Tony froze, his hand still hovering inches from his belt.

“It is over, Tony,” I said, my voice barely louder than the rain striking the glass.

Elena stepped forward, her boots crunching on the shattered glass of the balcony doors.

“Hands on your head, Tony,” she said, her voice cool and level.

Two more federal agents in tactical gear entered from the stairwell, their weapons raised.

Tony looked at Silvio, then at the agents, and finally at me.

His shoulders slumped, the air leaving his chest in a long, ragged hiss.

He slowly raised his hands and clasped them behind his neck.

One of the federal agents stepped in quickly, kicking Tony’s legs apart and ratcheting steel cuffs onto his wrists.

“We have the offices on 4th Street secured,” one of the agents called out into his shoulder mic.

“The city police chief is in custody at the harbor dock,” another agent reported.

Elena kept her weapon trained on Tony’s guards until they were all disarmed and forced to the floor.

She walked over to Tony, pulled a silver badge from her pocket, and held it before his face.