Lorenzo Moretti—young, powerful, the name whispered in fear—doesn’t do love. His world is made of guns, loyalty, and silence. So when they told him his bride was deaf and mute, he didn’t blink. A quiet wife? Less noise. Less risk. Fine by him.

He doesn’t know about her past. He doesn’t know that when she was little, her mother forced her into silence. “Don’t speak. Don’t listen. Don’t feel. Or they’ll hurt you.”

And so she learned to live in a world that believed she couldn’t hear. She kept the lie. She wore it like armor.

Even now—especially now.

The doors swing open.

She stands there—small, delicate, wrapped in white lace, eyes lowered like she’s afraid to breathe too loud.

A girl with no voice. No sound. No fight.

Lorenzo Moretti leans back in his chair, cigarette burning between his fingers, dark eyes locked on her.

“She’s deaf,” the old man beside her mutters. “Mute too. Has been since she was a child.”

Lorenzo doesn’t move. He just stares. And in that silence, he makes a decision.

“…Fine,” he says, voice low. Final. “She’ll do.”

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look up. But her fingers tighten around the hem of her dress.

She heard that. She heard everything.