Page 23 of Code Name: Dante

“My husband’s grandmother taught me.”

I thought about that for a minute. “Weren’t they from Wales?”

She shook her head. “Glasgow,” she said, then began humming like she always did when she cooked.

“Well, that explains it,” I muttered, laughing.

“Explains what?” Alice asked, coming downstairs before I’d had the chance to go get her.

“I asked Gram how she learned to make sauce.”

“And?” Alice prompted.

I shook my head. “Her explanation made no sense to me, so I doubt it would to you, either.” I caught my grandmother glance at me over her shoulder. There was something about her expression that told me I should drop the subject. Almost as if she’d lied about who she learned it from. Later, when we were alone, I’d ask. Not that she’d tell me if she didn’t want to.

Gram resumed humming while gathering ingredients. “Lark, chop the onions. Alice, you crush the garlic. And you—” She pointed her wooden spoon at Tank, who I hadn’t noticed come downstairs. “Stay out of my way.”

For the next hour, we fell into a rhythm that almost felt normal. The familiar scent of Gram’s sauce filled the kitchen, and her running commentary on proper preparation provided a welcome distraction. Every so often, I’d check my phone, telling myself I did it to make sure I hadn’t heard anything more from Karen about the coffee shop. The truth, though, was I was hoping for news from Alessandro.

“Any update?” Alice asked.

I put my hands on my hips. “Would you stop doing that? It’s starting to freak me out. It’s like you can read my mind.”

“What you’re thinking is written all over your face,” Gram said from where she stood, stirring the sauce.

“He’ll be fine,” Alice said quietly as we worked side by side. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“I’m not worried about him,” I lied, focusing on dicing more tomatoes.

Since my grandmotherinsisted on making a double batch and a single one would’ve fed twenty people, Alice asked Admiral to see if some of the guys wanted to come up to the house for dinner. Grit was the first to show up. “Perimeter check is clear,” he reported. “We’ve got teams posted at all access points.”

“Any news on the shop?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“Secure. The water’s been shut off, and we’ve got people watching it round the clock.” He hesitated. “Oh, and the crew found more stored boxes that they’re bringing in now, but there’s one you might want to come up to see.”

I wiped my hands on a dish towel. “What is it?”

“A metal container full of old photographs.”

My heart leaped. “From the factory?”

He nodded.

“Go ahead,” Gram said before I could ask. “Alice and I will finish up here, then the boys can bring everything upstairs.”

I followed Grit up to the great room, where several piles of things had been neatly arranged. The metal box he’d mentioned sat apart from the others, its surface scratched but intact. With trembling fingers, I opened the latch.

Inside, black-and-white photographs captured moments frozen in time—workers at their stations, proud displays of finished gloves, my great-grandfather standing in front of the factory. Each image was a piece of our history that hadn’t been lost to fire or flood.

“There’s more,” Grit said, pointing to a stack of leather-bound ledgers. “Account books, order records, and additional glove patterns.”

I traced my fingers over the faded handwriting, recognizing my great-grandfather’s precise script. “I don’t remember seeing these before.”

“Blackjack said Alessandro insisted they check every corner and nothing be left behind. Which means there are bags and bags of coffee beans they don’t know what to do with.”

I laughed about the beans, but the rest meant more to me than I had words to convey. The same determination that had driven Alessandro to bring down his own brother, his own family, would ensure no detail was overlooked, no piece of my family’s heritage lost if he could help it.

When my phone buzzed and I saw a text from him, I couldn’t contain my smile.Made it to the city. Everything okay there?

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