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18

LARK

I woke 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.”

“What was it like?” I asked.

“It wasn’t as though I’d ever seen much of my father, but once we lived in Manhattan, I almost never did. I didn’t see my brother, either. I’d ask those I did see—housekeepers and nannies mainly—when my mom was coming back.”

“What would they say?”

“Nothing. Dead silence.”

The pain etched on his face made me so sad. I wondered, if I’d ever known my mother, if I would’ve felt the same way.

“Tell me about your place on the lake. Unless you’d rather not talk about it.”

“It was a lot like here, except that lake is much bigger. As was the main house, which I was too young to realize was called a camp.”

I was awestruck. “It was bigger than this place?”

He nodded. “At least, it seemed that way.”

“Have you returned? You know, just to see it?”

“Never.”

“Would you ever want to?” I asked.

His eyes darted between mine. “You know, had anyone else asked, my answer would’ve been an emphatic no.”

“But?”

“I’d love to show it to you someday.”

A shiver ran through me, though whether from excitement or apprehension, I couldn’t tell. The idea of visiting a place so steeped in his family’s history, in the very mysteries we were trying to unravel, was both thrilling and terrifying. “I think I’d like that.”

His expression grew distant, as though trying to recall something just out of reach. “You know, there might be clues there about what happened. According to Tank, Joseph Rossetti’s murder took place in that area.”

“That seems odd, doesn’t it?”

Alessandro shook his head. “With its close proximity to Saratoga Race Course? No. Not at all.” His arms tightened around me, and I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head. The gesture was so natural, so right, it made my heart ache.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I suggested.

He let out a deep breath I hadn’t realized he was holding. “Please.”

“Have you thought about where you’d live when all of this is over? You know, once Vincent is in prison?”

“I have, except I spent more time crossing potential places off the list rather than adding them.”

I rested my hand on his chest, finally giving in and weaving my fingers into the downy hair. “Tell me some of the places you decided against.”

He leaned down and kissed my temple. “Let’s see…California.”

I shifted to look up at him. “It was on the ‘maybe’ list?”

“Only given how far away it is from New York.”

“Oregon and Washington are farther. At least, I think they are. Geography never ranked in my top fifty favorite subjects.”

He chuckled. “To be honest, I hadn’t considered either of those.”

“Hawaii?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Florida was a possibility I quickly eliminated.”

“Why?”

“Hotbed of organized crime.”

I nodded. “That makes sense. So…was there anywhere you settled on?”

“The building across the street from Method Tea and Coffee held the most appeal. Until you moved back to Gloversville.”

My cheeks flushed, and he kissed me.

“This is all I want, Lark. A life where you and I wake up in each other’s arms. I wouldn’t care where it was. Even Gloversville.”

I knew what he meant. While it was my home, mainly because of Gram, it wasn’t an easy place to live. So many storefronts still sat empty. Once-magnificent homes had fallen into disrepair. Restaurants barely scraped by, and even the Perfect Fit would never do the kind of business Method Tea and Coffee had.

“I don’t think I’d want to stay,” I said.

Alessandro put his fingers on my chin and tilted my face so our eyes met. “What about you? I know you want to travel to Florence. Would you want to live there?”

I thought it over for a couple of minutes and shook my head. “I guess I don’t know where I’d want to live.”

“Maybe home isn’t a place as much as it is who you’re with. Wherever you are, is where I’d be happy.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “I’ve spent so many years pretending to be someone else, living a life that wasn’t really mine. With you, for the first time, I feel like I can just be myself.”

The sound of movement in the hallway made us both tense, reality intruding on our peaceful bubble. Footsteps approached, then passed by. “Gram must be up,” I whispered.

“We should probably…” He gestured vaguely at our position, though his arms didn’t loosen their hold.

“Yeah.” Neither of us moved. The warmth of the bed, the comfort of being together—it made the outside world seem distant, less important. I traced the line of his jaw with my finger, memorizing the feel of him. “I mean, I’m not ashamed of this—of us. But maybe flaunting it isn’t the best idea right now.”

“Agreed.” He kissed me softly, lingering just long enough to make my heart race. His lips were warm and gentle against mine, carrying promises of more moments like this in our future. “You go first. I’ll wait a few minutes.”

I slipped out of bed reluctantly, already missing his warmth. The wood floor was cool under my feet as I headed for the bathroom, trying to move quietly through the still-sleeping house. But when I reached the hallway, I came face-to-face with Gram. She stood frozen, one hand gripping her cane, the other pressed against the wall as though for support.

Her eyes darted past me to where Alessandro was still visible in my bed, and I watched as multiple emotions crossed her face—shock, disappointment, and something deeper, more painful.

Without a word, she turned and stalked to her room, slamming the door behind her with enough force that the sound echoed through the quiet house, shattering the morning’s peace.

“Gram, wait!” I followed her, pushing the door open before she could lock it. The sunlight streaming through her window caught the tears in her eyes, making them glitter like broken glass. “Please, just listen?—”

“Listen?” She whirled to face me, her body trembling with emotion. The cane clattered to the floor, forgotten in her distress. “I’ve spent my entire life protecting you and your mother, and this is how you repay me? By taking up with a Castellano?”

“He’s not?—”

“Don’t tell me what he’s not!” Her voice cracked. The sound was raw, wounded, like something torn from deep inside her. “I’ve sacrificed everything to keep you safe, and neither of you ever appreciated it. The constant fear, the secrets—” Her eyes widened when she realized she’d gone too far. Said more than she meant to.

My temper rose to meet hers. “Don’t stop now, Gram. No one wants you to keep your secrets. Not anymore and especially not me. Tell me all the things you’ve done. So I know,” I demanded.

My idyllic morning with Alessandro felt like a distant dream now, replaced by the same questions that had plagued me when I woke in the middle of the night. It was only feeling the protective arms of the man beside me that had allowed me to go back to sleep.

My eyes met hers. “What were you protecting me from? My father? You know who he is, don’t you? Shouldn’t I know? Why does my entire life have to be a mystery to me? It’s my life, Gram.”

“You have no idea what I’ve had to do, what I’ve had to live with?—”

“Then, tell me!” The shouted words burst out of me, fueled by years of questions and half-truths. Like the slamming door, they echoed off the walls, filling the room with the weight of everything unsaid between us.

When she stood silent, I took a deep breath, knowing that once I spoke the words, I wouldn’t be able to take them back. But what was I afraid of? Knowing the truth? Could it be worse than all the things I’d imagined? “Alessandro and I have a theory that our mothers disappeared together. That they’re still alive somewhere?—”

Gram’s face drained of color so quickly I thought she might faint. She swayed slightly, gripping the bed for support. At that moment, she looked every one of her years, and then some. The strong woman who’d raised me, who had weathered every storm life threw at her, seemed fragile, breakable.

“Gram?” My anger dissolved into concern as I stepped toward her, reaching out to steady her. “What is it? Just tell me.”

Tears filled her eyes again as she sat on the edge of the bed. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Some secrets,” she said, “are kept for a reason.”

At that moment, I realized that whatever she was hiding, whatever truth lay buried beneath years of silence, was eating her alive. And now, watching her shoulders shake with silent sobs, I wondered if I’d gone too far.

A noise from the hallway made me turn. Alessandro stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and determination. Our eyes met, and when he held his hand out to me, I knew that, as soon as I took the first step in toward him, it would mark the end of one life and the beginning of another. It was up to Gram whether she wanted to be a part of the new one Alessandro and I would build together. I’d welcome her, but only if she was willing to leave the secrets and lies behind.