"You first,” he insisted.
She frowned. "What if someone opens it?"
"I'll cover you,” he assured.
She hesitated. "I'm not leaving you down here."
His chest tightened. “I’ll be right behind you,” he promised. She studied him for a long moment, as though she was trying to decide if she trusted him or not. She finally began the climb, and Dante stayed below, scanning the tunnel. Every second felt like an hour.
Lark stopped at the top, trying to force the hatch open. "It won't move,” she shouted down to him.
His stomach dropped. "What?"
"The hatch won’t move,” she shouted back. Damn it, why couldn’t any of this be easy? He climbed quickly until he was directly beneath her, saying a little prayer that the ladder could hold them both.
"Move over,” he ordered. Their bodies pressed together on the narrow ladder as he reached around her, bracing one hand against the wall before shoving hard against the hatch. Nothing happened. He tried again, and still—nothing.
"It's stuck,” he said.
"Or locked,” she whispered. He cursed under his breath as he heard footsteps coming quickly down the tunnel.
"Lark,” he whispered. "We've got company."
Her eyes widened. "What do we do?" He looked between the approaching tunnel and the sealed hatch and back at the terrified woman inches away.
He smiled grimly. "We improvise." He drew his pistol. Whatever waited on the other side of those footsteps—they were going to have to fight because after finally choosing Lark over Rafael Santos, there was no going back.
Rocco
Rocco had spent the last ten minutes pretending to be interested in Rafael Santos's business proposal while quietly memorizing every entrance, exit, security camera, and armed guard in the office—and then, all hell broke loose.
The first explosion rocked the mansion hard enough to rattle the crystal decanter on Santos's desk. The second shattered the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Glass exploded inward, and everyone hit the floor—except for Santos. The bastard simply stood there, whiskey in hand, watching chaos unfold as though he'd expected it. Gunfire erupted outside, and Rocco knew that someone organized had just declared war on the Santos empire.
One of Santos's guards rushed into the office. "We're under attack!"
"No shit," one of the businessmen yelled.
"South and east perimeters are compromised," the guard continued. "At least twenty shooters."
Rocco kept his expression carefully neutral while his mind raced. That isn't one crew. That was an assault team. Someone had invested serious money into taking down Rafael Santos.
Santos calmly set his drink on the desk. "Seal the compound."
"We've already lost the front gate,” another guard yelled.
"Then kill everyone inside it." His voice never rose. It was like he was ordering dinner instead of executions.
The businessmen immediately started talking over each other. "My security detail is outside?—"
"I need to leave,” another shouted.
"This wasn't part of the agreement."
Santos finally looked at them. "If anyone walks out those doors—" He smiled, “they'll be mistaken for the enemy."
Nobody argued after that, which made them all smart men. Rocco, on the other hand, wasn't feeling particularly smart. His burner phone vibrated inside his jacket, but he ignored it. It vibrated two more times, making it three in a row, which was emergency protocol. He subtly slipped the phone into his palm beneath the desk to read the texts.
MILES:Abort. Unknown tactical team breached compound. We lost visual. This isn't ours.
