Behind us, the white lights of the mercenaries were getting closer, moving with terrifying speed.

I looked up toward the door.

Isabella had reached it.

She had the door open, her face silhouetted against the snowy Chicago sky.

But before she could step through, a dark figure appeared in the opening.

It wasn’t one of ours.

The figure was wearing a heavy tactical vest and a ballistic helmet.

He reached down and grabbed Isabella by her hair, pulling her backward out of the doorway.

She screamed, her fingers clawing at the concrete.

“Dante!” she cried out.

Eli was left standing at the foot of the exit, looking up in horror as his aunt was dragged away into the snow.

Another mercenary stepped into the doorway, his rifle pointed down at us.

I raised my gun, but my hand was shaking from the strain of holding Luca.

My phone, still in my pocket, lit up again, casting a bright blue glow through the fabric of my trousers.

The vibration was constant now.

A steady, relentless hum against my thigh.

The mercenary at the top of the stairs didn’t hesitate.