“The old slip. Pier Four. Midnight. Come alone, or the girl goes under.”

Dante looked at me, his expression hardening into stone.

“We have four hours,” he said.

“Then we have work to do,” I replied.

Dante called Marcus back and put the phone on the table.

“Change of plans,” Dante told his lieutenant. “We are not going in heavy.”

He began to outline the layout of Pier Four, drawing a rough map on a napkin with a pen from the counter.

I watched his hand move, my mind already rehearsing the words I would say to Moretti.

I had to be perfect.

I had to play the role of the broken, defeated woman to keep his eyes on me.

“Marcus will take the water route,” Dante said, pointing to the napkin. “Two men in a low-profile boat. They will come under the pier.”

“And the land side?” I asked.

“I will drive you to the gate,” Dante said. “I will stay in the car, just as Moretti expects. He will have snipers watching.”

“If he thinks you are trapped in the car, he will feel safe,” I said.