Page 49 of Code Name: Dante

His arms tightened around me. “Let’s just stay here a moment longer.”

We sat in comfortable silence, watching the fire dance. Despite everything—the threats, the mysteries, the weight of family secrets—this felt right. Being here, with him, facing whatever came next together.

“Tell me something good,” I blurted.

“Something good?”

“Yes. I need something to look forward to.”

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. “When this is all over—when Vincent’s in prison and we’ve uncovered whatever secrets he’s using against us—I want to take you somewhere. Anywhere you want to go.”

“Anywhere?”

“Name it.”

“Florence,” I said without hesitation. “I’ve always wanted to see it.”

His smile was warm. “Italy. I should have known.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “We’ll go to Florence. Walk the old streets, drink wine in tiny cafes, and explore the galleries.”

“You’re the one who made me think of it.”

His head cocked. “I did?”

“You said, ‘I’ll be able to hold your hand as we walk down any street we want to, whether it’s here in Gloversville or in Manhattan or in Florence, Italy.’ I wondered how you knew that, out of everywhere in the world, that’s the place I wanted to see the most.”

His eyes closed momentarily, nodding slowly. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.”

“Just us?”

He nuzzled my neck. “I’m dreaming of the day it can be just us.” His voice held a promise that made my heart flutter. “You and me making new memories to replace the old ones. Memories that are ours alone.”

The image was so appealing it almost hurt. “I’d like that.”

“Then, it’s a promise.”

Before I could respond, Alice appeared in the doorway again. Unlike earlier, her expression was serious. “Your grandmother’s asking for help with dinner. Both of you.”

Something in her tone caught my attention. She had news—I could see it in her eyes—but it would have to wait.

“Coming,” I said, reluctantly pulling away from Alessandro. He caught my hand before I could step away.

“Remember,” he said softly. “Keep your eye on the prize, Lark. You. Me. Alone. Together.”

I squeezed his fingers, drawing strength from the simple contact.

As we made our way to the kitchen, I felt like we were actors taking our places on a stage. The familiar scene of making dinner with Gram felt surreal now, knowing it was just a facade over deeper currents of secrets and lies. But maybe that’s what families were—layers of truth and pretense, love and fear, all simmering together like Gram’s sauce—not that it was hers alone. The recipe came from Alessandro’s grandmother. That in itself had to mean something. But what?

Gram stood in the kitchen, gathering ingredients for her homemade chicken noodle soup, gripping her favorite wooden spoon. For a moment, watching her, I could almost pretend nothing had changed.

When she glanced over at me and her eyes immediately hooded, I was reminded too soon that everything had.

17

DANTE

Iwatched Barbara Gregory’s practiced movements as she began preparing dinner, noting how her earlier fear seemed to have retreated behind a wall of the domestic routine. Despite this not being a kitchen she was that familiar with, she moved with the confidence of someone who’d spent a lifetime cooking for others, gathering ingredients with an almost mechanical precision.

When she reached for a knife and cutting board, her hands that had been shaking steadied. Whatever had rattled her before was now masked behind rituals she used to erect walls she believed unscalable.

---