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."

Instead of hiding behind Dante, I lunged forward, shouting, "Hey! You missed me two years ago!"

Vance’s head snapped toward me in surprise, and that split-second hesitation was all Dante needed. With blinding speed, Dante drew his pistol and fired twice. Vance’s gun flew out of his hand as a bullet grazed his shoulder, howling in pain as he stumbled backward.

Instantly, hell broke loose on the docks.

Dante's men materialized from the shadows, opening fire on the Vanguard operatives. Gunfire flashed orange in the foggy night air, the deafening cracks echoing across the harbor. Marco sprinted forward, diving and cutting the ropes binding Mrs. Gable, pulling her safely behind a concrete barrier.

I dropped to the wet pavement, covering my head as bullets sparked off the metal containers around us.

Through the chaos, I saw Viktor Vance crawling toward a dropped rifle just a few feet away from me. Driven by pure survival, I scrambled forward, grabbed a heavy iron pipe lying on the dock, and slammed it down across Vance’s hand before he could reach the gun.

Vance screamed, rolling over in agony.

A heavy shadow fell over us. I looked up to see Dante standing above Vance, his face carved from stone, the dragon tattoo on his hand stark and lethal under the amber light.

"You should have stayed in the shadows, Viktor," Dante said coldly.

With one swift motion, Dante kicked Vance’s remaining weapon into the dark, churning waters of the harbor, then slammed the butt of his pistol into Vance’s jaw, knocking him out cold.