My boots crunched on a patch of black ice, and I paused, pressing my back against the cold steel of a container.

Two men in dark heavy coats stood near the gangplank of the yacht.

They were holding short-barreled automatic rifles, their breath puffing in white clouds.

“Take the left,” I whispered to Luca.

Luca nodded once.

He slipped into the gap between two crates, moving with the silence of a shadow.

I drew my own weapon, a heavy revolver with a worn wooden grip.

It had belonged to my father, and his father before him.

A loud crack shattered the silence of the docks.

The guard on the right crumpled into the snow.

Before the second guard could raise his rifle, I stepped out and fired once.

The sound of the gunshot was swallowed by the roar of the wind off the lake.

The second man fell against the gangplank, sliding down into the dark water below.

We ran up the wooden ramp, our boots slipping on the frozen wood.

The cabin door of the yacht was heavy mahogany, but it was unlocked.