The journey continues in the next chapter. Keep reading to see what happens.

“Contact! Left flank!” someone shouted in Russian.

Muzzle flashes bloomed in the semi-darkness as the remaining mercenaries scrambled for cover behind stacks of steel shipping containers. Bullets chipped concrete and whined off metal beams, sending sparks raining down through the humid air.

Marco and his assault team moved with lethal efficiency, suppressing fire with calculated bursts from their AR-15s, driving the mercenaries back toward the loading docks.

Luca didn’t wait for cover. He broke from the staircase straight across the open floor, his eyes locked entirely on the wooden chair in the center of the warehouse.

“Luca!” Rachel gasped, her eyes widening in sheer disbelief as she saw him sprinting toward them through the crossfire.

“Mommy! Mommy, who is that?” Emma cried out, burying her face into Rachel’s shoulder as bullets ricocheted off a metal crate just inches away.

Luca reached them in three long strides. He dropped to his knees beside Rachel, ignoring the blinding flash of pain in his wounded shoulder, and pulled a compact tactical knife from his boot. In seconds, the zip-ties binding Rachel’s wrists and ankles were slashed away.

Rachel pulled her arms free and immediately threw her arms around Emma, shielding the little girl's body with her own. She looked up at Luca, her face a storm of fury, terror, and overwhelming relief.

“You idiot,” Rachel choked out, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You absolute idiot, you walked right into their trap!”

“I’m here,” Luca said, his voice raw, reaching out with a trembling hand to brush a stray curl away from Emma’s tear-stained cheek. “I’m here, Rachel. They’re not touching you anymore.”

Emma slowly lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder. Her big green eyes—the exact shade of Luca’s own—blinked in confusion as she stared up at the tall, grim-faced man kneeling in front of her wearing body armor and holding a smoking pistol.

She had never seen him in real life.

She had never heard his voice in person.

Yet, instinctively, her small hand reached out and touched the stubble along Luca’s jawline. Her fingers traced the sharp line of his cheekbone, stopping right where her crayon had always left a blank white circle on her paper.

“You...” Emma whispered, her little voice trembling. “You have a face.”

Luca felt a tear break free and carve a hot path through the grime and sweat on his cheek. He covered her tiny hand with his own rough palm, pressing it tightly against his skin.

“I’m sorry I took so long, sweetheart,” Luca whispered, his voice cracking entirely. “I’m your daddy. And I’m never leaving again.”

Before Emma could answer, a heavy thud echoed behind them.

A mercenary had managed to flank their position, rising from behind a stack of pallets with a submachine gun raised directly at Luca’s back.

Luca didn’t turn. With supernatural speed, his left hand drew his secondary sidearm from his hip holster, leveled it without looking down the sights, and pulled the trigger twice.

Thwack. Thwack.

The mercenary dropped his weapon and crashed face-first onto the floor.

Marco jogged over, his rifle smoking, scanning the perimeter. “Area’s clear! The rest of them are retreating toward the water exits. But Luca—we’ve got incoming sirens. NYPD and harbor police are five minutes out. We have to move right now.”

Luca nodded. He scooped Emma up into his good arm, holding her tightly against his chest, while extending his other hand to help Rachel to her feet.

Emma buried her face into her father’s neck, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. She didn’t feel cold metal or terrifying shadows anymore. She felt warmth. She felt safety.