He coughed, a wet, rattling sound that ended in a gasp.

“He never did,” Vincenzo added, wiping a trace of blood from his lip.

“Marcus, look at the radio,” I said. “It’s transmitting.”

Marcus glanced at Romano’s shoulder.

The little red light was steady, not blinking.

It meant the channel was live.

Someone on the other end was listening to every word we said.

“Who’s on the line, Romano?” Marcus demanded.

Romano didn’t answer.

He just raised his submachine gun.

“End of the road, old man,” Romano said to Vincenzo.

I drew my weapon in one smooth motion, aiming it at Romano’s chest.

“Drop it!” I yelled over the wind.

Marcus spun, his gun now pointing at me in surprise.

“Elena?” he gasped.

“Federal agent,” I said, showing no hesitation. “Drop the weapons, all of you.”

The wind roared, carrying the sound of a distant ship’s horn.

The standoff was frozen.

Five people, guns drawn, under the freezing rain of Pier 42.

Vincenzo didn’t look surprised.

He had suspected me for weeks, watching the way I moved, the way I kept my head down.