“You’re too late, Roman,” my father sneered.

“The army is already built.”

“And they are standing right behind you.”

Suddenly, the headlights of three massive black SUVs flickered on, blinding us.

The engines roared, trapping us against the water.

The doors flew open.

Men in tactical gear stepped out, their rifles aimed directly at us.

The rain beat down on the hood of the nearest SUV, turning the bright headlights into a blurry smear of gold.

My boots slid on the wet wood of the pier.

Roman did not flinch, his gun still aimed steadily at my father’s chest.

“Drop the weapons,” a voice boomed from behind the headlights.

The man speaking wore a black tactical vest with no insignias.

I reached into my heavy wool coat and pulled out the thick leather binder I had taken from the Vescari safe.

It was damp, the edges of the pages curling from the mist.

“It’s over, Dad,” I said, my voice shaking but loud enough to carry over the wind.

Richard laughed, a dry, coughing sound.

“You always were too smart for your own good, Maeve,” he said.