Page 33 of Code Name: Dante

“What was it?” I asked.

“Information about the shell companies, but it was gone before I could get a good look.”

“Can you get back in?” Lark moved to look over her shoulder.

“Not tonight. They’re using some serious security protocols. I’ll need to call in reinforcements. There’s a guy I work with, Tex, who has the ability to get beyond brick walls no one else can.” She started typing again.

“But there’s something else. The timing of when your mother left and when Alessandro’s mom disappeared?—”

“Wait,” Lark interrupted sharply. When we both looked at her, she shook her head. “I mean, I need to talk to Gram first.”

Something in her tone made me straighten. “Lark? What is it?”

“Just…trust me. Please.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don’t want her to have time to invent a story that isn’t the truth. I know that sounds terrible.”

I studied her face, seeing the same fear I’d felt on the flight from Manhattan. Whatever connected our families, whatever secrets lay buried in Gloversville’s past, there was a good chance uncovering them would change everything. The thought of causing Lark more pain made my chest ache, but I knew from experience that secrets like these only grew more poisonous with time.

Tank appeared in the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of the light from the hall. “Perimeter check’s done. All clear for now. But…” He hesitated, which wasn’t like him.

“What is it?”

“Found fresh cigarette butts on the shore, not far beyond camp property. Same brand we found outside the coffee shop right after the four guys left.”

I nodded, filing away that detail. “Increase patrols on the waterside. And get someone on the roof—I want eyes on all approaches.”

“Already done.” He withdrew, leaving us with the weight of this new information.

My attention stayed on Lark as she paced from the windows back to the fireplace, staring into the dying embers. “Everyone in that town has secrets,” she said quietly. “But why do I feel like the ones my own grandmother is keeping from me are the worst of them?”

I didn’t have an answer, but watching her silhouetted against the fading fire, I made a silent vow. Whatever game Vincent was playing, whatever secrets lay buried in our families’ shared past, I wouldn’t let him hurt her. Even if it meant facing truths I wasn’t ready to uncover.

The night stretched ahead, full of questions without answers. But one thing was certain—until we figured out why the Gregory family was so important to him, why he seemed to take such pleasure in tormenting them specifically, none of us were safe. Lark especially. As I watched her blank stare, I couldn’t shake another feeling—that we were running out of time to uncover the truth before Vincent’s meticulously laid plans came to fruition.

In the distance, the now-familiar loon’s cry echoed across the water, its mournful sound a fitting end to a night filled with dark possibilities.

12

LARK

“I’m calling it a night,” Alice announced, closing her laptop when her husband came looking for her. “Good night, Lark. Good night, Dante.”

The living room felt different now, colder once Pershing followed his wife to bed after ensuring the security teams were in place for the night shift.

“You should get some rest too,” Alessandro said, though he made no move to get up from where he sat on the couch. Notes from the day’s court proceedings were spread across the coffee table in front of him, along with security reports I tried not to look too closely at.

“So should you.” I curled deeper into the armchair I’d claimed earlier, watching the fire dance in the massive stone fireplace. “But we both know that’s not happening.”

He’d rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms marked with old scars. The warm glow caught the angles of his face, softening them, but did nothing to hide his exhaustion. Still, there was something compelling about seeing him like this—guard slightly lowered, the fierce protector allowing himself a moment of vulnerability.

“I could make us some tea that would help us sleep, if you’d like,” I offered.

“I’d love it,” he said, setting aside a stack of papers. “Can I help?”

“I’ve got it. Just relax.” I went to the downstairs kitchen, turned on the electric kettle, and scooped my custom chamomile blend into the tea infuser.

A few seconds later, Alessandro came to stand beside me. “That smells really good,” he commented in a soft voice.

“A proper appreciation for tea is the mark of a civilized man.”

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