Page 17

16

LARK

W hile Gram and I had had plenty of arguments over the years, this felt different. It was as though she was shutting down, shutting me out, and I had no idea how to keep the lines of communication open between us. She’d been my lifeline since I was born, and I needed her now more than ever.

How would she react if the tables turned and I refused to answer her questions? Most likely, she’d be relentless until I did. So, should I give her a taste of her own medicine? Should I refuse to leave her alone until she stopped talking in circles?

“What are you thinking?” Alessandro asked me like I had him a few minutes earlier.

“How to get through to my grandmother.”

He was thoughtful for a few seconds. “I’m wondering if…”

“What? If you have an idea, please share it.”

“It’s manipulative.”

I laughed out loud. “As opposed to what she’s doing?”

He smiled. “Well, there’s that.”

“Here’s the thing. If the questions I had were merely in response to gossip or things that had happened years ago that would have no impact on my future, I would understand her saying that some answers are best left unknown. But that isn’t the case. There’s a reason your brother had me spied on all my life, and I need to know what it is. It isn’t just curiosity.”

“Agreed.”

“So what’s your idea?” I asked.

“Act as if you’re letting it go. Don’t ask another question of her.”

“Ah, I see. So if I stop pursuing it—her—it’ll make her crazy.”

“You know her better than I do.”

I chuckled. “It feels like you know her better than you think, given your suggestion is the only thing that might work.”

“She likes to be in the kitchen.”

I studied him. “Yeah?”

“It’s where she’s most comfortable. Where her mind is open.”

“Which are you, Alessandro? Mafia son, DOJ informant, or psychologist?”

He chuckled. “Navigating the first two required I excel at the third.”

“Do you have any theories? I mean, we know I’m not biologically related to your brother. Thank God. Err, no offense.”

“None taken.”

“But given I’m not, why would he have so many photos of me and from different times of my life?”

“I haven’t been able to come up with a theory that makes sense. Honestly, I haven’t been able to come with one that doesn’t make sense either.”

“Same. So, what other secrets are there? My mom. Your mom. I suppose there could be some mystery tied to your family’s compound on Great Sacandaga Lake.”

“Alice found a DNA match for me in the criminal database,” he blurted.

My eyes opened wide. “When?”

“Right before I found you and your grandmother in here.” He hesitated. “I did intend to tell you.”

That he felt the need to explain worried me. If that was the case, why hadn’t it been the first thing he brought up once we were alone? The firelight cast shadows across his face, making him look older, more troubled. Whatever he’d discovered clearly weighed on him.

“Joseph Rossetti,” he finally said. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “According to the results Alice found in the criminal database, he was my biological father.”

I sat up straighter, turning to face him fully.

“They were—are—one of the major crime families in New York,” Alessandro explained, his voice tightening. “Bitter enemies of the Castellanos for generations. And apparently, I’m one of them.” His voice was controlled, but I could hear the strain beneath it. “The DNA evidence was collected during an investigation into organized crime activities around Great Sacandaga Lake. Murders specifically. Also, he had a distinctive birthmark—identical to mine.”

I reached for his hand, threading our fingers together. His grip was almost painfully tight, but I didn’t mind. “So, your mother…” I trailed off, unsure how to phrase the question.

“Was obviously involved with him.” He shuddered. “And now, I wonder if that’s why she disappeared. Did she run to protect me? Did something more sinister happen?” He shook his head. “Every answer just leads to more questions, none of which my brother would answer if I asked.”

The rain intensified outside, drumming steadily against the windows. The sound was oddly soothing, making this moment feel intimate despite the weight of his revelations.

“At least you know part of the truth now,” I said softly. “About who you really are.”

His free hand came up to cup my cheek. “Who I am is someone who wants to protect you. You’re who’s most important to me now.”

I leaned my head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. “Do you think Alice or her friend Tex can help figure out what happened to your mom?”

“Maybe. Tank’s also looking into other disappearances from that summer.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Now that we have this lead, I can’t help but wonder what your grandmother might know.”

“Which is why we need her to come to us.” I smiled slightly. “Make her crazy by not asking questions.”

His chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Exactly. Let her think we’ve given up.”

“While we keep investigating quietly.” I shifted to look up at him. “You know, for someone who spent years maintaining a cover, you’re surprisingly bad at deception when it comes to personal things.”

“Only with you.” The tenderness in his voice made my heart flutter. “I don’t want secrets between us.”

I reached up to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw. “Me either,” I agreed softly, leaning up for a kiss.

His lips against mine were gentle, full of promise and something more—understanding, acceptance, a shared determination to uncover the truth no matter how painful it might be. When we finally broke apart, I stayed in his arms, both of us watching the fire dance in the hearth.

From the kitchen came the familiar sound of Gram moving about, starting dinner preparations. Soon, she’d call us to help, pretending everything was normal, that she hadn’t just shut down our questions about the past. But this time, we’d let her maintain that illusion—for now.

The wind picked up outside, but here in Alessandro’s arms, I felt stronger than any storm. I thought about how much had changed in just a few days—from avoiding him at the wedding to now, feeling like he was the only solid ground in a world that kept shifting beneath my feet.

“Where did your thoughts drift?” he asked, his fingers trailing gentle patterns on my arm.

“How strange life is,” I said. “A week ago, I was so determined to keep my distance from you. Now…” I gestured between us, unable to find the right words.

“Go on,” His voice was soft, encouraging.

“I can’t imagine facing any of this without you.” I turned to look at him. “Is that crazy? Given everything that’s happening?”

The wind howled as the storm continued to build. Despite the coziness of the fire and Alessandro’s warmth, I shivered.

“Cold?” he asked.

“No, just thinking about how I never expected feeling so close to you.”

“Having regrets?”

“About you? No.” I tilted my head to look at him. “About uncovering all these secrets? Maybe. I keep wondering if Gram is right—if some things really are better left in the past.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No, but I’m scared about what we might find. About how it might change things.”

“Between us?”

“Between everyone.” I gestured vaguely. “You, me, Gram, your brother…all these connections we keep discovering. What if the truth makes everything worse?”

“Or what if it finally sets us all free?” His voice was thoughtful. “That’s what the truth did for me, when I finally stopped protecting Vincent’s secrets and started working with the DOJ.”

“Was it worth it? The risk, the years undercover?”

“Yes.” His answer was immediate. “Though I never expected it would lead me to you.”

“We should help Gram,” I said reluctantly when I heard the sound of pots clinking.

His arms tightened around me. “Let’s just stay here a moment longer.”

We sat in comfortable silence, watching the fire dance. Despite everything—the threats, the mysteries, the weight of family secrets—this felt right. Being here, with him, facing whatever came next together.

“Tell me something good,” I blurted.

“Something good?”

“Yes. I need something to look forward to.”

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. “When this is all over—when Vincent’s in prison and we’ve uncovered whatever secrets he’s using against us—I want to take you somewhere. Anywhere you want to go.”

“Anywhere?”

“Name it.”

“Florence,” I said without hesitation. “I’ve always wanted to see it.”

His smile was warm. “Italy. I should have known.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “We’ll go to Florence. Walk the old streets, drink wine in tiny cafes, and explore the galleries.”

“You’re the one who made me think of it.”

His head cocked. “I did?”

“You said, ‘I’ll be able to hold your hand as we walk down any street we want to, whether it’s here in Gloversville or in Manhattan or in Florence, Italy.’ I wondered how you knew that, out of everywhere in the world, that’s the place I wanted to see the most.”

His eyes closed momentarily, nodding slowly. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.”

“Just us?”

He nuzzled my neck. “I’m dreaming of the day it can be just us.” His voice held a promise that made my heart flutter. “You and me making new memories to replace the old ones. Memories that are ours alone.”

The image was so appealing it almost hurt. “I’d like that.”

“Then, it’s a promise.”

Before I could respond, Alice appeared in the doorway again. Unlike earlier, her expression was serious. “Your grandmother’s asking for help with dinner. Both of you.”

Something in her tone caught my attention. She had news—I could see it in her eyes—but it would have to wait.

“Coming,” I said, reluctantly pulling away from Alessandro. He caught my hand before I could step away.

“Remember,” he said softly. “Keep your eye on the prize, Lark. You. Me. Alone. Together.”

I squeezed his fingers, drawing strength from the simple contact.

As we made our way to the kitchen, I felt like we were actors taking our places on a stage. The familiar scene of making dinner with Gram felt surreal now, knowing it was just a facade over deeper currents of secrets and lies. But maybe that’s what families were—layers of truth and pretense, love and fear, all simmering together like Gram’s sauce—not that it was hers alone. The recipe came from Alessandro’s grandmother. That in itself had to mean something. But what?

Gram stood in the kitchen, gathering ingredients for her homemade chicken noodle soup, gripping her favorite wooden spoon. For a moment, watching her, I could almost pretend nothing had changed.

When she glanced over at me and her eyes immediately hooded, I was reminded too soon that everything had.