He knew his friends in high places were already deleting his number from their phones.

The news was spreading too fast for anyone to save him.

I took a step toward the vehicle, but Isabella caught my sleeve.

“Dante, let the police handle him,” she said.

“It is over.”

“It is not over until we are clear of this place,” I said.

The shooting on the dock had stopped as the remaining guards realized they were surrounded.

They were throwing their weapons into the dark water of the slip.

Three officers were running down the gangway toward us, their flashlights washing over our faces.

“Stay where you are!” one of them yelled.

“Keep your hands where I can see them!”

I slowly raised my hands, the gun still in my grip but pointed safely at the sky.

“I am Dante Moretti,” I called out.

“My sister and the boy are with me.”

“The child is Eli Mercer.”

The officers slowed their pace, their weapons still raised but their eyes darting to the boy.

“We know who you are,” the lead officer said.