She Thought I Was Nobody at Her Charity Gala—Then One Question Revealed Who Really Owned the Hotel.

"Coast Guard?" Frank yelled through Dominic’s earpiece as he sprinted up the gangway just as it began tearing free from the dock. "Those aren't federal boats, boss! Those are private gunboats flying no flags!"

Dominic pulled Victor back over the railing, slamming him face-first onto the deck and knocking him cold with a single hammer-fist to the temple. He stripped Victor's tactical radio and weapon, then sprinted back into the shattered cabin.

Elena was huddled under the chart table, shielding Clara with her entire body. The little girl was sobbing, her hands pressed over her ears.

Dominic knelt down beside them. His rugged, scarred face softened completely as his eyes met his daughter’s hazel gaze.

"Clara," Dominic said, his deep voice miraculously gentle despite the roaring storm. "Look at me, sweetheart."

The little girl slowly lowered her hands, staring up into the face of the man from the silver locket around her neck. "Are you... are you my dad?"

"I am," Dominic said softly. "And nobody in this world is ever going to hurt you again."

He looked up at Elena. Their eyes met—a decade of lies, grief, and betrayal hanging in the air between them. But there was no time for reckoning.

"We have to move," Dominic said. "Marcus has hit squads closing in on this ship."

Elena’s face went dead white. "Marcus? Marcus is alive?"

"He's the one who bought Victor," Dominic said, reaching down and lifting Clara easily into his left arm. The little girl buried her face in his shoulder, holding onto his lapel with all her strength. "We have about two minutes before those boats board this vessel."

Dominic led Elena out through the rear galley exit toward the lower stern deck. Frank was waiting by the emergency maintenance ladder that hung down toward the water.

A high-powered spotlight from the first speedboat swept across the stern, illuminating them in blinding white light.

Gunfire tore across the ship's steel hull, sparking violently against the metal.

"Down the ladder! Now!" Dominic barked, thrusting Clara into Frank’s arms. "Frank, get them to the warehouse in Jersey City! Do not stop for anything!"

"What about you, boss?" Frank yelled over the gunfire.

"I’m sinking their ride," Dominic said.

Dominic turned back toward the ship’s primary fuel cutoff valves located on the lower engine intake. He wrenched the emergency pressure levers, flooding the stern deck with raw maritime diesel.

As the first enemy speedboat pulled alongside the freighter, three armed men tossed grappling hooks onto the railing.

Dominic picked up a tactical emergency flare from the wall bracket, struck the igniter, and dropped the burning magnesium flare directly into the pool of fuel.

WHOOSH.

A wall of roaring orange flame erupted across the stern deck, severing the grappling lines and creating an impassable barrier of fire. The enemy speedboat had to swerve hard to avoid the burning fuel slick, spinning out in the choppy harbor waves.

Dominic slid down the maintenance ladder into the cold water just as Frank’s getaway launch pulled up beneath the shadows of the pier.