Luca stepped into the warm room, bringing the smell of cold Chicago air with him.

His dark wool coat was wet with melting snow at the shoulders.

He kept one hand pressed against his side, his fingers hooking into his leather belt.

“Marcus’s advance team is at the gate,” Luca said.

His voice was flat, empty of the usual warmth he tried to show me.

Sophia did not look up from her blinking computer screen.

“They will bypass the security system in three minutes,” she said.

Her fingers began to tap the keys, her movements fast and dry.

“Elena, take the papers on the desk.”

“The car is idling by the cellar exit,” Sophia added.

I looked at the thick manila envelope lying near the silver revolver.

The paper was slightly damp from the humidity in the room.

Inside were the forged passports, the bank routing numbers, and the new names.

They looked small against the polished mahogany of Sophia’s desk.

“No,” I said.

My voice sounded quiet, almost lost in the hum of the computer’s cooling fan.

Sophia paused, her fingers hovering over the glowing keys.