I drew my pistol and stepped to the side of the door frame, keeping my back against the damp concrete wall.

The rain outside was picking up, drumming against the high basement windows.

A shadow fell across the stairwell.

“Don’t shoot,” a voice called out.

It was Elena.

She stepped into the light of the single overhead bulb, her dark hair wet from the rain.

She wore a dark trench coat, her federal badge clipping onto her inner pocket.

“You took a risk coming here,” I said, lowering my weapon.

“The streets are clear for now,” she said, wiping rain from her forehead. “But Tony has men patrolling the docks.”

Romano lowered his rifle but did not put it down. “What about Marcus?” he asked.

“Agent Vance and Agent Miller are guarding his room,” Elena said. “Tony’s people tried to access the ward an hour ago. They were turned away.”

“Marcus is a fool, but he is my blood,” I said. “He does not deserve to die in a hospital bed.”

“He won’t,” Elena said. “But he is out of this fight. It is just us.”