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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.”

His laugh was quiet but genuine. “Is that what your grandmother taught you?”

“Among other things.” I steeped the tea, aware of his eyes on me. The familiar ritual of preparing my favorite beverage helped calm the flutter in my stomach that his attention always seemed to cause. “She has very strong opinions about proper brewing techniques.”

“I’ve noticed she has strong opinions about a lot of things.” His voice carried easily across the space between us. “Especially Castellanos.”

“Alessandro…” My hands stilled on the ceramic cups.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to start something.” There was no judgment in his tone. “I know she has her reasons.”

“And yet, here you are, protecting us anyway.”

“Yes, here I am,” he agreed softly.

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. His brow was furrowed as he gazed out the window into the darkness.

“The tea’s going to get cold if you keep staring.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I wasn’t...I was just?—”

He put his hand on my arm and, when I set the infuser down, turned me so I faced him. “Is this okay?” he asked, drawing my body close to his.

I nodded once, wrapped my arms around his waist, and rested my head against his chest.

“You feel so good,” he said, rubbing small circles on my back with his powerful hand.

“You do too.” I bit my lip, but curiosity got the better of me. “Why do they call you Dante?”

“It was the code name given to me by the DOJ, so not a name my family ever used.” He looked beyond me to where the tea steeped. “Is it ready?”

“It is. Should we go upstairs or stay down here?”

“Down here, if that’s all right with you.”

I poured two cups, then carried them to the seating area, settling next to him on the couch, close enough to feel his presence, but not quite touching.

He took a sip and made an appreciative sound that sent warmth through me unrelated to the beverage. “Perfect, as always.”

“Anything interesting?” I asked, motioning to the papers he’d brought down with him and set in a pile on the coffee table.

“I’m just reviewing notes, looking for patterns I might have missed.”

“And?”

“Nothing concrete.” He pulled out what looked like surveillance photos. “I spoke to the prosecutor earlier. Vincent’s been moved into solitary, and new guards have been brought in that she said she personally vetted. I hope that means that whatever he’s orchestrating stops. I don’t know why I thought his arrest would mean he was cut off from communicating with his enforcers.” He shook his head. “It was naive of me.”

“Maybe it was just hopeful.”

He nodded. “What’s been happening is Vincent’s doing, though. I’m sure of it. Everything has been too coordinated. Too precise.”

“Like someone is following a script they’ve enacted before?” I suggested.

“Exactly. Vincent likes his plans to be elaborate. Multiple pieces moving at once, each step precisely timed.”

“Like chess?”

“Exactly like chess.” His hand found mine, warm and solid. “The problem is, I can’t tell if we’re the players or the pieces.”

I looked up at him. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

He smiled, but when his eyes met mine, I could see the weight he carried. Not just physical exhaustion, but the burden of protecting everyone while trying to bring his brother to justice. Without thinking, I reached out and touched his face where tension had carved lines around his mouth.

He caught my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Lark…”

The warmth of his skin against mine made it hard to breathe.

“What’s on your mind?” His voice was low, intimate in the quiet room.

“I’m not sure how much more I want to know.”

“Hey.” He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Tell me what worries you the most.”

“Honestly? That Vincent is my father,” I blurted.

He dropped his hand, turned his body away from mine, and rested against the couch. “Jesus,” he said under his breath.

“Gram said he’s not…”

“He and your mother are the same age,” he said, remembering our conversation like I had. “But…”

“Go on. I want to hear anything that can convince me he isn’t.”

“I don’t think he can have children.”

“Really?”

“I’m trying to remember why I think that’s the case.” His eyes opened wide. “A paternity case. God, I wasn’t very old. Maybe five. That’s why it’s so fuzzy. I just remember how angry our dad was. Vincent was only eighteen at the time.” He cringed, and his eyes drifted closed.

“What?” I asked.

“My father was a violent man.” His gaze met mine again. “Like you not wanting to know, there are things I’d rather not remember.”

“I understand, and I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Anyway, I wonder if court transcripts exist. Maybe there was proof of his infertility. Not that he or my dad would be above falsifying reports.” He shook his head.

“What?” I repeated.

“He never married, and I always wondered if that was the reason. Something tells me that if he could have kids, he would have. I mean, family is everything to him, not that he has any immediate members left. Unless he’s in contact with our mom. But if he was, why would he keep her hidden away? I could see why if our dad were still alive, since my guess is her reason for leaving had something to do with him. But he’s been dead for years.”

“How old were you the last time you saw her?”

“I was six. Twelve years before the old man died.”

I shifted my body so I could put my arm around his waist again and rest my head on his shoulder.

“What about you?”

“I was a baby when my mom left. She used to send cards, but I don’t remember the last time I received one.”

“I’m sorry, Lark.” He leaned over and kissed my temple.

“The thing about it is, it’s hard to miss someone who was never around, who you never really knew. I mean, I always had Gram. Honestly, it was harder not to have a dad, if that makes sense.”

“It does.” He sighed. “I have to admit, if I found out we were related, it would wreck me.”

“There’s always DNA,” I suggested.

“Good thinking. I know Vincent’s is already in the system.”

“If I got mine done, would you have access to his?”

“Even if I didn’t, I’d find a way.” He pointed to the ceiling. “I have faith that Alice could get her hands on it if no one else.”

Alessandro was a man who’d risked everything to expose corruption in his own family and who’d dedicated his life to protecting others. Who looked at me like I was something precious even though I came with more complications than either of us had imagined.

As hard as it was, until we knew for sure, I couldn’t allow myself to think about how much I wished I could lean up and kiss the guy who, a few days ago, I’d tried hard to keep my distance from. Was it the forbidden that made me want it so much more? I’d never thought of myself as someone who would react that way. From what I’d heard, my mother would have.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, stopping short of explaining that what I feared most was that this thing between us might be destroyed by our families’ shared past.

“I know.” He drew me closer, and I let myself lean against him. His arm wrapped around me felt so solid and secure. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

We sat in comfortable silence. The steady beat of his heart under my ear was more soothing than any tea could be. My eyes grew heavy as the tension of the day finally began to fade.

Just as I was drifting off, a sharp crack from outside made us both jerk upright. Alessandro was on his feet in an instant, one hand reaching for his weapon while the other pushed me behind him.

Tank’s voice crackled over the radio on the coffee table. “Movement on the lake. Two boats, running dark. They got close but turned around.”

“I see them,” Alessandro responded after moving to the windows. I followed, catching glimpses of shadows—shapes without lights moving across the water.

“Teams are in position,” Tank reported. “Want us to intercept?”

Alessandro studied the lake for a long moment. “No. Let them think we haven’t spotted them. But I want eyes on the water around the clock now.” He turned to me. “You should try to get some rest.”

“So should you.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I will. Soon.”

We both knew it was a lie. He’d stay up all night if that’s what it took to keep everyone safe. The thought made my chest ache with emotions I wasn’t ready to name.

I reached up and straightened his collar where it had gone askew, letting my fingers linger. “Thank you. For everything.”

His hand caught mine again, holding it against his chest. For a moment, I thought he might kiss me. Part of me hoped he would, even with the possibility we were related. Instead, he brought my fingers to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles that somehow felt more intimate than anything else could have been.

“Good night, Lark.”

I nodded once, then made my way down the hallway, my hand still tingling where his lips had touched. Sleep might still elude me, but for different reasons now. Reasons that had nothing to do with fear or family secrets, and everything to do with the way Alessandro Castellano looked at me like I was worth protecting, worth fighting for. Worth risking everything for.

Morning came too soon, its gold light streaming through the windows as I made my way to the kitchen. Gram was already there, methodically chopping vegetables for an omelet as though we were at home rather than hiding from threats we didn’t fully understand.

“You were up late,” she said without looking up.

“Couldn’t sleep.” I filled the electric kettle and turned it on. “Bad dreams.”

“About the shop, little bird?”

“Among other things. I’ve decided it would be best not to try to open today.”

While I anticipated an argument, Gram merely nodded.

I hesitated, then decided to try again to see if I could get her to talk. “About what you said yesterday?—”

“I think we need more eggs.” She set down her knife.

“Gram—”

“I wonder if that nice young man, Tank, would drive me into town.” She picked up her knife again. “Though I suppose that’s not safe either, is it? Nothing is anymore. All because—” She stopped abruptly.

“Because of what?” I asked.

She shook her head and resumed chopping, humming under her breath like she always did when she was preparing food. The sound followed me as I left the kitchen.

Upstairs, I found Alice already at work on her laptop, tea at her elbow. “Any luck getting back into those records?”

“Not yet.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m still bothered by the property transfers.”

“What do you mean?”

“Each sale looped back to the same shell companies. Like the deed was transferred, then transferred back again. It makes no sense. I mean, it seems like someone went to a lot of trouble to hide who really owns the property, but it was sloppy. All it would’ve taken?—”

Raised voices outside interrupted her. Through the windows, I saw Tank and Grit conferring with Alessandro near the boat dock. All three men looked angry. The morning mist still clung to the water, making the scene seem surreal.

Alessandro said something that made Tank nod sharply before heading toward the boathouse. Even from this distance, I could read the tension in Alessandro’s stance. Whatever they’d found had him worried.

Less than a couple of minutes later, the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs made us both raise our heads. Alessandro approached Alice’s workspace, his expression neutral in a way I was learning meant he was anything but calm.

“What did they find?” I asked.

“Evidence that someone was watching the house last night. Professional setup—long-range surveillance equipment, multiple positions.” He ran a hand through his hair. “They’re not just trying to scare us anymore. They’re gathering intelligence.”

A chill ran down my spine despite the morning warmth. Somewhere out there, hidden in the mist, someone was collecting information about our movements, our patterns, our vulnerabilities. The same question came to mind every time. Why?