He looked into her eyes. "I promise."
Rocco appeared beside them. "If you two are done trying to get yourselves killed,” he nodded toward the truck, “our ride is leaving." For the first time all night, Dante noticed the way Rocco looked at Lark. It wasn’t with possessiveness or suspicion, but with quiet admiration. It wasn't the look of a man claiming something. It was the look of a man hoping she'd survive long enough to discover who she could become. Oddly, that made Dante trust him just a little more.
The three of them reached the armored truck together as Dante helped Lark climb inside; she glanced back toward the burning Santos estate silhouetted against the Chicago skyline. It was the only home she'd ever known. She’d finally escaped her prison.
She whispered so softly he almost didn't hear it. "I'm never going back."
Dante climbed into the truck behind her and slammed the heavy door shut. "No," he said as the vehicle lurched forward under another hail of gunfire. "You aren't." he meant it too, even if he had to spend the rest of his life making sure of it.
Rocco
The armored truck fishtailed as it tore away from the docks. Rounds slammed into the reinforced steel panels with heavy metallic thuds, but the vehicle never slowed. The driver muscled it through an abandoned shipping yard before cutting sharply into a maze of warehouses. Only then did Rocco lower his rifle.
"Breathe," the woman behind the wheel said.
"I am breathing," he answered.
"Bullshit." She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "You've been holding your breath since we picked them up." Rocco ignored her. His attention stayed on the pair sitting opposite him. Lark sat between two benches, still trying to process everything that had happened. She stared at her trembling hands as though she didn't recognize them. Dante sat beside her, not touching her, but close enough that if the truck swerved again, she'd fall into him. He sat close enough that he'd catch her.
Rocco had noticed something during the sprint to the truck—Dante never looked afraid for himself, but only for her. There was a difference, and it was one Rocco understood all too well.
The truck finally rolled into an abandoned freight warehouse on the south side of the city. Massive steel doors closed behind them with a grinding roar. Only after three separate security gates locked into place did anyone relax. The driver killed the engine, and silence settled over the cargo bay. One by one, everyone climbed out, but Lark hesitated. She looked toward the warehouse doors as though expecting another army to come crashing through them.
Dante climbed out first and then turned towards her. Without saying a word, he offered her his hand, and she looked at it for only a second before placing hers in his. Rocco watched the exchange and realized that neither of them seemed to know that they kept reaching for one another.
The warehouse wasn't abandoned after all. Computers lined one wall and maps covered another. Armed agents moved purposefully between workstations while technicians monitored satellite feeds. This wasn't an official STARR headquarters. It was a temporary operations center.
The driver tossed her keys onto a table. "Welcome to the safe house."
Lark looked around slowly. "This is a safe house?"
"It is if nobody knows you're here." The woman smiled.
"I'm Avery."
"Lark."
"I know." Avery's expression softened. "You've had one hell of a night."
Lark let out a humorless laugh. "I think that's an understatement."
Avery looked back at Rocco and smiled. “Come on, I’ll fill you in.”
“I’d like to wash up first.” Avery nodded to a room off to the left, and he disappeared into a side office long enough to wash the blood from his hands. Most of it wasn't his. One cut acrosshis knuckles had started bleeding again, but he barely noticed. The mirror reflected a face he hardly recognized anymore. He looked tired and older, but that made sense because he was angrier than he'd been when this mission began.
He splashed cold water across his face, and someone knocked once before opening the door. "You've got a visitor."
Rocco looked at Avery as he dried his face. "Who?"
"The bodyguard." Dante stood alone outside the office, and the moment Rocco stepped into the hallway, the other man spoke.
"We need to talk,” Dante said.
Rocco folded his arms. "About?"
"Lark."
"I figured,” Rocco said. For several seconds, neither man said anything.
