Her chin lifted.
I signed his words to her exactly.
Sophia’s hands moved with sudden force.
Tell him I am deaf, not stupid.
I swallowed.
Then I looked at Carlo.
“She said she is deaf, not stupid.”
Nobody at the table moved.
Dante’s gaze shifted from his uncle to the document.
“What account?”
Carlo’s smile disappeared.
“Dante, this is hardly the place.”
“What account?”
The temperature of the table changed.
Carlo leaned back.
“Your father’s original foundation reserve account.
It’s being consolidated.”
Sophia’s face drained of color.
Her hands came up immediately.
No.
I watched her sign.
That account cannot be closed without my authorization.
I translated.
Carlo exhaled impatiently.
“She authorized it months ago.”
Sophia stared at him.
Then she looked at me.
Ask him to show me my signature.
I did.
Carlo did not open the document.
That told me more than if he had.
Dante reached across the table and pulled the folder closer.
“Show her.”
“Dante—”
“Now.”
Carlo flipped through several pages and stopped.
He rotated one toward Sophia.
I could not read the document clearly, but I saw the signature line.
Sophia looked at it for less than two seconds.
Then she laughed.
It was not a happy sound, though she could not hear it herself.
Her hands moved.
That is not my signature.
I translated.
Carlo’s face tightened.
“Of course it is.”
Sophia signed again.
My husband designed that signature because my hands began shaking after an illness.
I always make the S backward before the V.
That one does not.
Dante examined the page.
His entire posture changed.
Until then, he had been a son at dinner.
Now he became the man the restaurant staff had feared.
He closed the folder.
“Nobody leaves.”
