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The boss didn't blink. He reached out, his ink-stained fingers brushing the loose strands of hair away from my forehead, his touch terrifyingly gentle yet completely immovable. "A ghost doesn't know her own reflection, maybe," he murmured, his breath hot against my temple. "Look at the corner of your left eye. The faint crescent scar. My wife got it falling off a horse in Sicily when she was twelve. You have it, too. Down to the millimeter." / Chapter 6 / 39

Chapter 7 - Midnight on the DocksThe fog rolling off the harbor was thick enough to swallow the moon.

Our black SUV killed its headlights a half-mile away from Pier 4, and we moved the rest of the way on foot, melting into the shadows of rusted shipping containers and towering cranes. Dante walked beside me, his hand resting on the grip of his sidearm. Behind us, six of his most elite men moved in absolute, silent synchronization.

"Stay behind me," Dante muttered, his fingers briefly brushing mine. "No matter what happens."

We reached the edge of the pier. At the very end, beneath a flickering amber overhead light, sat an old wooden chair. Mrs. Gable was tied to it, a black hood over her head, surrounded by five masked operatives holding assault rifles.

"Moretti!" a voice boomed from the shadows atop a container crane.

A man stepped out into the light, wearing an expensive wool coat and a silver serpent pin on his lapel. It was Viktor Vance, the ruthless head of the Vanguard.

"You brought the girl!" Vance laughed, his voice echoing over the water. "How touching. A family reunion at the end of the world. Drop your weapons, Dante, or the old lady loses her head right now."

Dante raised his hands slowly, stepping out into the open dock. "Let her go, Viktor. This is between you and me."

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My breath caught. Time seemed to slow down. I saw Vance’s finger tighten on the trigger.

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