Page 61 of Code Name: Dante

“Gram? Can we please talk?” I asked, rapping softly on the door. When I heard rustling, I braced myself, raising and lowering my shoulders.

“Come in,” she called after what felt like an eternity, her voice muffled through the heavy door. I took a deep breath, clutching my notes like a shield, and entered.

She sat in the armchair by the window, her cane propped against the wall beside her. The morning light caught the silver in her hair, reminding me of old photographs I’d seen of her in her youth. Her hands were folded in her lap, but I could see them trembling.

I settled on the edge of her bed, close enough to talk, but far enough to give her space. “There are some things we’ve learned. Things that don’t make sense. I thought maybe if I shared them with you…”

“Little bird.” The familiar nickname carried a weight of sadness I’d never heard before. “Some things?—”

“Are kept secret for a reason. Yes, I know.” I unfolded my paper, determined to stay calm. “But, Gram, these aren’t just any secrets. They’re about my mother. About Alessandro’s mother. About why Vincent Castellano had me watched my entire life.”

She flinched at Vincent’s name, her fingers clutching the arms of her chair. “What do you mean, watched?”

“Alice found photographs. Hundreds of them, spanning years.” My voice cracked slightly. “Someone’s been following me since I was a toddler.” I watched for any sign of recognition. Any hint that she’d known about this surveillance all along. “Did you know?”

Her silence was answer enough. She had no intention of telling me she had.

“There was a DNA match to mine,” I continued. “To someone named Richard Mazzeo. According to Alice, the percentage of shared genetics indicates he would’ve been my great-grandfather. On my father’s side, obviously.”

Gram’s fingers clutched the armrests of her chair. “That name means nothing to me.”

“Really? Because one of the guys who came into the coffee shop had a Mazzeo family-crest tattoo. Seems likequitea coincidence.”

She turned to look out the window, but not before I caught the flash of recognition in her eyes. “Coincidences happen all the time.”

“Like the Castellano compound on Great Sacandaga Lake having occupants after sitting empty for years?” I pressed on. “Alice found evidence that as many as three people might be living there now.”

“Little bird—” Her voice held a warning, but I couldn’t heed it. Not now.

“And there’s more.” My hands trembled as I consulted my notes, though I’d memorized every detail. “They found a body back in 1998. An unidentified woman. They’re running DNA tests.” I paused, gauging her reaction. “There might have been a second person—one who was injured but got away.”

Gram’s face had gone ashen. “Stop.”

“No.” I stood, my earlier resolve to remain calm crumbling. “I need to know about my father. About Amelia Castellano. About my mother. Where is she, Gram? What really happened?”

“I told you—some things are better left?—”

“In the past. Yes, I know.” I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. “And as I said, this isn’t just the past, Gram. This is my life. My history. Why did my mother leave me with you? I don’t believe it was because she wanted some fancy, glamorous life. I think it was something else entirely.”

She was quiet for so long I thought she wouldn’t respond. Finally, she said, “There were complications. With the birth.”

I sat back down, hardly daring to breathe. This was the first new information she’d offered in years. “What kind of complications?”

“Your mother…” She twisted her hands in her lap. “She needed surgery, then time to recover. She asked me to care for you while she did.”

“And then? Why didn’t she come back for me after she recovered?”

But Gram’s momentary openness had already closed. She turned back to the window, her profile rigid. “This is all Alessandro’s fault,” she said quietly. “Making you believe you can dig up the past without consequences.”

“No.” I stood again. “You don’t get to blame him for this. We’re going to Great Sacandaga Lake, Gram. We’re going to find out who’s living there.”

The color drained from her face completely. She grabbed her cane and used it to push herself up, swaying slightly. “You can’t,” she whispered. “Lark, please. You have no idea—” Her voice broke. “The danger?—”

“Then, tell me!Tell me what you know, what you’re so afraid of!”

But she just shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Go if you must. But remember I warned you—some doors, once opened, can never be closed again. Whatever happens, the consequences will be on your shoulders and Alessandro’s. I’ve done all I can do.” She turned so her back was to me.

I moved toward the door, my heart heavy. “I’ll leave you alone for now, Gram. But this isn’t over. Whatever you’re hiding, whatever you’re afraid of—I’m going to find out the truth.”

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