I kicked it open, stepping into the warmth of the interior.

The air smelled of expensive leather, cigar smoke, and fear.

Dr. Everett Kane stood near a large desk in the center of the cabin.

He was dressed in a tailored wool coat, a leather briefcase gripped tightly in his right hand.

His silver hair was perfectly combed, but his eyes were wide with panic.

On the leather sofa behind him sat Rachel Mercer.

Her face was bruised, her coat torn, but her eyes sparkled with sudden hope when she saw me.

“Moretti,” Kane said, his voice remarkably steady despite his pale face.

“You are making a very foolish mistake.”

“The mistake was thinking Chicago was small enough for both of us,” I said.

I pointed the gun directly at his chest.

“Where is the boy?” Rachel cried out, trying to stand.

“He is safe,” I said, keeping my eyes on Kane.

“He is with my sister.”

Kane let out a dry, rattling laugh.

“Safe?” he asked.

“Do you really think any of us are safe?”

“The people I represent do not allow failures, Dante.”