Page 13 of Code Name: Dante

I got an alert that Tank had arrived right on schedule, as usual. His expression was grim when we reviewed the overnight reports together.

“Security teams noticed some suspicious activity around zero three hundred,” he said. “Nothing direct, but?—”

“Enough to make it obvious they’re testing our response times.” I recognized the pattern. A familiar dance of predator and prey. “What have you found on the vehicle?”

“Stolen plates. Professional job.” Tank’s jaw tightened. “As you know, these aren’t amateurs.”

We drove through the misty morning in tense silence, both of us hyperaware of our surroundings. Every intersection, every alleyway represented a potential threat. My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as memories of similar escorts flooded back—though then, I’d been the threat, not the protection.

“Do you think Lark and her grandmother will come along willingly?” Tank asked.

“They have no choice,” I replied, my voice rougher than intended. “The alternative…” I let the words hang there, unwilling to voice my fears.

We pulledup to the Gregory house, where two SUVs waited in convoy formation. Through the glare of the morning sun, Lark emerged onto the porch, her white-blonde hair catching the light. The sight of her made my chest tight—both with relief that she was safe and fear for what could happen if we didn’t get her and her grandmother away from here soon.

She wore jeans and a simple sweater but carried herself with the same quiet dignity she always did. Behind her, I could see Mrs. Gregory through the window, methodically packing kitchen items.

“Everything’s ready,” Tank reported, checking in with the security team already in place. “Perimeter’s clear. Two-vehicle escort, with a third running surveillance.”

“I need my car,” said Lark, her voice carrying across the damp morning air. “To get back and forth to Gloversville each day.”

“Not happening.” The words came out harsh, my fear overriding diplomacy. “The shop needs to close temporarily.”

”Like hell, it does,” she shot back, descending the porch steps with fierce determination. “That shop is all we have left of our family’s legacy. I won’t let anyone—especially not a Castellano—tell me when to close it.”

“I’ll repeat. You cannot keep it open.”

Her eyes flashed. “You don’t get to make that decision.”

“Lark—” I took a step toward her, fighting the urge to reach for her, to make her understand the danger she was in.

“No.” She backed away, arms crossed. “I see what’s happening here. You’re just like them—like your father, like your brother. Trying to control everything, everyone.”

The accusation hit like a sucker punch. Being compared to my father and Vincent—it was everything I’d fought against. “That’s not what this is.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, a Castellano is once again trying to tell me what to do with my family’s business.” She turned and stormed inside. I followed and watched her race upstairs, each step an angry punctuation mark.

“This isn’t good,” Tank, who’d followed us inside, muttered under his breath.

Before I could respond, Mrs. Gregory approached, brandishing her cane. “A word, Mr. Castellano.”

She led me into the kitchen, positioning herself between me and the door. My eyes were immediately drawn to the determined set of her jaw—so like Lark’s.

“What are your intentions with my granddaughter?” she blurted.

“To keep her safe.”

“What else?”

“That’s what is most important.”

She tapped her cane on the floor repeatedly. “But there’s more. Either tell me the truth, or I’ll…” She lifted the thing that looked more like an instrument of terror than something she relied on to keep her steady as she walked.

Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe her unwavering glare broke through my defenses, but I couldn’t hold back.

“Can you, uh, put that down, and can we maybe take a seat?”

She sneered at me, but it was evident her anger was already enough to exhaust her even without the added physical exertion. “Start talking,Castellano.”

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