I looked at the steel tool still in my hand.

It was useless against automatic rifles.

I needed to find a way to help Vincent.

I looked around the dark space behind the crates.

There was a heavy iron crowbar lying near a stack of old tires.

I reached out and grabbed the cold metal.

My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold it.

Across the dock, Vincent had reached the steel container.

He pulled a sleek black handgun from his coat.

He fired two quick shots.

One of the gunmen on the dock fell backward into the water.

The others quickly took cover behind the speedboats.

“Hold your fire!” a voice shouted from the lead boat.

The shooting stopped.

The silence that followed was heavy and terrifying.

The only sound was the lapping of the dark water against the wooden pilings.

“Moretti,” the voice called out from the boat.

“We have your men inside the house.”

“They surrendered.”

“It is over.”

Vincent did not answer.

He pressed his back against the steel container, reloading his gun.

His face was set in a hard, grim line.