It was Marcus.

His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his coat collar was turned up against the damp wind.

He looked older, the usual polished veneer completely gone.

“They are trying to leave,” Dante said, his voice flat and cold.

He tapped his earpiece.

“Block the north exit of the dock road,” he commanded.

“And notify Detective Miller that his targets are in position.”

I watched the screen as Evelyn handed Marcus a thick manila envelope.

He grabbed it, his fingers twitching as he stuffed it inside his jacket.

“Is that the money?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“A fraction of what he stole,” Dante replied.

“But it is enough to prove his intent to flee.”

The car turned sharply, tires hissing on the wet pavement.

We were heading toward the industrial district, the dark silhouettes of cranes rising against the grey sky.

I rested my hand on my stomach, feeling the slight, reassuring warmth beneath my coat.

“Dante, please be careful,” I said.

He reached over and covered my hand with his own.

His palm was warm and dry.