He took a sharp breath, his hand clutching his side where the bandage was already soaked through with blood.

“How?” he muttered. “He was in a maximum-security ward.”

“He had help,” I said. “Tony’s help.”

The wind howled between the stacks of rusted steel, carrying the bitter sting of salt spray.

We pressed forward, our boots splashing in the shallow, oil-slicked puddles.

The smell of rotting fish, diesel fuel, and wet iron was thick in the air.

Above us, a heavy metal chain clanked against a crane with a dull, rhythmic sound.

“We need to get to the ship,” Vincenzo whispered, his teeth chattering from the cold.

I kept my hand inside my jacket, my fingers wrapped around the grip of my concealed service weapon.

As an undercover federal agent, my job was to secure the ledger on *The Northern Star*.

As his maid, my job had been to watch him from the shadows, waiting for the empire to crumble.

But right now, we were just two targets in a graveyard of shipping containers.

A shadow detached itself from the base of a crane forty yards ahead.