“Excuse me?” he said.

“I said no,” I repeated.

I pressed the thumb key on the phone inside my coat pocket.

The tiny button gave a dull, plastic click that only I could feel.

On the phone’s screen, a progress bar turned from blue to solid red.

The yacht’s high-frequency satellite link was now active.

For the last three minutes, every word spoken in this cabin had been recorded.

Now, that audio file and the live feed from my lapel camera were rushing through the airwaves.

They were heading directly to the broadcast desks of five major news networks in the city.

Luca had set up the routing system three hours ago in the back of our van.

Kane stared at me, his finger still poised over the remote.

“You are bluffing, Dante,” he said.

“I don’t bluff about my family,” I said.

The wind rattled the thick glass of the cabin window behind him.

A heavy sheet of snow swept across the deck outside.

“You have five seconds to change your mind,” Kane said.

His voice had lost its smooth, polite edge.