Page 56 of Code Name: Dante

“Gram?” My anger dissolved into concern as I stepped toward her, reaching out to steady her. “What is it? Just tell me.”

Tears filled her eyes again as she sat on the edge of the bed. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Some secrets,” she said, “are kept for a reason.”

At that moment, I realized that whatever she was hiding, whatever truth lay buried beneath years of silence, was eating her alive. And now, watching her shoulders shake with silent sobs, I wondered if I’d gone too far.

A noise from the hallway made me turn. Alessandro stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and determination. Our eyes met, and when he held his hand out to me, I knew that, as soon as I took the first step in toward him, it would mark the end of one life and the beginning of another. It was up to Gram whether she wanted to be a part of the new one Alessandro and I would build together. I’d welcome her, but only if she was willing to leave the secrets and lies behind.

19

DANTE

After Barbara’s emotional breakdown, Lark and I went upstairs. Alice was in her office, and her expression when we entered told me she’d found something significant. Multiple monitors displayed satellite images, property records, and what looked like utility records.

Lark’s hand found mine as we settled into chairs beside the workspace. The simple contact helped ground me, even as anxiety churned in my stomach about what we might discover.

After everything that had happened—the coffee shop flooding, the years of surveillance, the brick through the window with Vincent’s message—I wasn’t sure how either of us would handle more revelations. But secrets had a way of surfacing, no matter how deeply they were buried.

“Tell us what you found,” I said quietly, noting how Lark’s fingers tightened around mine.

Alice turned one of her monitors toward us. “I’ve been digging into the compound’s history. There’s something strange about the period between 1998 and 2011.” She pulled up a series of satellite images. “During those years, it appeared completely abandoned. Only minimal utility usage, no maintenance records, nothing to indicate anyone was living there.”

“My father died in 2010,” I said, memories of that time flooding back.

“Right. Here’s where it gets interesting.” She switched to more recent images. “After that last ownership transfer in 2011, someone clearly took up residence. Utilities were restored, regular deliveries began, and there’s evidence of ongoing maintenance.”

Lark leaned forward, studying the screen. The glow from the monitor caught her hair, creating that halo effect that had first drawn me to her at Method Tea and Coffee. “Can you tell who’s living there?”

“Not yet, but Tex helped me access some high-resolution overhead imagery.” Alice pulled up another set of photos. “There’s definitely someone in residence, but they’re careful. There’s no indication they ever leave the house.”

My training kicked in as I analyzed the images, looking for patterns, anomalies—anything that might give us answers about my mother’s disappearance or the connection to Lark’s family. “What about the deliveries?”

“There’s a caretaker who brings supplies—groceries, other necessities. Everything gets left on a screened porch.” She zoomed in on one image. “We can’t get a good enough angle to see who retrieves the deliveries.”

“Have you identified the caretaker?” I asked, thinking of all the ways Vincent had maintained his network of informants and accomplices over the years.

“Working on it. But there’s more.” She glanced at her phone as a new message came in. “Tank just reported evidence from overheads showing boats similar to the ones we spotted here on Canada Lake, approaching that property.”

Lark’s hand tightened in mine when Alice pulled up another image.

“Tex got this about an hour ago.”

The photo showed two boats, each carrying two men. One had his sleeves rolled up, revealing the same eagle tattoo I’d seen in the surveillance photos from the coffee-shop incident. The Mazzeo family symbol. The discovery of Lark’s possible connection to their family through DNA made the sight of that tattoo even more significant now.

“That mark,” I said quietly. “It matches the one from the guy who came into your shop.”

Lark’s eyes widened. “It does.”

I nodded grimly. Whatever game Vincent was playing, these guys were pawns—probably recruited from families with old connections to the Mazzeos. The real question was why my brother would be working with a rival family, especially one that might have ties to Lark.

“Grit, Tank, and Blackjack are setting up surveillance,” Alice continued. “They’ve got thermal-imaging equipment that shows only one person living in the main house.”

“My mother?” The word came out rougher than I’d intended. The thought of her possibly being alive, hidden away all these years, made my chest tight. She was only thirty-eight when she disappeared—just a few years older than I was now.

“It’s possible.” Alice’s fingers flew over her keyboard. “The deliveries are regular—every Sunday and Wednesday. Always the same caretaker, always the same protocol.”

“What about my mother?” Lark asked softly. “You said only one person lived there.”

Something inside me shifted. As much as I prayed everything we were learning would lead me to find my own mother, I wished it was Summer instead. She was nineteen when she vanished—barely more than a child herself, with a newborn baby that she left in her mother’s care.

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