Page 52 of Code Name: Dante

“Sadly, yes. With one, anyway. The other came from one of those ancestry places.” She pulled something up on the monitor. “Well, that one would be a great-grandparent. Richard Mazzeo. Born in 1921. Date of death was 1978. Ring any bells?”

I shook my head, but it certainly did. While there was no love lost between the Mazzeo family and the Rossetti’s, both considered the Castellanos mortal enemies. So what in the hell had gone on back in 1998?

When Alice,Admiral, Tank, Blackjack, and I approached the stairs, the scent of the soup and freshly baked bread wafted up to us.

“Something smells amazing,” said Grit, coming in from the boathouse once we’d reached the bottom step. “I hope there’s enough for me.”

“I always make enough to feed an army,” Barbara said, her earlier tension seemingly forgotten as she dished more helpings.

“Lucky for us,” Grit grinned, helping to gather extra chairs.

We settled around the table, steam rising from our bowls in delicate spirals. The simple meal somehow felt more special than any elaborate dinner I’d had in my previous life. Maybe because it was a gathering of people, all of whom shared no agenda other than keeping those they loved safe without it meaning others had to come to harm—unless in self-defense.

“This is delicious,” I said after my first spoonful, and meant it.

Barbara nodded, accepting the compliment with grace. “Food has a way of bringing people together,” she said thoughtfully. “Of helping them find common ground.”

Under the table, Lark’s hand found mine and squeezed gently. The simple contact grounded me, reminding me what I was fighting for. Not just justice or redemption, but a future. One that included quiet dinners, shared laughter, and a love worth protecting.

“More soup?” Barbara offered, already reaching for my bowl.

“Please,” I said and saw the first genuine smile she’d given me all evening.

Soon,the dining area was filled with conversation as we sat back in our chairs, stomachs full. Blackjack regaled us with stories from his time in the service, edited for Barbara’s benefit. Alice and Admiral shared knowing looks across their soup bowls, their easy intimacy a glimpse of what Lark and I might have once all this was behind us.

Through it all, her presence beside me was like a magnetic force. Every accidental touch of her arm against mine, every shared smile, every quiet laugh made my heart race. Again, the domesticity of the scene made me long for a life filled with such simplicity.

“More bread?” Lark offered, passing the basket. Her fingers brushed mine deliberately, sending electricity through my system.

“Thanks,” I managed, wondering if everyone could hear how my voice deepened at her touch.

As the evening wore on, the conversation continued to flow easily. Barbara even laughed at another of Blackjack’s stories, though her eyes still held a wariness when they landed on me. Progress was progress, no matter how small.

“Is there any urgency in meeting tonight?” I asked Grit when we both pushed back from the table and began clearing dishes.

“I was about to suggest we postpone until tomorrow morning.” He rubbed his stomach. “After that meal, I might get my first good night’s sleep in what feels like weeks.”

Later, after the dishes were washed and put away and everyone had dispersed to their various posts and rooms, Lark and I found ourselves alone in the downstairs great room since her grandmother had been among the first to call it a night. The fire had burned low, casting a soft glow across her features as she curled into the corner of the sofa. I sat beside her, pulling her close. She fit perfectly against me, her head resting on my chest. Through the windows, the storm had softened to a gentle rain, its rhythm almost hypnotic.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she whispered after a while.

My heart thundered in my chest. “Lark?—”

She raised her head to look at me. “Please?”

“What are you suggesting?” The truth was, I was all in, regardless.

“Just sleep. I think we’ll both rest easier if we’re together.”

The admission, so simple and honest, undid me completely. I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Okay.” Then I stood and held my hand out to her, leading her down the hallway.

Once inside her room, we moved around each other carefully, suddenly less comfortable. She disappeared into the bathroom and emerged wearing soft pajamas, her face freshly washed and glowing.

When we finally lay in bed, her back pressed against my chest, everything felt right in a way I couldn’t explain. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in the subtle scent of her shampoo.

“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

In answer, I tightened my arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “More than okay.”

---