I pressed my back hard against the wooden crate, trying to make myself as small as possible.

My fingers brushed against a cold piece of iron on the ground—a discarded tire iron.

I gripped it tightly, my knuckles turning white.

Vincent looked at Marcus, a faint, cold smile touching the corners of his mouth.

“You think you have won, Marcus,” Vincent said softly.

“I know I have,” Marcus said. “Your men at the gate are gone. Your security system is down.”

“You forgot one thing,” Vincent said.

“And what is that?” Marcus asked, his eyes narrowing.

Vincent took a slow step forward, completely ignoring the red laser dots that suddenly appeared on his chest.

“You forgot to check the offshore accounts in Geneva,” Vincent said.

Marcus froze, his hand tightening on the handle of his walking stick.

“What are you talking about?” Marcus demanded.

“The forty million dollars your family stole from the harbor syndicate,” Vincent said, his voice smooth and steady. “The money you used to fund this little coup.”

One of Marcus’s lieutenants stepped closer to him, whispering something into the older man’s ear.