Dante raised his rifle. "What do you want?"
"I want my daughter to live,” her father said.
"You had twenty-six years to make that happen,” Dante spat.
"I know,” her father breathed. “Lark."
She looked into the darkness. "I'm listening."
"There are names in Isabella's journal."
"I know,” she said.
"They're incomplete,” he said.
Her breath caught. "What?"
"The real ledger—” Another explosion interrupted him. "Isn't on paper."
Rocco frowned. "What does that mean?"
"You'll understand when you find it,” her father said. Lark took a cautious step toward the darkness, and Dante immediately caught her wrist.
She looked at him. "It's okay."
"No." His voice was firm. "I'm not losing sight of you." Something warm bloomed inside her chest—not because he was protecting her, but because he was afraid of losing her.
Rocco quietly moved closer, too. "If she goes—” He looked at Dante. “Then we all go." The words settled over her. He wasn’t leaving any of this open for debate. They were in this together, whether she liked it or not.
Her father seemed to notice it too. A long silence echoed from the darkness before he finally spoke. "I wondered what kind of men you'd choose."
Lark's cheeks warmed. "I didn't choose anybody."
"Not yet,” her father said. She could hear the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. "But you're already standing between them." She looked at Dante and then at Rocco. Without realizing it, she'd reached for them both. One hand rested in Dante's grasp, and the other had found Rocco's forearm when the explosions started. Neither man had moved away nor seemed uncomfortable. Instead, they both looked at her, as though they were allowing her to decide.
It struck her then. Her entire life had been built around men making choices for her—her father, his guards, Keller—everyone. These two were different. They weren't trying to own her. They were giving her something she'd never had before—the freedom to choose. And for the first time in her life, Lark realized that maybe freedom wasn't about escaping a prison. Maybe it was about finding people who would never build one around her again.
Another explosion rocked the church, and stone cracked overhead. Rafael's voice echoed one last time. "Go." The unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked echoed through the tunnel. "They're here,” her father said.
Dante's expression hardened. "What are you doing?"
"What I should have done twenty-five years ago." Gunfire erupted deeper in the passage. Rafael Santos fired first. The echoes rolled through the crypt like thunder.
Lark's heart stopped. "Dad."
The first gunshot stole her breath, but the second shattered her heart. "Dad!" The word escaped before she could stop it, and she hated that it had. She hated that after everything he'd done, some small, broken part of her still recognized him as her father.
More gunfire exploded through the hidden passage, and stone dust rained from the ceiling as bullets ricocheted somewhere beyond the bend. Dante wrapped an arm around her waist. "We have to move."
"No!" She twisted toward the tunnel. "He's alone."
"So are we," Rocco said, his voice calm despite the chaos surrounding them. Another explosion rocked the churchoverhead, and the crypt groaned as old stone cracked somewhere in the darkness.
Lark couldn't move. Her feet refused to obey her mind. Every instinct pulled her toward the gunfire and toward the man who had spent her entire life imprisoning her. He was the only parent she had left, even if she had spent years wishing he would disappear.
"I can't leave him." The confession came out in a whisper. She expected Dante to argue with her, and for Rocco to tell her she was making a mistake. Instead, Dante stepped in front of her and gently cupped her face.
"Lark." His voice was steady. "If you go back, you're walking into a fight you can't win."
