Marco did not head toward the airport as instructed.

Instead, he retreated to a secondary safehouse in the hills above the coastal highway.

The villa was dark, its shutters closed against the midday sun.

Inside, Marco threw clothes and stacks of foreign banknotes into an open leather duffel bag.

A loaded semiautomatic pistol lay on the glass coffee table beside a disposable satellite phone.

He dialed a private number with frantic, sweaty fingers.

"Gianni, I need the offshore yacht fueled at the marina by dusk," Marco barked into the receiver.

The line remained quiet for two long seconds before a raspy voice answered:

"The marina accounts are frozen, Marco."

Marco’s chest tightened in sudden panic.

"What do you mean frozen? I hold fifty percent of the operating credit!"

"Not anymore," Gianni replied flatly.

"Domenico and Moretti filed the emergency audit with the port authority two hours ago."

"The marshals are reviewing the arson report from Pier Fourteen."

Marco slammed the phone onto the table, shattering the glass screen.

"Dammit!" he roared, kicking the leather armchair across the room.

He grabbed the pistol, chambered a round with a violent pull of the slide, and stuffed it into his coat.

He had twenty thousand dollars in cash and an old sports car in the garage.

He grabbed his keys and rushed toward the front entryway.

When he yanked the heavy wooden door open, four men stood on the stone threshold.

They wore tailored dark suits and heavy wool coats.

Standing in front was Moretti, his hands resting calmly on the silver head of his walking cane.

"Going somewhere, Marco?" Moretti asked in an icy, measured tone.

Marco raised his weapon, his hand shaking violently.

"Get out of my way, Moretti! This is a family matter!"

Two younger enforcers stepped forward without hesitation, their movements swift and practiced.

One caught Marco’s wrist, twisting the gun out of his grip with a sharp snap of bone.

The second drove an elbow into Marco’s ribs, dropping him to his knees on the stone flagstones.

The weapon clattered harmlessly across the courtyard.

Moretti stepped closer, looking down at the broken man on the ground.

"You ceased being family the night you chained Enzo inside that warehouse, boy."

"The federal investigators are waiting at the central precinct."

"You will answer for the fire at last."