The silence in Adrian Moretti’s private study was heavy, punctuated only by the distant, muted rumble of traffic crawling along the wet asphalt outside the grand estate.

Vance’s hand twitched toward his holster, but Adrian raised a single finger, signaling him to stand down.

Slowly, deliberately, Adrian unbuttoned his coat and dropped his Glock onto the concrete floor. Vince and the other guards followed suit, their weapons clattering against the stone.

Frankie burst into loud, theatrical laughter.

"Look at that! The great Adrian Moretti, bowing down," Frankie sneered, stepping closer and pointing his pistol directly at Adrian’s chest. "You think you're untouchable. You think because you wear expensive suits and dine with politicians, you're different from the rest of us. But at the end of the day, you bleed just like anyone else."

"You talk too much, Frankie," Adrian said coolly, his expression as impassive as carved marble. "It’s always been your primary flaw."

"Shut up!" Frankie roared, pressing the barrel of the gun closer to Adrian's chest. "You know what the best part is, Adrian? I didn't just come here for your territory. I came here because I heard a very interesting rumor about a little runaway bird who has been hiding in your house."

Adrian’s eyes narrowed instantly. The calm, icy demeanor fractured for a fraction of a second, revealing a flash of lethal danger.

"What are you talking about?" Adrian asked, his voice dropping to a low, lethal hum.

"Clara," Frankie smiled wickedly, savoring the name like a fine wine. "Sweet, broken-voiced Clara Bennett. My old accountant spotted her walking out of your estate two days ago on a security camera feed. Imagine my surprise when I realized the famous Moretti was harboring my runaway toy."

From her hiding spot near the side door, Claire felt the blood drain entirely from her face.

He knows.

"She's not your toy, Frankie," Adrian said, every syllable dripping with ice.

"Oh, she was mine before she stole from me and ran across the ocean," Frankie laughed. "And the moment I finish with you tonight, I'm going back to your little mansion, pulling her out by her hair, and reminding her who owns her voice."

That was the breaking point.

All the fear, all the years of hiding, all the silent agony of a silenced voice snapped inside Claire’s chest.

She didn't think. She didn't calculate the risk.