He smiled. "It was better." She brushed another gentle kiss across his lips before resting her head against his shoulder again. Neither of them noticed the bedroom door was open. Rocco stepped into the room and stopped dead in his tracks. Dante looked up first, and for a heartbeat, neither man spoke. Then Lark turned to find Rocco standing there, and a blush warmedher cheeks, but she didn't move away from Dante. She didn't hide from either of them.
Rocco smiled—small, genuine, and unexpectedly warm. "I’m sorry that I interrupted; I’ll go.”
Lark met his eyes. “No,” she breathed. The word surprised all three of them. Rocco's smile faded into something softer—something hopeful. Dante knew that look because he felt the same way when it came to Lark.
She patted the mattress on her other side, and without another word, he joined them, leaving respectful space between himself and the two of them. For the first time since the nightmare began, the three of them sat together in silence—not as prisoners, guards, or agents, but as three people whose lives had become irrevocably intertwined.
“So, what happens now?” Lark whispered. She reached down and took Dante’s hand into her own, doing the same with Rocco. Dante wasn’t sure what happened next, but he hoped like hell that Lark still wanted him when the sun came up again. That was all that mattered to him, and if sharing her with Rocco was the only way to make her happy, then that was exactly what he’d do.
“Now, we get some sleep,” Rocco said. “And tomorrow, we figure out the rest.”
Rocco
The cabin was too quiet. After hours of gunfire, explosions, and shouting, the silence almost felt unnatural. Rocco stood on the front porch, a steaming mug of coffee forgotten in his hands as dawn slowly painted the mountains in shades of blue and gold. Mist rolled through the trees, swallowing the dirt road that led to the cabin. If Keller had followed them, they'd never hear him coming.
He'd spent the last hour circling the property, checking windows, setting simple alarms with fishing lines and empty cans he'd found in the shed. It was primitive but effective. Old habits that his father had taught him.
Rocco looked down at his hands. Everything he'd believed for nearly twenty years had been a lie. Rafael Santos hadn't ordered Anthony Bertoni's murder; Keller had. Hatred didn't disappear overnight, but certainty did, and somehow, uncertainty hurt worse.
The cabin door creaked open behind him. "You planning on standing out here all morning?" Dante asked.
Rocco didn't turn around. "Couldn't sleep."
"I noticed." A second coffee mug appeared beside him on the porch railing. For several minutes, neither man spoke. Theysimply watched the sun rise. Finally, Dante broke the silence. "You don't trust me."
Rocco gave a quiet laugh. "I trusted you with my life."
Dante looked over. "But?"
"I don't trust myself,” Rocco admitted. That seemed to earn Dante’s full attention. Rocco rubbed the back of his neck. "I've spent my whole career believing emotions were what got people killed."
"They usually do,” Dante agreed.
"And then Lark happened,” Rocco said.
Dante's jaw tightened. "Yeah."
Rocco smiled without humor. "That's the problem." Inside the cabin, floorboards creaked as soft footsteps made their way to the door. Neither man turned immediately. Lark emerged wearing one of Rocco's old flannel shirts. The sleeves covered most of her hands, and the hem brushed the middle of her thighs. Her dark hair was still spilled over her shoulders, and God, she was beautiful.
She looked exhausted as she smiled sleepily at them. "I was wondering where you two disappeared to."
"We're making sure nobody kills us before breakfast," Rocco answered.
She wrinkled her nose. "That's oddly romantic." Dante actually laughed, and the sound surprised all three of them.
Lark stared at him. “I didn’t know that you could laugh."
"Apparently I can,” he said.
"I like it,” she admitted.
Something softened in Dante's expression. “It feels good to actually laugh,” he admitted.
Lark stepped closer to them and shivered. The morning air immediately raised goosebumps across her bare legs. Without thinking, Dante slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, and she blinked up at him.
"You'll freeze,” she insisted.
"I'll survive,” he said. Rocco watched the exchange, noting that he should feel like an intruder watching them, but he didn’t.
