CHAPTER EIGHTY
As the superyacht pulled slowly out of Msida Yacht Marina. It glistened as the half-moon reflected off its sleek black curves. The hum of its engine and the sound of music broke the silence of the night.
Tipp sat on the deck sipping Dom Perignon from a crystal flute. He wore a nervous smile. Everything had gone to plan ‒ until Steel turned up. He had ruined years of planning. They had escaped with their lives and from the threat of prison. But Tipp knew that the Trojan organisation would be displeased at the failure of the mission. Someone needed to be held accountable. Luckily for him, Price was a higher rank in the organisation, in effect, his boss. It was Price they would punish, not him.
Price had told him she’d given the ship's crew the night off, they had business t
