Page 53 of Code Name: Dante

The steady sound of her breathing gradually slowed as she drifted to sleep. I lay awake a while longer, memorizing everything about this moment—the warmth of her body against mine, the perfect fit of her in my arms, the absolute rightness of being here with her.

Just before sleep claimed me, I pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder and whispered, “Sweet dreams,cuore mio.”

“Mmm.” She wriggled closer, nearly making my eyes roll back in my head. “Good night, Alessandro.”

18

LARK

Iwoke slowly, surrounded by warmth and the solid presence of Alessandro’s body enveloping mine. The rain had stopped sometime during the night, leaving behind a crisp autumn morning. Pale sunlight filtered through the windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air like tiny stars. His arm was draped over my waist, holding me close against his chest. The steady rhythm of his breathing told me he was still asleep, and I savored the rare moment of peace.

Through the windows, I could see hints of mist rising from the lake, creating an otherworldly backdrop to the intimate moment. A loon called somewhere in the distance, its haunting cry echoing across the water. The sound reminded me that beyond these walls, beyond this perfect bubble of warmth and safety, the world still turned with all its complications and dangers.

For now, though, I let myself simply feel—the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of my pajamas, our legs that had tangled together during the night, and the perfect rightness of being here with him. His chest rose and fell against my back in a steady rhythm that had lulled me to sleep the night before. It felt surreal, how quickly everything had changed. Just days ago, I’d been determined to keep my distance from anything Castellano. Now, I couldn’t imagine facing any of this without him.

The simple intimacy of waking up together felt like a glimpse into what our future could be. No threats hanging over us, no family secrets casting shadows—just this. Just us. Even the early morning light seemed softer somehow, gentler, as though it too wanted to preserve this peaceful moment. A bird landed on the windowsill, tilting its head as though curious about the scene within, before taking flight again.

Alessandro stirred behind me, pressing a sleepy kiss to the side of my neck. His beard tickled my skin, sending pleasant shivers down my spine. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

I turned in his arms to face him, drinking in the sight of him. His chest was broad and muscular, years of training evident in every sculpted plane. I resisted the urge to run my fingers through the dark hair that dusted his chest and traced a tantalizing line down his stomach. The usual tension he carried had melted away in sleep, making him look younger, more vulnerable despite his powerful physique. In these quiet moments, with his tousled hair and soft eyes, it was easy to forget who we were, the weight of our families’ histories, and the dangers that still lurked outside these walls. “Morning.”

His fingers traced lazy patterns on my back as we lay there, neither wanting to break the peaceful moment. The small circles and swirls felt more like he was writing messages on my skin. But I could see something weighing on his mind—the slight furrow between his brows, how his eyes seemed focused on something distant. There was a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there when we first woke.

“What is it?”

He took a deep breath, his hand stilling on my back. “Alice found some things last night. About our families.” The words hung in the air between us.

I propped myself up on one elbow, studying his face. In the morning light, I could see every micro-expression, every hint of concern in his dark eyes. He chose his words carefully, weighing each one before speaking.

“Tell me,” I said.

“She found a DNA match for you—a possible great-grandfather. Richard Mazzeo.” He watched my reaction, his thumb returning to draw soothing circles, this time on my hip rather than back, as though anticipating my response. “Born in 1921, died in 1978,” he added.

“Mazzeo?” The name struck a chord. “Have you mentioned that name before? Maybe about the families trying to take over Castellano territory?”

He nodded, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard. The movement caused the blankets to slip down, revealing the scars that marked his chest—physical reminders of the life he’d lived. I followed his lead, missing his warmth immediately but knowing this conversation deserved our full attention. The morning air was cool, making me pull the blanket up around my shoulders.

“The Mazzeos were—are—another crime family. They and the Rossettis, my biological father’s family, were tentative allies against the Castellanos. The rivalry goes back generations to Sicily.” His voice took on a teaching tone, reminding me of how he’d instructed me in self-defense. “The alliances were always shifting, but the hatred between these families and the Castellanos remained constant.”

“So your father was a Rossetti, and mine…” I let the words trail off, trying to process this new information. It was like discovering we were characters in a story that had been written long before we were born.

“Likely a Mazzeo, yes.” His hand found mine, squeezing gently. The contact helped ground me as my mind raced with the implications. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? Both of us born into families that opposed the Castellanos, both of us somehow ending up in their orbit anyway,” he added.

I studied him. “There’s more, isn’t there?” I could read it in his expression, how he seemed to be building up to something.

“Alice has been looking into our mothers’ disappearances.” The words came out measured, as though he was laying down cards in a high-stakes game.

My heart skipped. “And?”

“She hasn’t found death certificates for either of them. In fact, she thinks they’re both still alive, just living off the grid. Maybe even with new identities.” He hesitated, his thumb now stroking the back of my hand. “She described it as if it was possible they disappeared together.”

I gasped. “Together?” The idea seemed far-fetched, yet somehow compelling. Like a story I’d heard long ago, but couldn’t quite remember. The morning light caught the dust motes again, making them dance like fragments of memory just out of reach. “Do you think they knew each other?”

“They vanished around the same time. It could be a coincidence, but…” He shrugged, the movement making the mattress shift slightly. “In our families’ world, there aren’t many of those. Think about it—two women find themselves involved with Castellano enemies. Then, both disappeared within months of each other.”

I imagined our mothers joining forces to escape. There was something almost poetic about it—like Romeo and Juliet, but with moms instead of lovers, choosing survival over family loyalty. “It would make a certain kind of sense. Safety in numbers. And if they both had reasons to run…” I shook my head. “As hard as it is for me to say this, it makes far more sense that your brother would have them killed.” I cringed at how heartless that sounded. “At least my mother. Probably not his own,” I added under my breath.

His fingers traced my cheek, the touch featherlight but grounding. “There’s so little I remember from that time. I was six the last time I saw her. Then, it felt like everything in my world was covered by a giant dark cloud. We left the compound on Great Sacandaga Lake and went to live in the city full-time. God, I hated it there.”

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