I was rushing into the Regency Crown late for a board dinner when a woman standing in the rain under the awning, a sleeping toddler wrapped tight in her arms, stepped in front of me and begged for any work at all because her little girl hadn’t eaten in two days—then she lifted her face, and the world stopped, because it was Emily, my wife, the woman I’d buried in a closed casket two years before after her car burned out on the highway.

Marcus was the first to hear them.

He had been dozing in the chair by the door, his gun across his lap. Years of training had taught him to wake at the slightest sound that didn’t belong. The creak of a step. The scratch of a key in a lock. The almost imperceptible hum of a radio being keyed.

His eyes snapped open.

“Michael,” he whispered. “We have company.”

Michael was across the room in an instant, gun drawn. Emily grabbed Sophie from the bedroom, the little girl still half-asleep, rubbing her eyes.

“How many?” Michael asked.

“At least three,” Marcus said. “Moving up the stairs now. Professional. Quiet. Not local police.”

“Back exit?”

“Fire escape. But it drops into an alley. If they have anyone covering the rear—”

“We don’t have a choice.”

Marcus moved to the door. He pressed his ear against it, counting footsteps.

“Three,” he mouthed. “Outside. Waiting.”

Michael looked at Emily.

“Stay behind me,” he said. “Whatever happens, don’t stop running.”

She nodded. She had a gun of her own now—small, light, easy to handle. Marcus had taught her the basics on the plane. She still hoped she would never have to use it. But she knew, with a terrible certainty, that she would.

Marcus counted down on his fingers.

Three.

Two.

One.

He threw the door open.

The first man went down before he could raise his weapon—Marcus moving faster than Emily had ever seen anyone move. The second fired a shot that went wild, blowing a hole in the wall. Michael took him out with a single shot to the shoulder.

The third ran.

“GO!” Marcus shouted.

They ran the other way, down the back hall to the fire escape. Michael threw the window open. The metal stairs clanged loudly in the quiet morning. Below them, the alley was empty.

“Sophie first,” Michael said.

He strapped the little girl to his chest with a carrier they kept ready for just this moment. She was fully awake now, but she didn’t cry. She only buried her face in his neck, her small fists clutching his shirt.

They descended fast. Three flights. The ground was ten feet below the last landing. Michael jumped first, rolling to absorb the impact, protecting Sophie with his body. Emily followed. Marcus came last, covering them.

They ran down the alley, turning left, then right, then left again, trying to put distance between themselves and the apartment. Behind them, they heard shouting. More men had arrived.

A car was waiting at the mouth of the alley—one of Marcus’s backups, a young kid named Javi who had been with them since the hotel.

“Get in!” Javi shouted.

They piled into the car. Javi peeled out, tires smoking, before the doors were even fully closed.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Train station,” Michael said. “We’re getting out of Zurich. Now.”

They rode in silence for five minutes, everyone breathing hard, listening for sirens that didn’t come.

“Who were they?” Emily asked.

“Not Arthur’s men,” Marcus said. “Arthur’s guys are corporate. Suits. These were soldiers. Real ones. The kind you only find in one place.”

“Victoria,” Michael said.

“Even from prison?”

“Victoria has spent forty years making friends with the worst people on earth,” Marcus said. “If she wants someone dead, she doesn’t need a phone. She just needs a message passed through the right visitor. And with Arthur gone, she’s got nothing left to lose. If she’s going down, she’s taking all of us with her.”

Emily looked out the window. The city was waking up. People walked to work. Cafés opened their doors. Children went to school. A whole world of normal people living normal lives, completely unaware that three floors above them, a war had just been fought.

“Why can’t it just end?” she whispered.

Michael put his arm around her.

“It will,” he said. “I promise. After today.”

The train station was chaos. Commuters rushed in every direction. Announcements blared in three languages. It was the perfect place to disappear.

Michael bought tickets for a train leaving in ten minutes, bound for a small village in the Italian Alps. No roads. No airports. Just one train a day in and out. If Victoria’s men were going to find them there, they would have to work for it.

They stood near the platform, trying to look like just another family on vacation. Sophie was playing with a stuffed rabbit, completely oblivious. Marcus scanned the crowd, his hand inside his jacket.

And then Emily saw her.

Across the station, standing near the information booth.

She was older. Her hair was white now. She wore a simple gray dress and a coat that looked far too expensive for someone who was supposed to be in prison. But the eyes were the same. Cold. Calculating. Empty of anything that resembled a soul.

Victoria.

Emily’s blood turned to slush.

“Michael,” she breathed. “Twelve o’clock.”

Michael looked. His whole body went rigid.

“That’s impossible,” he said. “She’s in maximum security. There’s no way—”

“Money,” Marcus said. “Enough of it can open any door. Even Rikers.”

Victoria looked directly at them. She smiled. It was the smile of a predator who had cornered her prey.

She raised one hand and gave a small, elegant wave.

And then all hell broke loose.

Men appeared from every direction. From behind pillars. From the coffee shop. From the bathroom doors. Dozens of them. Moving fast, cutting off every exit.

“Train!” Michael shouted.

The whistle blew. The doors were beginning to close.

They ran.

Shots rang out over the crowd. People screamed and dove for cover. Sophie started to cry. Emily fired her gun once at the ceiling, creating a moment of panic that opened a path through the stampede.

They reached the train just as the doors were sliding shut. Marcus jammed his arm between them, forcing them back open. They tumbled inside, landing in a heap on the floor.

The doors slammed shut.

The train began to move.

Emily scrambled to the window. Victoria was standing on the platform, watching them leave. She didn’t look angry. She looked amused.

As the train picked up speed, Emily saw something that made her heart stop.

Further down the track, a truck was parked across the rails.

“Michael!” she screamed.

He looked.

“BRAKES!” he shouted, running for the emergency cord.

But it was too late.

The train hit the truck at seventy miles an hour.

Metal screamed. Glass exploded. The world flipped over and over. Emily was thrown across the car, hitting her head hard on something metal. Lights flashed. Darkness closed in.