She smiled before she even opened her eyes. A steady heartbeat rested beneath her cheek, and another warm handremained loosely intertwined with hers. She blinked against the morning light. Dante still slept beside her, one arm draped protectively around her waist. Across from them, Rocco had already woken, though he hadn't moved. He was watching the sunrise through the bedroom window, his expression thoughtful until he noticed she was awake.
"Morning.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
She smiled. "Morning." Neither man rushed to fill the silence. They simply looked at her. Last night had changed everything—not because of passion, but because of trust. There hadn't been expectations or pressure—only promises. Promises that she would always have a choice and promises that neither man would ever ask her to become someone she wasn't. For the first time in her life, love hadn't felt like a cage. It had felt like freedom.
"You okay?" Dante's sleepy voice pulled her from her thoughts.
She looked up to find him watching her. "I think that I’m happier than I know what to do with.” She laughed softly.
He smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."
Rocco stood and stretched. "I hate ruining the moment." The smile disappeared from all their faces. "But we have work to do." Reality returned—Keller, the ledger, her mother, and the names Rafael had died protecting.
Lark sat up slowly. She hadn't cried when Rafael fell. There hadn't been time, but now, the grief settled quietly over her. "He saved us,” she said.
Neither man tried to soften the truth. "Yes," Dante said. "He did."
She swallowed hard. "I don't know how to feel about that."
"You don't have to decide today," Rocco replied.
"Or tomorrow,” Dante added.
"You get as much time as you need,” Rocco said. She nodded gratefully.
“Come on,” Dante said, “we can watch Rocco make us breakfast again. I’m starving.” Lark giggled and let them pull her out of bed.
Within an hour, the three of them sat around the kitchen table. Isabella's journal lay open beside Rafael's bloodstained note. Rocco unfolded the paper he'd carried from the church. "I wanted to wait until we were alone." He slid it across the table.
Lark frowned. "It's just names."
"No." He tapped the first column. "It's a list of Keller's people."
Dante's expression hardened. "Inside STARR?"
"Yes, and other agencies,” Rocco said. Lark slowly scanned the page, and one name near the bottom caught her attention.
"Wait." She looked closer. "I know this one."
Rocco looked up immediately. "How?"
"My father hated him,” Lark said. She pointed at the name. "Victor Hale. He said Hale was ambitious." She paused. "And dangerous."
Rocco reached for his phone. "I know that name." His fingers moved quickly over the screen before he suddenly stopped. "Damn."
"What?" Dante asked.
"Hale isn't just an agent,” Rocco said as he looked at Dante. "He's the Deputy Director of STARR."
Dante leaned back in his chair. "If Keller owns the deputy director, he knows every operation, every safe house, and every extraction."
Lark's stomach tightened. "What about this cabin?”
Rocco nodded grimly. "It may already be compromised." Almost as if the universe had been waiting for him to say the words, a vehicle door slammed outside, and all three of themfroze. Rocco quietly stood and moved toward the front window without making a sound.
His expression darkened. "They found us."
"How many?" Dante asked.
