"The way your father would handle him, if he could do it without starting a war." Priest's expression is flat. Professional. "Santini's location is known. His security is manageable. A precision operation could remove him as a threat without escalating the broader conflict."
"You're talking about killing him."
"I'm talking about cleaning up a mess that started twelve years ago." Priest's pale eyes meet mine. "I created the conditions that led us here. It's my responsibility to end it. If your father gives the order, I'll execute the operation myself."
My stomach turns. This is my father's world. The world I've spent my entire life trying to escape. Death as a business decision. Murder as problem-solving.
And yet.
Santini sent men to kill me. Sent them twice now, with a third attempt apparently in planning. If he isn't stopped, he'll keep sending them until one succeeds.
"Ford." I turn to face him. "What do you think?"
"I think it's your call." His gray eyes meet mine steadily. "You're the one he's trying to kill. You're the one who has to live with whatever decision gets made."
"But if you were in my position?"
"I'd neutralize the threat." No hesitation. No qualification. "Because the only way to guarantee your safety is to remove the person who wants you dead. Everything else is just hoping he gives up."
I look at Priest. At Mace. At Cal. At the men who've spent two days protecting me from an enemy I didn't even know I had.
"Do it." The words feel like crossing a line I can never uncross. "Tell my father to give the order."
Priest nods. "I'll handle it personally. This started with me. It ends with me."
The operation takes eighteen hours.
Ford and I spend them on Second Watch, anchored in the protected cove, waiting for news. Cal and Mace handle tactical coordination from the Salt and Steel boat while Priest moves into position.
I don't ask for details. I don't want to know the specifics of how Pietro Santini dies.
What I want is to be in Ford's arms when it's over.
The message comes through just after midnight. Priest's voice on the secure channel, clipped and final: "Target eliminated. Clean extraction. Debt paid."
Ford puts down the radio and looks at me across the cabin. The dim light catches the angles of his face, the silver in his hair, the intensity in his gray eyes.
"It's done."
"I heard."
"How do you feel?"
I consider the question honestly. Search my conscience for guilt, for horror, for the revulsion I always felt when my father's business touched my life.
"Relieved." The word surprises me. "Is that terrible? That I'm relieved a man is dead?"
"He was trying to kill you." Ford moves toward me, slow and deliberate. "Relief is a reasonable response to surviving."
"I didn't survive. You kept me alive."
"We kept each other alive." He stops in front of me, close enough to touch but not yet touching. "We kept each other sane. And unless I'm wrong, we're about to keep each other warm."
The shift from tactical to personal makes my breath catch. "Is that so?"
"The threat is neutralized. The danger is over. Your father's people will be here tomorrow to officially end the protection detail." His hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Which means tonight is our last night on this boat."
"Our last night as a job."
