Page 45 of Code Name: Dante

“I need to change,” I muttered, walking away while processing both what Lark and I being detected and the circumstances of my birth meant. My brotherhadto know, but why hadn’t he ever told me? Had he feared I’d jump ship and claim ties to the rival family? Given my biological father was murdered when I was six years old, I wondered if the Rossettis even knew I shared their blood.

As with my mother’s disappearance, I could see him keeping the secret as long as Vincent Sr. was still alive, but it had been years since he died. Surely, in that time, my brother had considered ways he could use the information against me. It was his MO.

There was something else I was missing, and whatever it was, led my brother to believe he held all the cards. All I had to do was think like he did, something I hated to admit I’d gotten good at.

Hoping to avoid a conversation with anyone else, I raced up three flights of stairs to the bedroom Alice and Admiral had so graciously offered for my use, removed my wet clothes, and got in the shower, letting the steaming-hot water pummel the muscles of my neck, shoulders, and back. It was where I held all my tension, and right now, it felt like the sinew had turned to stone. A solid workout would do me a world of good as would a long run to clear my mind. I doubted I’d have time for either.

I hadn’t been out of the shower long enough to do more than towel myself dry and get partially dressed when my phone buzzed with a text from McKinney.Judge Hellerstein extended the recess until a week from Monday.The relief that flooded through me was immediate. I’d been dreading leaving Lark, especially now that more questions were coming in than answers.

A couple of minutes later, a second message came through, this one from Grit.The natives are getting restless in Gloversville,it read.The Rossetti, Belcastro, and Mazzeo families are jockeying for a piece of the Castellano pie.

That he’d mentioned Rossetti first was indicative of how deep the hatred between our families ran.And, while I wasn’t surprised to hear the struggle to claim power had already begun, with everything it appeared Vincent had been orchestrating from his jail cell, I was relieved to hear the families Grit mentioned weren’t holding back out of fear of Castellano retaliation.

That he’d included the Mazzeo family was particularly interesting. Unless my sources were way off, I didn’t think they had enough firepower to go up against the Rossettis or the Belcastros.

Either way, the news meant measures to keep the families from absorbing the crumbling territories had to be put in place immediately. That there were signs of takeovers in a place like Gloversville meant turf wars were likely already taking place in New York City.

Known players?I asked.

Grit’s response was quick.Mix of old faces and new.Working on IDs, but we confirmed the tattoo Lark spotted was the Mazzeo crest.

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me, remembering that had been my suspicion. When no other messages arrived, I grabbed a long-sleeved shirt, pulled it over my head, then went down to the main level, hoping to find Lark.

The great room was quiet except for the steady patter of rain against the windows. Alice had lit several candles. Their warm glow combined with the roaring fire created pockets of light that pushed back against the storm’s gloom. Scents I was starting to recognize—sage and lavender—lingered from her earlier meditation session with Lark, whose eyes met mine when I approached her and her grandmother. Rather than on the sofa, each woman sat in a chair that seemed worlds apart, given the tension permeating the room.

“Ladies,” I said, nodding my head when Barbara raised her chin and looked up at me.

“My granddaughter told me,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

I wondered what and how much, given how different the woman’s posture seemed. It was more rigid, like she was bracing for impact. The flames cast shadows across her face, deepening the lines of worry around her eyes.

“Barbara,” I said quietly. “Do you have any questions?”

She looked up sharply at the use of her first name. “About what this means for my granddaughter? I don’t suppose you have any idea, do you?”

Lark’s eyes widened. “Gram?—”

“I warned you, little bird.”

I moved to stand behind Lark’s chair, one hand resting on her shoulder. Through the windows, lightning illuminated the lake in brief, brilliant flashes.

“The results showed I’m not related to the Castellanos,” Lark said before looking up at me with questioning eyes. I didn’t understand what her grandmother meant any more than she did.

“You should also know there’s evidence that Vincent Castellano and I are half brothers, not full, as I’d believed my entire life.”

The older woman’s face drained of color. Her hands, which she tried hard to steady, began to shake, and her eyes darted to the windows where rain streamed down the glass.

“Gram?” Lark leaned forward. “What is it?”

“Some things are better left in the past.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Not these things,” I said firmly. “Not anymore.”

Barbara was quiet for a long moment, staring into the fire as though it held answers. When she finally spoke, her words were careful, measured. “The past has a way of coming back at us, whether we want it to or not.” Her eyes met mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “Sometimes, the most dangerous secrets are the ones we think we’ve buried deepest.”

“What does that mean?” Lark asked.

Barbara shook her head and reached for her cane. “I need to lie down. These old bones…” She pushed herself up with an effort that seemed more emotional than physical.

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