He pulled my hand up, inspecting my palm, then let go with a dismissive grunt.

“You always were a terrible liar,” he said.

He walked toward the small writing desk in the corner of the room, picking up a silver paperweight and turning it over in his hands.

“The transport will be here in an hour,” Marcus said, not looking at me. “We are moving you to the estate in upstate New York.”

My stomach dropped.

If they moved me now, the transmitter’s signal would lead Damiano to an empty house, or the signal would be lost entirely during transit.

“It’s the middle of a storm,” I said, trying to sound reasonable. “The roads will be flooded.”

“My drivers can handle a little water,” Marcus replied, setting the paperweight down with a dull thud.

He walked back to the door and opened it, calling out into the hallway.

“Thomas!” he shouted.

A moment later, the burly guard appeared in the doorway, his face pale and strained.

“Yes, Mr. Vance?” Thomas asked.

“Is the security detail ready for the transfer?” Marcus asked.