He turned the SUV into the underground parking garage of a sleek glass tower.

The tires screeched on the smooth concrete as he parked near the elevator bank.

He killed the engine, and the sudden silence in the car was heavy.

Dante reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a smaller handgun.

He checked the magazine, snapped it back into place, and handed it to me.

“Keep this in your pocket,” he said.

“Do not use it unless you have to.”

I took the gun, its weight familiar and cold.

“I understand,” I said.

We got out of the car and walked toward the elevators.

The garage was quiet, the only sound being our footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.

Dante pressed the button for the penthouse floor.

The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside.

As the elevator began its smooth ascent, I looked at our reflection in the mirrored walls.

We looked like two people heading into a war.

And in a way, we were.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to a dimly lit lobby.