“It is over, Luca,” I said softly.

I set my revolver down on the mahogany desk.

Luca hesitated, then placed his Beretta beside mine.

Two troopers rushed forward, slamming Kane against the desk and pulling his arms behind his back.

The metal handcuffs clicked shut with a sharp, final sound.

Another trooper helped Rachel Mercer to her feet, wrapping a gray wool blanket around her shoulders.

As they led Kane out, he looked at me, his eyes filled with a quiet, venomous hatred.

I did not look back at him.

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the dark leather ledger.

A tall man in a plain trench coat stepped into the cabin, his shield pinned to his lapel.

He was the state investigator I had contacted through an intermediary three hours ago.

“Dante Moretti?” he asked, his voice flat.

“I am,” I said.

I placed the heavy book on the desk, right next to my discarded gun.

“Everything is in here,” I said.

“Every name, every dollar, every transaction.”

“My father’s legacy, and my own.”

The investigator looked at the book, then up at me.