Make my daughter speak again, and I’ll give you everything,” the billionaire Mafia Boss begged. But when my four-year-old pointed at the swan music box and whispered, “He doesn’t want her to open it,” the man Vincent trusted most suddenly went pale.

The small voice shattered the heavy silence in the therapy room.

Vincent’s head snapped toward the doorway. The specialists froze, looking awkward, while the maid gasped softly, quickly placing a hand over Ellie’s shoulder to gently pull her back.

"Ellie, hush sweetheart," the maid whispered, her heart pounding against her ribs. She looked up at Vincent, her blue eyes wide with quiet fear. "Mr. Moretti, I am so sorry. I didn't mean for her to disturb the session—"

"Wait," Vincent interrupted, raising a single hand. His voice was calm, but his intense dark eyes were fixed on the tiny girl in the bright red dress.

Ellie didn't back away. Carrying her gray stuffed rabbit, she took two steps forward onto the cream carpet, pointing a small index finger directly at the white swan music box in Isabella's lap.

Standing near the window was Dominic Vesceri, Vincent’s longtime attorney and most trusted adviser. Tall, elegant, and controlled, Dominic wore an expensive charcoal suit, crisp white dress shirt, dark tie, and polished leather shoes. His face was a mask of professional calm, but his sharp eyes darted nervously toward the child.

Dominic immediately stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking against the hardwood edge of the rug. "Vincent, we shouldn't let a child's distraction disrupt the medical team. The doctors need quiet to assess Isabella's condition."