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LARK

“H e was staring at you again before we came in here,” Alice said as I helped her out of her wedding dress.

The sun streamed through the windows of Kane Mountain Great Camp’s master bedroom, casting long shadows across the hardwood floors. Through the door, I could hear the men’s voices carrying up from the other room, including one with a hint of a Brooklyn accent that made my stomach flutter against my will.

“He’s been doing that all day.” I focused on the delicate row of buttons, refusing to glance in the direction of where I knew Alessandro Castellano lurked somewhere nearby with the best man and groomsman. “I don’t know what his game is, but I’m not playing.”

“There is no game, Lark.” Alice turned to face me once I finished with the buttons. “Alessandro spent years undercover, gathering evidence against his own family to help bring down his brother, the man responsible for my sister’s death.”

“Sarah,” I whispered, remembering the vibrant woman who’d always ordered a plain coffee with a wink, saying Matcha was too fancy for her tastes. Another life lost to the Castellanos’ web of corruption and violence.

The memory of Sarah’s last visit to the shop hit me—her infectious laugh, how she’d lean against the counter and tell me about her latest adventure. She’d been planning a hiking trip that weekend and wanted me to go with her since Alice always told her she was too busy working. No doubt, it was something my friend agonizingly regretted now. “Life’s too short to miss out on things like hikes,” she’d said. A week later, she was gone.

“I understand everyone thinks of him as a white knight now, but that wasn’t always the case.” I helped Alice step out of her dress, careful not to let the beaded hem catch on anything. “His family has long been considered one of the most notorious and deadly crime organizations in New York State. You don’t grow up in that world and come out clean.”

“People can change. They can choose different paths.”

“My family’s life in Gloversville was different,” I protested. “It was about honest work and craftsmanship. Until Alessandro’s mob moved in and destroyed everything my grandfather built.”

My fingers trembled as I hung up the wedding dress, remembering the pride in Gram’s voice when she’d talk about the factory before everything fell apart. The way she described it was so detailed I could almost imagine being there. The rich smell of leather, the rhythmic sound of the sewing machines, the skilled hands that turned raw materials into works of art. Now gone because of families like the Castellanos.

On one of my monthly visits to see my grandmother, I realized that, while she wasn’t to the point where she needed full-time care, she couldn’t live alone anymore, either. With my mom—her daughter—off God knew where with God knew who, returning home hadn’t been so much a choice as a necessity.

Before I could say anything else, even change the subject, there was a knock at the door. “Everything okay in there?” Pershing called out.

“We’re good,” Alice answered, her whole face lighting up at the sound of her new husband’s voice. The pure joy in her expression made my chest ache with a longing I refused to examine too closely. “Just getting into something more comfortable for the reception.”

“Don’t rush on my account,” Pershing called back, his voice warm with affection. “Take all the time you need.”

I caught Alice’s smile in the mirror and quickly looked away. That kind of love seemed like something from another world—one I’d given up on when I moved back to Gloversville. Taking care of Gram and running her little coffee shop didn’t leave time for romance, which was fine by me.

I helped her into a simpler but colorful floral dress, one that would let her dance without worrying about stepping on her train. The fabric whispered against her skin as I zipped it up, reminding me of how Alessandro’s voice had lowered when he’d asked me to call him Dante.

Over Alice’s shoulder, I caught my reflection in the antique mirror. The bridesmaid’s dress was beautiful, but I felt like I was playing dress-up. Give me my jeans and a T-shirt any day, and I’d be perfectly comfortable.

“You’re overthinking it,” Alice said softly, reading my expression.

“I’m thinking exactly the right amount,” I countered, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from my dress. “And today, of all days, someone should be.” I winked.

“You look gorgeous. No wonder Alessandro can’t take his eyes off you.”

“Stop.” My voice was harsher than I’d intended, but the woman was being relentless. “You know what Gram would say if she knew a Castellano was even looking my way. She still blames them for everything that happened to her family.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but I did first. “I mean it, Alice. I’m happy for you and Pershing, and I’m honored to be part of your day. But I don’t need you playing matchmaker.”

“I’m not. I’m just stating facts.” She adjusted one of her crystals on the dresser. “The same way it’s a fact that Alessandro will be working with K19 now—as time permits, given his brother’s trial at least. And when he can, he’ll be helping build cases against corrupt officials. I’ll also never forget how he risked his life to protect me and Pershing.” Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “He’s looking out for you too, Lark.”

“What do you mean?”

“K19 operatives have been keeping an eye on your grandmother’s house and her coffee shop.”

I whirled around. “Say what?”

“It’s just a precaution,” she added quickly, but I was already pacing the room. I couldn’t believe this.

“There are still threats of retaliation. Alessandro wanted to make sure you were protected. Since you’re my best friend and all.” She winked.

“And you didn’t think to tell me this before?” My hands clenched into fists. “How long have strange men been watching my house? Watching Gram? God, Alice, I’ve told you how she gets about strangers since her memory started slipping.” Again, my voice came out sharper than I meant it to. “I don’t need his protection. And I definitely don’t need a mobster thinking he has any right to involve himself in my life.”

“Former mobster,” Alice corrected gently. “Who was never really one, to begin with.”

“A distinction that won’t matter to Gram if she spots unfamiliar men watching the house,” I said.

For the second time, I thought of my grandmother’s stories and about what the mob had done to our family decades ago. The protection rackets, the threats, how they’d driven my great-grandfather’s business into the ground. “They burned down our factory,” I said quietly. “Did you know that? Generations of craftsmanship gone in one night because we wouldn’t pay them off. Gram was just a little girl, but she still remembers the smoke and the sirens. The firefighters couldn’t save anything but the sign my great-great-grandfather had hand-carved when he first opened the place,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “Not the machines or the patterns. All that history, up in smoke because some mob boss decided to make an example of him.”

Now, generations later, another Castellano thought he could insert himself into our lives? No way I’d let that happen.

“I should head back to Gloversville,” I said, changing the subject. “Gram is probably beside herself.”

“She’ll be fine with Mrs. Swenson. You know how they get wrapped up in their stories together.” Alice’s attempt at lightness fell flat. “Plus, you’re staying here tonight, remember? We already arranged for her to stay with your grandmother.” She grabbed my hands. “Please don’t let this spoil today.”

Guilt flooded me. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” I squeezed her hands. “This is your day. I’m just being paranoid.”

“You’re being protective. Of your heart as much as your grandmother.” She hugged me. “But sometimes, the best things in life come from taking chances on people.”

“Like you did with Pershing?”

“Exactly.” She pulled back and grinned. “Now, come on. I believe you promised to teach everyone how to make proper Matcha at the reception.”

I groaned. “Who wants to learn how to make tea at a wedding reception?” I added an eye roll for effect. “Why did I agree to that again?”

“Because you love me. And because, deep down, you’re curious about a certain Italian who specifically requested to learn.”

“Alice…”

“I’m just saying the way to a barista’s heart might be through her tea ceremony.”

“Or it might be a silly way of attempting to figure out why I avoid him,” I muttered. The thought of being in close proximity to Alessandro, teaching him the precise movements of whisking Matcha, made my pulse quicken in a way I refused to analyze.

I followed her out of the bedroom, shaking my head. But as we descended the stairs to rejoin the reception, I couldn’t help glancing around for the man.

I found him standing with Grit near the fireplace, his dark suit making him look more like a GQ model than a mob enforcer. When our eyes met, he smiled—not the cold smirk I’d seen in newspaper photos of the fearsome Castellano brothers, but something warmer. Actually, not warmer. Downright hot.

My stomach did that annoying flutter again, and I silently cursed my traitorous body’s reaction to him. It didn’t matter how good he looked or how genuine that smile seemed. I knew better than most how appearances could deceive.

I quickly looked away, reminding myself that smiles could be weapons too. That charm could hide the deadliest intentions. I had a good life in Gloversville, running Gram’s shop and taking care of her. I didn’t need complications. Especially not complications named Alessandro Castellano.

No matter how good he looked in a suit or how much a tiny, rebellious part of me wondered what it would be like to trust that smile, just once.