“Stop,” Vincent said.

His voice was quiet, but it carried a strange weight.

“Drop your weapons,” Derek commanded.

“All of them.”

Vincent did not move for a long second.

“If I see a spark of metal, she dies,” Derek said.

Vincent slowly raised his hands to his shoulders.

“I am unarmed,” Vincent said.

“Don’t play with me,” Derek yelled. “I know who you are.”

“The guns, Moretti. Now.”

Vincent reached slowly inside his dark overcoat.

He used two fingers to pull out a sleek, black semi-automatic pistol.

He dropped it onto the gravelly ground.

It made a dull thud.

“The other one,” Derek said. “Under your arm.”

Vincent reached into his left side and pulled out a smaller backup gun.

He let it drop beside the first.

“The knife in your boot,” Derek said.

Vincent bent down slowly, keeping his eyes on Derek.

He slid a long, thin blade from his leather boot.

He tossed it onto the pile.

“Now the one in your sleeve,” Derek said.

Vincent smiled slightly, a cold, humorless expression.

He flicked his wrist, and a small silver blade slid into his palm.