Knox nodded and posted himself outside the door, his massive frame blocking the hallway light.

Dominic stepped into the small apartment. He looked entirely out of place amidst the cheap furniture and peeling wallpaper, his expensive Italian leather shoes stepping carefully on the worn rug. He set the stuffed rabbit on the kitchen table and turned to face Claire.

“Victor Vance has been with my family for twenty years,” Dominic said, his tone measured, analytical, cold. “He was my father’s right hand. He managed our logistics during the federal investigations. He was in the vehicle behind us when the bomb went off three years ago. He pulled Audrey from the wreckage with his own hands.”

“Then he’s very good at hiding what he did,” Claire replied flatly.

She leaned against the edge of her sink, crossing her arms.

“When the water spilled tonight,” Claire explained, “Victor reacted. His hand went toward his coat. When he did that, his sleeve pulled back, exposing a star-shaped scar on his inner wrist.”

Dominic’s expression remained unreadable. “He received that scar from flying glass during the explosion.”

“Maybe,” Claire said softly. “But when Audrey saw that scar, her heart rate spiked. I was holding her wrist, Mr. Vale. I felt her pulse double in a single second. She wasn't looking at the spilled water. She was looking at Victor.”

Dominic took a slow step toward her. “And what did she sign?”

“She signed three words while you were looking at the manager,” Claire said, looking Dominic directly in the eyes. “Bad man. Fire. Mother.”

The words hung in the tiny apartment like toxic fumes.

Dominic’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle twitched along his jawline. A profound, terrifying darkness flooded his eyes—the ruthless aura that had made him the most feared man in the city.

“She was five years old when the car blew up,” Dominic said softly, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “She lost her hearing from the acoustic trauma of the blast. The doctors said her memory of the event was fragmented, distorted by PTSD.”

“Doctors who don't know sign language,” Claire countered directly. “Doctors who talk about her instead of to her. You spent three years hiring speech therapists to force her to speak your language, Mr. Vale, because you were too proud or too guilty to learn hers.”

Dominic flinched as if she had struck him with an iron bar.

For five full seconds, he didn't speak. He stared at Claire, his chest heaving under his tailored suit, processing the brutal truth of her words.

“You have a big mouth for a waitress,” Dominic said quietly.

“I have nothing to lose,” Claire answered back. “I lost my job tonight because of your family. I have no interest in lying to you.”

Dominic reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy leather wallet. He pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills and set them on the table beside the stuffed rabbit.

“There’s five thousand dollars,” Dominic said. “Pack your things.”

Claire frowned. “I don't want your money.”

“I’m not paying you for your service, Miss Monroe,” Dominic said, stepping back toward the door and opening it. “I’m hiring you. You’re coming to my house tonight as Audrey’s private governess.”

Claire took a step back. “Absolutely not.”

“You said my daughter is living in a house with a wolf,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a desperate, command authority. “You’re the only person in this city she has spoken to in three years. If you care about her safety as much as you pretend to, you’ll get in my car.”

Claire looked from the stack of cash to the small stuffed rabbit on her table, and finally to the desperate, dangerous father standing in her doorway.

She was walking directly into a war zone. She knew it.

“One condition,” Claire said coldly.

“Name it.”