Page 30 of Code Name: Dante

“No!”She gasped. “She didn’t know him.”

“How can you be sure?”

“We have customers to take care of,” she snapped, slamming her cane into the linoleum floor when she stalked away.

Customers? I doubted we’d have a single one for the remainder of the day, given we no longer had a front window.

When my phone buzzed again, I considered ignoring it, but I couldn’t. Who knew what new threat might pop up.

Are you okay?said the message from Alessandro.

Yes. The front window was shattered, but no one was hurt.

I’m sorry.

I wanted to ask why his family hated us so much, but didn’t. Instead I wrote,Blackjack told me your brother mentioned Gram in court.

Dots appeared on the screen like he was typing something else, then went away. I waited, and when I didn’t see more, I stuffed the phone in my pocket.

I looked around at the shattered glass, at the security team already boarding up the window, and at my grandmother, who I now believed knew far more than she was willing to say.

We need to talk,I typed on the screen.

His response was immediate.Leaving the city now.

We leftGloversville a short while later and drove to Canada Lake. When we arrived, Alice opened the door and raced down the front steps.

“I heard what happened. Are you all right?”

“Shaken but not hurt,” I said, watching as Tank helped Gram inside. “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” I said once I was sure my grandmother couldn’t hear me.

“Anything.”

“There are two people I need to find—my mother and Alessandro’s. Something tells me one or both of them know why Vincent wants to destroy our family.” I just prayed that the reason he did had nothing to do with me.

“Come inside, and we’ll get started.”

11

DANTE

The flight from Manhattan to Albany gave me too much time to think. Vincent’s words in court kept repeating in my head: “Give my regards to Barbara.” The deliberate way he’d said her name, watching for my reaction. My brother never said anything without purpose, each word was chosen for maximum impact. I’d seen him destroy people with nothing more than well-placed phrases, watching them unravel as they tried to decipher his meaning.

The setting sun painted the colorful clouds outside my window, but I barely noticed the view. My mind kept circling back to the way Vincent had smirked when he mentioned Barbara Gregory’s name, like a cat toying with its prey. There was something there, some connection I wasn’t seeing, and that blind spot could get someone killed.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” The flight attendant’s voice pulled me from my dark thoughts. Her practiced smile faltered slightly when she met my eyes, and I wondered what she saw there.

I shook my head, checking my phone again. Another update from Tank about the brick through the coffee shop window. The message included a photo of the note that was eerily similar to ones I’d seen our family send in the past. Which meant my theory about Vincent finding ways to threaten those who stood in his way, even while in custody, was on point. But something about this felt different from his usual intimidation tactics. More personal. Like he was enjoying a private joke at my expense.

The man next to me cleared his throat, obviously annoyed by my constant phone checking. HisWall Street Journalrustled pointedly as he shifted away from me. I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not when every moment I spent in this metal tube flying over New York State was another moment I couldn’t protect Lark and her grandmother. The thought of them alone at the lake house, even with K19’s security team in place, made my jaw clench.

“We’re beginning our descent into Albany International,” the flight attendant announced. I gripped the armrest, my knuckles white. Not from fear of flying, but from the growing certainty that I was missing something crucial. Some connection that would explain why my brother seemed so focused on the Gregory family.

The moment we landed, I was out of my seat and moving, shouldering past slower passengers with muttered apologies. The drive to Canada Lake stretched ahead of me, each mile marked by mounting tension. McKinney called just as I retrieved my car from long-term parking.

“Vincent’s been moved to solitary,” she reported. “No contact with anyone except his lawyer.”

“How’s he taking it?” I asked, throwing my bag into the passenger seat and starting the engine.

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