My three-year-old son spotted something inside the mafia boss’s ear that every doctor had missed, and minutes later, the man who had been deaf for three years could hear again. But when Dominic realized what had been lodged inside him all that time, his face went cold, because his deafness hadn’t been an accident.

The sub-basement of the Cray estate had been built in the 1920s during the height of Prohibition. It was a labyrinth of thick reinforced concrete, wine cellars, and vault rooms that held no windows and only a single, heavy steel door for access.

The humidity down here was cool and damp, smelling of old stone and metallic rust.

Victor Strand was zip-tied to a heavy iron chair in the center of the room beneath a single bare lightbulb swinging slowly from an exposed ceiling beam. His nose was bloody, his expensive suit jacket had been removed, and his broken left arm hung limply at his side, roughly splinted with wooden slats by Lev.

The heavy steel door groaned open, and Dominic Cray stepped into the circle of light.

He was accompanied only by Leo, who held a heavy wooden chair, setting it down three feet in front of Victor before stepping back into the shadows.

Dominic sat down. He crossed his legs, adjusted his cuffs, and looked at the man who had been his personal butler, confidant, and gatekeeper for nearly a decade.

For two long minutes, Dominic didn't speak. He simply sat there, listening.

He listened to the rhythmic drip of water from a pipe in the corner. He listened to the hum of the ventilation fan. He listened to the rapid, terrified wheezing of Victor’s breath.

"It's a strange thing, Victor," Dominic said softly, his voice echoing off the damp concrete. "To hear the sound of a coward sweating."

Victor flinched. He raised his bruised face, his bloodshot eyes staring at Dominic with a mix of hatred and sheer terror. "Dominic... please. You don't know the whole story—"

"I know enough," Dominic replied smoothly. "I know that three years ago, when the warehouse in Cicero blew up, it wasn't a trap set by the Moretti family. It was a trap set by you. You gave them my route. You gave them the layout. And when I survived the blast, you made sure the doctors you paid off put that piece of filth inside my skull."

"They were going to kill my family!" Victor sobbed, his voice breaking into a pathetic whine. "Julian Moretti had my daughter, Dominic! He had pictures of her leaving her dorm in Boston! He told me if I didn't keep you deaf, if I didn't report your every move to him, he would send her back to me in pieces!"

Dominic’s expression didn't change. "Your daughter, Sarah, graduated from Boston College two years ago, Victor. She currently lives in a luxury penthouse in Miami, funded by an offshore account in the Cayman Islands registered under your name."

Victor’s crying stopped instantly. His jaw went slack.

"Did you really think I didn't trace your finances?" Dominic asked quietly, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I may have been deaf, Victor, but I wasn't blind. I saw the extra wire transfers. I saw the sudden upgrades to your lifestyle. I allowed them because I thought you were skimming off the estate accounts—a minor sin for a loyal servant. I never imagined you were selling my senses to the highest bidder."

"Dominic... please..." Victor whimpered, trying to pull his hands against the plastic ties.

"Where is the master transmitter?" Dominic asked.

Victor swallowed hard, looking away. "I... I don't know what you mean—"

Dominic stood up so fast the wooden chair clattered to the floor. Before Victor could scream, Dominic’s massive right hand clamped around Victor’s throat, squeezing just enough to cut off his airway, lifting him slightly in the iron chair.

"Don't lie to me," Dominic growled, his voice vibrating through the small room. "That device in my ear was a receiver. It was picking up a localized jammer signal. That means there is a master transmitter somewhere within five hundred yards of this house. Where is it?"

Victor’s eyes bulged, his face turning a deep, dangerous purple. He choked out two words through his crushed windpipe:

"The... garage..."

Dominic released his grip. Victor collapsed forward, coughing violently, gasping for air as blood dripped from his nose onto the concrete.

"In... in the secondary utility room," Victor rasped, clutching his neck. "Behind the electrical breaker box... there's a relay box. It sends the pulse... to keep the device active... Julian’s tech team checks it once a month..."

Dominic turned his back on Victor, walking toward the steel door.

"Lev," Dominic said without looking back.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Go to the secondary utility room. Find the transmitter. Bring it to Dr. Vance."

"And Victor, Boss?" Lev asked, gesturing to the man weeping under the lightbulb.