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21

DANTE

L ike earlier, I asked Lark if she wanted to come with me, at least when I returned to the boathouse, but she said she wasn’t comfortable leaving Gram alone, especially since Alice would be a part of this meeting.

Once inside, the space felt smaller than usual, with the entire team assembled. Fresh rain drummed steadily on the roof, creating a percussive backdrop to the tension-filled silence. Tank and Grit sat at the workbench while Blackjack leaned against a support beam, arms crossed. Admiral sat beside Alice, watching as she set up her laptop to patch in her colleague Tex via videoconference.

I stood at the window for a moment, watching raindrops create ripples on the lake’s surface. Each expanding circle reminded me of how one action, one secret, could affect countless lives. When I turned to face the team, their expressions told me they understood the gravity of what we’d discovered.

“What we’ve learned changes everything,” I began, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions beneath the surface. “The hospital records Alice found, the timing of certain events, the surveillance photos from the compound—it’s all connected.” I pulled up the first image on the main screen. “This photo was taken two days after Lark’s birth.”

“The figure in the window,” Tank said, leaning forward to study it. “Any way to enhance that?”

Alice’s fingers flew across her keyboard. “Already tried. The resolution’s too poor, but the height and build suggest it’s a woman.” She manipulated the image, trying different filters. “See how she’s positioned? She’s watching something specific, not just looking out randomly.”

“Or watching someone,” Grit added quietly.

Tex’s image flickered on the screen as he joined the discussion. “Based on the genetic markers and timeline,” he began, not bothering with any kind of introduction. “I believe Anthony Mazzeo was Lark’s father.” He shuffled through some documents off-screen. “And before you ask, yes, I’m certain. The DNA markers are conclusive.”

I rubbed my temples, wishing I’d thought to grab a cup of tea before starting this meeting. My head throbbed, taking in another piece of the puzzle, another connection to the tangled web of family rivalries that had shaped all our lives. I thought of Lark, of how this news would affect her. Finding out your father was murdered before you were born—how did anyone process that?

“What do we know about him?” Grit asked.

“Killed in July 1998—single knife wound to the stomach.” Tex’s voice was clinical, detached. “Case was never solved, but the method suggests it was personal rather than professional. The angle of entry, the depth—whoever did it was face-to-face with him.”

“Summer would’ve been four months pregnant then,” I said quietly. The timing felt significant—everything about that year did. “Was there any investigation into possible connections with other families?”

“Nothing official.” Tex typed something on his keyboard. “There were rumors that he’d been seeing someone. A woman who disappeared around the same time he was killed.” He paused, his expression troubled. “There’s something else—witnesses reported seeing him arguing with a woman matching Summer’s description a week before his death.”

“Speaking of disappearances,” Alice added, pulling up the document I’d already seen. “As I told Alessandro, if it was Amelia with the woman who was in labor—who we’re assuming was Summer—she might have been pregnant too. Maybe even miscarrying.” She glanced at me apologetically.

“And if she got pregnant again,” Tank finished, “she’d be risking everyone’s lives.” He stood, moving to study the surveillance photos more closely. “The timing lines up. If she was pregnant when she disappeared…”

Her words hit me harder than I expected them to. Had my mother fled not just to protect herself, but an unborn child as well? The thought made my chest tight. All these years, I’d imagined her alone, hiding from Vincent Sr.’s rage. But what if she’d been protecting someone else too?

“There’s more,” Grit said, clearing his throat. “We got the DNA results from the blood evidence at the mine shaft. Neither sample matches Alessandro, Vincent, or Lark. Looks like an unrelated case.” He spread crime-scene photos across the workbench. “But the location is interesting—less than five miles from the compound.”

I pushed away from the window and began pacing the length of the boathouse. The steady rhythm of my footsteps helped order my thoughts. “I’m certain the fourth person in those overheads from the compound is Vincent. The date stamp is right before his arrest.” My jaw clenched at the thought of my brother visiting the compound, then once taken to jail, orchestrating threats against Lark. “The way he moved—it has to be him. No one else carries themselves quite like that. He wasn’t just aware of whoever was living there; he was protecting them.”

“For over twenty-six years,” Blackjack said quietly.

“The offshore bank accounts,” Tank added. “The well-planned deliveries, the security protocols—he made sure they were well taken care of.”

“Whoever helped Amelia disappear did an expert job too,” Tex commented, his image freezing briefly before stabilizing. “Summer Gregory also, if that’s what happened. I’ve never seen trails covered this thoroughly. This outfit really knew exactly how to make people vanish.”

“Could they have worked together? Two women, both with reasons to run, both connected to the same families…” Alice suggested as she pulled up a timeline she’d created. “Look at the pattern—the hospital visit, the surveillance photos, the property transfers. It’s too coordinated to be a coincidence.”

“The question is, if two of the people at the compound are Amelia and Summer, who’s the third?” Blackjack interjected, tapping one of the thermal-imaging readouts.

Images from the surveillance footage flashed through my mind—figures moving in darkness, carefully concealing their identities. Trained. For what? To survive?

“And what about the boats?” Tank added. “The same type spotted here on Canada Lake. That can’t be coincidence, either.”

I stopped pacing and faced the team. “I’m done speculating. I’m going to the compound to find out who’s there.” The decision felt right, like pieces clicking into place. “Whatever’s waiting there, whatever truth we find—it’s time to face it.”

The others exchanged glances, but no one argued. They knew me well enough by now to recognize when my mind was made up. Years of undercover work had taught me to trust my instincts, and right now, my gut screamed that the answers I sought waited at Great Sacandaga Lake.

“We’ll need a plan,” Tank said, already reaching for the property maps. “Security will be tight. My guess is Vincent put serious measures in place before his arrest to keep protecting whoever’s there.”

“We’ve got enough overheads to get a good read on every inch of that compound,” I reminded him. “Every entrance, every blind spot.”

“Roger that,” Tank responded.

“Could I speak with just Alice and Alessandro for a minute?” Tex asked when everyone stood.

The others filed out without question, though I caught the concerned glances they exchanged.

“There’s something else to consider.” He leaned closer to the camera, his voice dropping. “The hospital records are incomplete to the point where I believe they were intentionally deleted, but…it’s possible Amelia’s pregnancy didn’t end in miscarriage. Keep that in mind when you go there.”

I gripped the edge of the workbench, letting his words sink in. If he was right, the implications were staggering. Is that who the third person was? Did I have another sibling?

“What makes you think that?” I managed to ask.

“The timing. That certain records were altered or, as I said, deleted. Plus, there were large cash withdrawals from accounts we know Vincent Jr. controlled—the kind of money you’d need to set more than one person up with a new life. A new identity.”

Thunder rolled across the lake, nature’s punctuation to his warning. Through the windows, I could see the security teams maintaining their positions despite the weather. Each of them ready to help uncover the truth, no matter the cost.

“Whatever I find there,” I said finally, “I need to know. We all do.”

Tex nodded. “Just be prepared. Some answers change everything.”

After thanking him and Alice, I stood alone in the boathouse, watching the storm move across the water. Somewhere beyond those dark clouds, beyond the rain and mist, waited answers to questions I’d carried my entire life. Tex’s words reminded me of Barbara’s. Some things were better left in the past. This, though, I couldn’t. If Vincent had been protecting our mother, maybe even Lark’s mother, he wouldn’t be able to in the same way once he was in prison. It would be up to me to pick up where he’d had to leave off.

It was about the only time in my life when I could see myself willingly following in my brother’s footsteps.

Tank had done an outstanding job, making sure our team arrived and positioned ourselves undetected at the compound where I’d lived for most of my first six years of life. I remembered so little about it and wondered how it had changed in the last several years.

Now, we stood concealed, waiting for the caretaker who made regularly scheduled deliveries. Once he arrived, we’d remain where we were until whoever lived in the house came out to the screened-in porch to get them. I was poised to strike the minute the front door eased open.

From my vantage point, the house appeared the same, at least on the outside, but what I hadn’t recalled, other than via the surveillance images, were the four cabins scattered between the main dwelling and the lake. Had I been inside one or more and I didn’t remember, or had they been constructed after we’d moved to the city?

According to thermal imaging, there was only one person inside the house presently. Would I come face-to-face with my mother today? Or would it be Lark’s?

Minutes felt like hours as I waited, my heart beating so hard I could hear it pushing blood through my system.

Finally, the compound’s gates opened and a single vehicle pulled through. The older man parked close to the porch, popped the trunk, and took out several bags. As we’d previously seen, he opened the storm door and left all he’d carried inside.

Almost five minutes after he’d left the property and the gate closed behind him, Tank reported the Doppler device showed the person inside moving in my direction. That was my cue to get close enough that when the door opened, I’d be standing in front of whoever it was.

I held my breath, keeping my weapon at the ready in case I needed it, then gasped when I saw the young woman step in front of me. “God, you look so much like her.” The unintended words escaped me in a broken whisper. Her eyes, bone structure, how she held herself, was like looking at a younger version of my mother.

She froze for a split second, then bolted for the door. But I was faster, catching her arm. “Wait. Please.”

“Let go of me.” Her voice was quiet but fierce. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Tell me who you are.” My voice sounded desperate, pained.

She yanked her arm free. “Leave. Now. Before—” She cut herself off. “Just leave.”

“I’m looking for my mother—our mother—and another woman. I’m Alessandro Castellano. Please, help me.”

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You need to leave.” Her eyes darted to the woods beyond the porch. “Please. Just go.”

Then she was gone, the door closing firmly between us. I realized my error when I heard the lock click. I wouldn’t get any answers here. The only person who’d give them to me—and that would be under duress—was Vincent.

“Returning to Canada Lake,” I said through the comms.

“Copy that,” Tank responded. “We’ll collect as much intelligence as we can, then meet you there.”

I didn’t bother telling him that, by the time they arrived, I’d be on my way to Manhattan.