They didn’t wear Romano’s colors.

They didn’t wear Tony’s colors either.

A tall man stepped out of the passenger side, holding a heavy umbrella.

He walked slowly toward us, protected from the rain.

I didn’t recognize him, but Vincenzo did.

His face went completely pale.

“No,” Vincenzo whispered.

The tall man stopped ten feet away, looking at us with cold, calculated interest.

“Well,” the man said, his voice smooth and clear. “This is a crowded dock.”

He looked at Romano, then at Marcus, and finally at me.

“Vargas,” he said, using my real last name.

My heart stopped.

My cover wasn’t just blown.

It was gone.

He knew who I was.

And he knew why I was here.

The man smiled, revealing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth.

“Your director sends his regards,” he said.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, silver cell phone.

It was buzzing.

The screen lit up with an incoming call.

The caller ID read: *Director Vance*.

My hand started to tremble.

The director of my own task force was calling this man.