A figure stepped to the railing of the catwalk, looking down at us.

It was Victor Salvi, his silver hair shining under the lights, flanked by four armed men.

“And I knew your father would be the perfect tether to bring you all here,” Victor said.

My phone in my pocket suddenly began to vibrate violently.

The vibration against my thigh was a steady, rhythmic pulse.

I did not dare reach for it.

My eyes remained fixed on Victor Salvi, whose polished leather shoes rested against the rusted yellow railing of the catwalk.

“You always did think three steps ahead, Victor,” Roman said.

His voice was too quiet, too calm for a man staring down the barrels of four automatic rifles.

“Only because you three became predictable,” Victor replied, his silver hair catching the harsh white glare of the floodlights.

He gestured to the warehouse floor with a slow wave of his hand.

“A broken family reunion in a dying harbor.”

“It is pathetic.”

Richard backed up a step, his boots splashing in a puddle of oily water.

His eyes darted from Roman to Declan, then up to the catwalk.