“All the better for us,” Dante said, staring out at the white-out conditions.

They drove in silence through the empty streets, the tires crunching over the fresh powder.

The Gold Coast mansion was less than two miles away.

As they neared the historic district, the iron gates of the estates loomed like black skeletons against the snow.

Luca slowed the SUV, turning off the headlights as they approached the rear alley of the Sterling estate.

The mansion was dark, save for a single amber light burning on the second floor.

Dante reached for the door handle.

Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

It was an alert from the clinic’s secure line.

Dante answered it instantly.

“Speak,” Dante said.

The voice on the other end was not Luca’s doctor.

It was a voice Dante had hoped he would never hear again.

“It was Miller,” the voice rasped.

I recognized the dry, gravelly cough immediately.

He was a disgraced commander on Kane’s payroll.

“You are at the wrong house, Dante,” Miller said.

The reception crackled with static, the wind howling through the line.