I stood next to Dante. Beneath my coat, the Kevlar vest dug into my ribs-a secret weight. He thought I was wearing the cashmere sweater he'd bought me yesterday, a trinket for my good behavior.

"It's a big day," Dante said, scanning the labyrinth of rusted shipping containers. "This secures our legacy."

"Your legacy," I corrected him gently.

He glanced at me, his jaw tightening, but before he could speak, the sleek profile of a black limousine cut through the industrial gloom.

My stomach turned.

Sofia stepped out. She was a vision of absurdity in heels far too high for the uneven pavement and a white trench coat that screamed for attention against the harbor's grime.

"I wanted to see you work," she cooed, picking her way over to us. She slipped her arm through Dante's, staking her claim right in front of me.

Dante looked irritated, but he didn't shake her off. "It's dangerous here, Sofia. You should have stayed at the estate."

"But I'm safe with you," she said, gazing up at him with wide, manufactured adoration.

I looked at Enzo, who was standing by the car. He gave me a barely perceptible nod.

It was time.

Tires screeched against concrete as three SUVs tore around the corner, boxing us in.

Men poured out like oil, AK-47s raised. They wore the distinct tattoos of the Bratva.

"Ambush!" Dante roared, shoving Sofia behind him.

His men drew their weapons, but the odds were fatal. The Russians had the high ground on the containers.

Nikolai Volkov stepped out of the lead vehicle. He was a mountain of a man, his face a map of scar tissue and malice.

"Dante Moretti," Nikolai boomed. "You built a nice kingdom here."

"Volkov," Dante snarled. "You're violating the truce."

"The truce is boring." Nikolai signaled his men.

Two mercenaries lunged forward. In the chaos, hands grabbed me. Rough, bruising hands. Two others seized Sofia.

Dante raised his gun, but he froze. He had two targets to save and only one line of fire.

Nikolai laughed. He strolled over and pressed the cold steel of his barrel against my temple. One of his soldiers held a serrated knife to Sofia's throat.

"Let's play a game, Reaper," Nikolai said. "I'm feeling generous. I'll let one go. You choose."

The silence on the dock was absolute, broken only by the slap of dark water against the pilings.

"Don't do this," Dante said, his voice tight.

"Choose!" Nikolai shouted. "The Queen or the Ward? The wife or the charity case? You have five seconds."

Sofia started to scream. "Dante! Please! He's going to cut me! Dante!"

I didn't make a sound. I simply looked at my husband.

I looked at the man who promised to burn the world for me. I looked at the man who had waterboarded me three days ago because I dared to upset the girl currently screaming his name.

"Three," Nikolai counted. "Two."

Dante's eyes darted between us. He looked at me and saw my calm. He saw the steel he had forged. Then he looked at Sofia, sobbing and shaking, fragile as spun glass.

He made the calculation. He always made the calculation.

Elena can survive. Elena is tough. I can get her back later. Sofia dies now.

"Let the girl go," Dante said.

The words hung in the damp air like a death sentence.

Nikolai grinned. He shoved Sofia toward Dante. She scrambled across the pavement, throwing herself into Dante's arms.

Dante caught her, but his eyes were locked on me.

"I'll come for you," he mouthed.

"No," I whispered. "You won't."

Nikolai pulled the trigger.

The impact was a sledgehammer to my chest. I let the momentum take me.

I fell backward, off the edge of the world.

The cold, dark water swallowed me whole.

Chapter 7

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