He showed me an old ship. Its registration was a mess of falsified papers and dead-end trails, its routes deliberately vague, as if it had been designed for disappearing. The communication system had been modified to evade Family surveillance, supplies were complete, and the course avoided all standard ports—the kind of places where the Commission's eyes still watched.
"Once you leave here, no one will be able to catch up to you," he said.
"Including them?" I asked. Including the Corleones. Including the Ashfords. Including everyone who had ever claimed to own a piece of my life.
"Including anyone still living by the rules of the Cosa Nostra."
I nodded without hesitation. "Prepare it."
He warned me that the world outside offered no guarantees and no way back. Beyond the territories, there was no Family protection, no code of honor, no blood loyalty to shield me.
"I don't have one here either," I replied.
He handed me a token as our agreement—a worn coin bearing a symbol I did not recognize, smooth from years of passing through desperate hands. "Five days."