The sky in the east was turning the color of dirty steel.

We rolled forward, the tires crunching softly on the frozen gravel.

Ahead, the silhouette of a private yacht loomed against the frozen lake.

It was a modern, triple-deck vessel, its white hull looking ghostly in the half-light.

Warm yellow light spilled from the cabin windows, throwing long shadows across the icy dock.

“Stay here with the boy,” I told Isabella.

She gripped my sleeve, her fingers cold.

“Do not let him get away, Dante.”

“He took my life from me.”

“He will not take anyone else’s.”

“I will finish this,” I said.

I opened the door and stepped out into the freezing wind.

The cold hit my face like a physical blow, carrying the sharp scent of dead fish and diesel fuel.

Luca slipped out of the driver’s side, his Beretta already in his hand.

We moved along the side of the metal warehouse, using the shadows of the shipping containers for cover.

The wind howled through the steel cranes above us.