He stood. “Let’s move,” he said.
"What’s our objective?” the operative asked.
Rocco's expression hardened. "We find Lark before anyone else does."
Lark
Every breath that she took burned her lungs. Lark's lungs screamed as she forced herself to keep pace behind Dante through the narrow tunnel. The backpack bounced painfully against her shoulders, and her legs felt like they might give out beneath her at any second, but she refused to stop. Not now, after getting this close to freedom.
Dante glanced over his shoulder for what had to be the tenth time in the last five minutes. "You okay?"
She nodded, even though she wasn't. "I'm fine."
He slowed anyway. "Liar."
Despite everything, a tiny smile tugged at her lips. "You've been hanging around me too long."
"I've been hanging around you for three years,” he breathed. The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Lark looked at him. "Three years?"
He nodded. "I was assigned to your security detail the week after your twenty-second birthday."
She frowned. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything about you,” he said.
The quiet certainty in his voice made her chest tighten. "What color was the dress I wore on that birthday?"
He answered without hesitation. "Blue."
She blinked. "Navy blue."
He gave a faint smile. "It had silver embroidery around the sleeves."
She stared at him in disbelief. "You remember that?"
"I remember every dress you’ve ever worn. I’ve remembered every birthday, every time you smiled at me, and every time you laughed.”
Her heart skipped. "Dante?—"
"I shouldn't have told you that,” he whispered.
"No." She stepped closer to him. "I'm glad you did." For a moment, neither of them moved. The tunnel disappeared, and the danger had faded. There was only the man standing in front of her. He was the man who had spent years pretending not to care, and the one who had quietly protected her in every way he could. She reached for his hand, and this time, he didn't hesitate. Their fingers intertwined naturally as though they'd always belonged together.
A whistle echoed ahead, and Dante immediately released her hand and drew his pistol. Two figures emerged from the darkness—both wearing black tactical clothing and both carrying suppressed rifles. Lark froze.
The taller of the two lowered his weapon first. "Easy."
Dante pointed his gun at the guy. "Identify yourself."
The man smiled faintly. "I could ask you to do the same thing." Neither moved nor blinked until the second man stepped forward.
"We're not with Santos,” he said.
"That doesn't answer my question,” Dante insisted.
"It'll have to,” the first man said as he studied Dante carefully. "You've got the girl.”
