We reached the bottom of the stairs, where a heavy fire door blocked the path.

Giovanni paused, his head tilted as he listened to the silence on the other side.

From beyond the steel door came the low, rhythmic rumble of an engine.

He pushed the bar, and the door swung open into the underground loading dock.

The dock was dark, lit only by the weak yellow glow of emergency exit signs.

A black SUV sat idling twenty yards away, its headlights completely dark.

A man in a dark suit stood by the rear door, his hand tucked inside his jacket.

“Sir,” the man said, opening the door as we approached. “The perimeter is compromised.”

“Get us out,” Giovanni ordered, pushing me into the leather backseat.

He climbed in right behind me and slammed the door shut.

The SUV lunged forward, its tires screeching on the smooth concrete.

We burst out of the garage ramp and into the cold, rainy Boston night.

Water lashed against the tinted windows as the driver sped through the empty city streets.

I looked down at Luca, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow but steady.