"Drive faster."

Elena's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The stolen sedan was already doing ninety through Manhattan streets, weaving through late night traffic like a bullet. "I'm going as fast as I can without getting us killed."

"Then go faster anyway." Dante was staring at his phone. At that message. At those two words that had just destroyed everything.

Ten minutes.

They had ten minutes to get from a storage unit in Hoboken to Pier 17 in lower Manhattan. Ten minutes to save a man's life.

It wasn't enough time. They both knew it.

"Call Chen," Dante said. "Tell him to get his people to Pier 17 now."...