Page 43 of Code Name: Grit

“The prose is clean. Unadorned. I appreciate that.” His eyes met mine. “Your turn.”

I tried to think of something simple to share. “I’ve never stayed in one place longer than eighteen months. At least not until now. Although, we did return to our favorite spots whenever we could.”

His eyes softened. “That must have been difficult.”

“It was normal for me. Mom and Summer made sure I understood why we had to keep moving. I remember wondering if other kids had to pack go-bags or have escape routes memorized.”

“Your first memory—how old were you?”

“Seven.” The scene surfaced with unexpected clarity. “We were living outside Boulder. Mom let me have a playdate with a girl from the neighborhood. I asked her where they kept their emergency cash, and she had no idea what I was talking about.” I laughed out loud even though, at the time, I’d been mortified.

Grit’s hand tightened around mine. “You deserved better than living in fear.”

“It wasn’t all fear.” I leaned my head against his shoulder, drawing comfort from his warmth. “We had good moments too. Summer teaching me to bake bread in whatever kitchen we had. Mom reading to me every night, no matter how tired she was.”

“You’ve never really talked about your childhood before.”

“I don’t talk about it,” I admitted. “It makes me feel…vulnerable.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

We fell silent, the quiet intimacy between us more powerful than the kiss we’d shared. For so long, I’d kept pieces of myself hidden, compartmentalized. Now, sitting in this reinforced room while armed men searched for us, I found myself wanting Grit to know me—all of me.

“I used to think I’d never have a normal life,” I said softly. “That I’d always be running, hiding, and watching shadows. When Dante took down Vincent and the rest of the Castellanos, I had hope.”

“And now?”

I met his gaze. “This work with K19, it matters. For the first time, I’m not just surviving—I’m fighting back. Even if it’s dangerous.”

“It’s more than dangerous.” His voice grew rough. “Especially for you. If Cassio ever discovered who you are?—”

“He won’t.” It wasn’t the first time Grit said it, and my response remained the same.

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“Nothing in life is certain, Grit.” I turned to face him fully. “But I refuse to hide anymore. I’ve spent my whole life in the shadows. I want to live in the light.”

He traced the curve of my cheek with his fingertips. “You deserve to.”

The monitor beeped, drawing our attention. The intruders were leaving, piling into a black SUV parked a hundred yards down the road.

“K19 team approaching from the northeast,” Grit said, reading the security alert that appeared on the screen. “Two vehicles, using proper identification codes.”

Relief flooded through me as we watched our extraction team arrive fifteen minutes later and clear the house before signaling it was safe to emerge. Tank led the team, his expression shiftingfrom concern to confusion when we emerged from the panic room looking decidedly disheveled.

“Sorry it took us so long. You two okay?” he asked, his eyes darting between us.

“Fine,” Grit and I answered in unison.

Tank raised a brow but didn’t press. “Admiral wants you back at headquarters ASAP. Evidence suggests Patriarca involvement, not Belcastros.”

“We saw a Patriarca enforcer at the diner,” Grit confirmed. “Giovanni Patriarca.”

“He had help,” Tank said grimly. “We intercepted communications suggesting a coordinated operation involving at least three different Patriarca crews across the tri-state area.”

The drive to the helicopter was tense, neither Grit nor I acknowledging what had happened in the panic room, though the memory of his mouth on mine lingered.

I scrolled through the data we’d collected, trying to make sense of the seemingly contradictory information. “Something’s not adding up,” I murmured more to myself than to Grit.

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