The heavy mahogany door clicked shut behind Nell Brisco, sealing her off from the murmur of the Orsini dining room, but the echo of Carmine Orsini’s voice lingered in her ears.

The rain had started again by the time they reached the private marina near Venice, a desolate stretch of wooden docks jutting out into the black, sluggish waters of the Mississippi Delta. Dozens of luxury yachts bobbed against their moorings, their white hulls gleaming ghost-like under the sodium lights.

At the very end of the longest dock sat The Sovereign, a hundred-foot motor yacht with its engines already idling, humming a deep, low vibration through the water.

Carmine cut the sedan's engine fifty yards back, rolling to a silent stop behind a stack of rusted shipping containers. He reached into his glove compartment, pulled out a heavy steel-framed automatic, and checked the magazine with a sharp, metallic snap.

"Nell, stay in the car," he said, his voice absolute.

"No," Nell said, opening her door before he could stop her. The damp river air rushed in, carrying the smell of salt and diesel. "He burned my father's bakery. And now he tried to burn my future. I'm coming with you."

Carmine looked at her, saw the unyielding fire in her dark eyes, and didn't argue. He nodded once. "Stay behind me. If he moves, hit the deck."

They moved down the wooden dock in absolute silence, their footsteps muffled by the driving rain. As they approached the gangway of The Sovereign, a heavy-set man in a black security uniform stepped out from the covered deck, holding a shotgun across his chest.

"Private property," the guard barked. "Turn around—"

He didn't get to finish the sentence. Benny Romano materialized from the shadows behind him, a heavy sap coming down across the guard's shoulder with a dull thud. The man crumpled silently to the wet wood.

Carmine stepped past him, kicking the glass-paneled sliding door of the yacht's main salon open with a single, brutal blow.

Julian Meridian sat at the polished teak bar inside, pouring himself a glass of scotch. He froze, the crystal decanter hovering over the glass as Carmine Orsini stepped into the cabin, water dripping from his dark wool coat, a pistol held casually at his side.

Julian’s face drained of all color. The glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the teak floor with a sharp crash.

"Orsini," Julian whispered, backing away until his spine hit the glass bulkhead. "How... how did you find me?"

"You're predictable, Julian," Carmine said, walking slowly across the salon, his boots leaving wet footprints on the expensive carpet. "A man who relies on corporate lawyers and decoy flights doesn't have the stomach to disappear into the real world. You always need your creature comforts."

Julian’s eyes darted toward the side door leading to the upper deck, but Nell stepped into the doorway, blocking his only exit. Her face was calm, cold, and entirely devoid of fear.

"You left a padlock on the back door of Magazine Street," Nell said softly, stepping closer to him.

Julian swallowed hard, his hands trembling. "I don't know what you're talking about. That was an accident. An insurance claim—"

"My father is still in a nursing home because of that 'insurance claim,'" Nell said, her voice dropping an octave, carrying a weight that made Julian flinch. "And you tried to burn down my new life tonight because you couldn't handle losing a zoning dispute."

Julian looked at Carmine, desperate. "You're a businessman, Orsini. We can make a deal. I have offshore accounts. Millions. I can sign over half my holdings to you right now—"