A flashlight beam sliced through the darkness, blinding Moretti for a split second.

A tall figure stepped into the light.

Dante’s face was carved from granite in the harsh white light.

“Drop it, Lorenzo,” Dante said.

His voice was quiet, but it cut through the sound of the lapping lake water.

Moretti did not drop his weapon.

He spun around, aiming at Dante’s chest.

A sharp crack echoed across the wooden pier.

Moretti gasped, his knees buckling.

He dropped his gun, clutching his shoulder as blood began to seep through his dark wool coat.

He fell to the wet planks, groaning.

I did not wait to see him crawl.

I dropped James’s gun and ran straight toward the black car parked near the edge of the pier.

Lily was crying louder now, her tiny voice muffled by the thick car door.

I yanked the door open and pulled her out of the car seat.

I held her pressed against my chest, feeling her warm breath against my neck.

“I have you,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision. “I have you, baby.”