Page 10 of Code Name: Dante

“Gram,” I began softly. “This is different. Yes, Alessandro suggested it, but we’d be staying with Alice and her husband, Pershing. You’ve met her.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

“You know they have a great camp on the lake, and they have people who work there who do private security for a living.” I was making some of this up as I went along, but from what I’d learned from Alice, I was close to accurate.

She studied me, tapping her finger on the table. “You want me to go to Canada Lake? Leave my home? The shop?”

“I could commute each day to keep it open. Like I said, maybe adjust the hours?—”

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “We don’t run.”

“It’s not running; it’s being smart.” I moved closer, taking her hands in mine. “I’ve been looking at the books. Three of our biggest wholesale accounts canceled this week. I don’t know if it’s a coincidence or if someone is putting pressure on them.”

“All the more reason to stay and fight.”

“Or maybe it’s a reason to be strategic.” I squeezed her hands. “Remember what you always tell me about the perfect cup of coffee? Sometimes you have to let it rest, let the flavors develop.”

“When the glove factory burned, the fire department called it an accident.” Gram’s voice was barely above a whisper. “But we all knew. The whole town knew. And now, here you are, trusting another Castellano.”

“It’s not like that.” But even as I continued to protest, doubt crept in. Alessandro might be different from his brother, might genuinely want to help, but could I trust my judgment? Could I risk everything we’d rebuilt?

“Your mother said the same thing.” Gram turned back to the stove, but not before I saw the tears in her eyes. “Before she ran off with that smooth-talking ‘businessman’ who turned out to be running money for a rival mob. Before she left you here with me because it was ‘safer.’”

The weight of her words pressed down on me. My mom’s occasional postcards from wherever she’d landed. The birthday calls that grew less frequent over the years. How Gram had stepped in to raise me, determined that I wouldn’t follow the same path.

“I’m not her,” I said again, more firmly this time. “And Alessandro isn’t his brother, father, or grandfather.” Why was I defending him? Before his reminder of how I’d feel if something happened to Gram, I’d been just as opposed to leaving as she was.

She looked at me over her shoulder. “So why are you shaking?”

I glanced down at my hands and realized she was right. They trembled when I reached for another handful of the meat mixture. “It’s been a long day.”

“Little bird.” The gentleness in her voice made my throat tight. “I know you want to see the good in people. But some names carry too much history. Too much pain.”

Was she right? Was he truly trying to help, or was this how it started? A gentle approach, an offer of assistance, until you were in too deep to get out from under the Castellanos’ control?

Gram was quiet for a long moment, stirring the sauce with slow, deliberate movements. “Did I ever tell you about the day your great-great-grandfather opened the factory?”

How many times had I heard her start her stories that way? “Did I ever tell you…?” Each time, I wanted to say I’d heard whatever she was about to say hundreds of times. Instead, I shook my head. Even if I said I’d heard it, she’d tell me again anyway, to remind us both what we’d lost. What we were fighting to preserve.

“He came to this country with nothing but his skill and his dreams.” Her voice took on the cadence of a familiar story. “He built everything from scratch. And when he finally hung that hand-carved sign over the door, my grandmother cried. She said it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.”

I could picture it clearly from the old photographs taken years later when Werner Hoffman, Gram’s father and my great-grandfather, took over from his dad—the proud storefront, the gleaming windows displaying fine leather gloves. A legacy of craftsmanship and honest work.

“The sign was the only thing they were able to save the night of the fire.” She shuddered. “Some burns never heal, little bird. Some debts can never be repaid.”

I moved to hug her, careful not to get meat mixture on her clothes. “I know, Gram. I know.”

She patted my cheek with her free hand. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. These people—they know how to make everything seem fine until it’s not. They know how to turn your own heart against you.”

“I promise.” And I meant it, even as Alessandro’s face floated through my mind. His earnest expression when he’d asked me to trust him. How he’d noticed the threatening letter before I could hide it.

We finished preparing dinner in companionable silence, falling into the familiar rhythm of cooking together. But as we sat down to eat, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting. That despite my best intentions, I was being pulled into currents I might not be strong enough to resist.

I was about to stand to clean up when Gram put her hand on my arm. “You said we could keep the shop open?”

“Yes. It’s not that far. I can commute. But, Gram, I’m not as worried about a business as I am about you.” I caught her eye. “I need to know you’re safe. Please.” Maybe there was something in my voice or that I was pleading with her that made her back down. Whatever it was, I couldfeelher relenting.

“Your great-grandfather would say I’m being a coward.”

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