Dante
"Stay down,” he shouted.
He leaned down just long enough to press his forehead against hers. "I will." It wasn't a promise he could guarantee, but he'd die trying to keep it.
"Which means?" Rocco asked.
Rocco nodded grimly. "Then we don't let them isolate her."
Rafael Santos fired from the mouth of the passage.
Even wounded, the man moved with terrifying precision.
Years of violence had carved instinct into his bones.
He dropped another mercenary before staggering against the wall as blood soaked through his jacket at an alarming rate.
Dante caught his eye, and for a brief moment, the older man looked at him—not as an employee or as someone beneath him, but as a man.
"Get her out,” Santos ordered.
Dante frowned. "What?"
Rafael reloaded his gun with shaking hands.
"That was always your job. Protect my daughter.
" Another burst of gunfire forced Dante back behind cover, and when he looked back again, Rafael had advanced farther into the passage, putting himself between Keller's men and Lark.
The bastard was buying them time, and that realization hit Dante hard.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he looked back to find Rocco standing behind him. "We've got another problem."
"What now?” Dante mumbled. Rocco pointed upward at the cracks that had spread across the crypt ceiling. Dust drifted continuously now. The explosion upstairs compromised the foundation.
"This place is coming down,” Rocco said.
Dante looked towards Lark. She was helping one of the injured operators wrap a tourniquet around his leg.
She should've been terrified, but instead, she was taking care of someone else.
God, he loved that woman. The thought came without hesitation or fear.
He loved her courage and her compassion.
He loved the quiet strength she'd never realized she possessed.
He wanted a lifetime of watching her discover just how extraordinary she really was.
Which meant that he had to keep her alive long enough to have that future.
"Dante!" Lark's voice broke through his haze, and he turned to find her. She held up Isabella's journal. "I found something."
"What?" he asked.
She quickly flipped through the pages. “I think there's another exit."
Dante was beside her in two strides. "Show me,” he ordered.
She pointed to a rough sketch near the back of the journal. It was a hand-drawn floor plan of the crypt. Rocco stood on the other side of her and looked at the journal. "The priest's passage,” he said, studying it.
"I completely missed it before,” she said.
"So did I,” Rocco said.
Dante looked between them. "Where is it?” he asked.
Lark traced her finger across the page. "Behind the altar."
Rocco immediately understood. "That lines up with the sanctuary."
"So if we can get upstairs, we can get out,” Dante said.
Avery checked the remaining ammunition. "We're running out of options anyway." Another explosion shook the crypt. A support beam snapped, and stone crashed to the floor.
One of the operators shouted. "They're through!
" Mercenaries flooded into the chamber as Dante and Rocco opened fire simultaneously.
The confined space erupted in chaos. Dante advanced with Rocco moving beside him with practiced efficiency.
Neither man needed to speak. They simply worked together, each instinctively covering the other's blind spots.
They had years of different training and lived very different lives, but now, they had one common goal—to keep Lark alive.
"Dante!" He glanced back to find Lark standing near Rafael. His knees had finally given out, but she somehow reached him during the firefight.
He sprinted toward them. "What are you doing?"
"He can't walk,” Lark said
Rafael looked up at him. "I wasn't planning to."
Dante knelt beside him. "You can still make it."
Rafael gave a weak smile. "No." His breathing had become shallow. "I've got one lung left."
Lark's face crumpled. "No.” He reached into his jacket again, and this time he produced a folded piece of paper stained with blood. He handed it to Dante.
"Don't let Keller read that,” Santos ordered.
Dante took it. "What is it?"
"The real names,” Santos said.
"What names?" Dante asked.
"It’s a list of people in Keller’s pocket.” Rafael coughed violently. "The ones inside STARR."
"What?" Rocco asked.
Rafael looked directly at him. "Keller has people everywhere."
His eyes shifted toward Dante. "Trust no one.” Before anyone could ask another question, the church bell rang—once, twice, three times.
There was a slow, deliberate clap echoed from the tunnel entrance, and everyone froze.
A lone figure stepped through the smoke.
He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, and not a speck of dust was on his polished shoes.
Adrian Keller. He wasn't carrying a weapon because he didn't need one.
More than twenty mercenaries filled the crypt behind him.
He smiled pleasantly. "What a touching family reunion." His gaze settled on Rafael. "You've become disappointingly sentimental." Then his eyes found Lark, and for just a heartbeat, the practiced smile faltered.
"My dear." The words echoed through the crumbling crypt.
"I've been looking for you since the day you were born.
" Every instinct Dante possessed screamed that something was terribly wrong.
Keller wasn't looking at Lark like prey.
He was looking at her like she belonged to him, and somehow, that was even more terrifying.
"Go!" Rafael Santos's roar echoed through the crypt, and Dante didn't hesitate. Years of instinct took over. He grabbed Lark's hand while Rocco covered their retreat, his rifle barking controlled bursts toward Keller's advancing mercenaries, and ancient stones exploded around them.
"Move!" Rocco shouted. The hidden passage twisted sharply to the right, plunging them into darkness. The journal bounced against Lark's chest inside the backpack while Dante practically dragged her over uneven stone.
Behind them, Keller's calm voice echoed through the crypt. "Kill everyone except the girl." Dante's blood ran cold.
"They're coming!" Lark gasped.
"I know,” Dante shouted. Another explosion shook the tunnel, and the ceiling groaned overhead. Chunks of stone crashed behind them, slowing the pursuing mercenaries.
Rocco glanced back. "That collapse bought us maybe thirty seconds."
"Then we'd better use them wisely,” Dante said. The passage narrowed until only one person could pass at a time. Dante took point, and Lark stayed between them. Rocco guarded their rear. It was as though they were exactly where each of them belonged.
The tunnel suddenly split in two, and Dante stopped. "Damn it." One passage climbed upward, and the other descended into darkness.
Rocco knelt beside the dusty floor. "Tracks." He ran his fingers through the dirt. "And they’re fresh."
"Which way do they lead?” Rocco asked.
He studied them for another second. "Up."
Lark frowned. "How do you know?"
"These are military boot tracks." He pointed toward the descending tunnel and then to the upper passage. "Those go down and are smaller footprints."
Dante immediately understood. "Civilian prints."
"Exactly." Rocco stood. "Your mother would've planned an escape."
Lark nodded. "She always thought three steps ahead."
"Then we go up and follow the civilian prints,” Rocco said.
They climbed up the dark tunnel and found that the passage ended behind an old stone fireplace inside a caretaker's cottage overlooking the church. Dante carefully pushed the hidden panel open, and moonlight spilled into the empty room. He swept the cottage with his pistol.
"Clear,” Dante said.
Rocco checked the windows. "So far."
Lark slowly stepped into the tiny house. Dust covered every surface, and a rocking chair sat beside a cold fireplace. Children's drawings still hung on one wall. It looked as though someone had simply walked away.
She stopped in front of the fireplace. "My mother was here."
Both men looked at her. "How do you know?" Dante asked. Lark pointed toward the mantle at a small wooden horse sitting tucked into the corner. Its paint had faded with age.
Tears filled her eyes. "I made this,” she said.
Dante looked closer. "You remember it?"
"I thought I lost it." She carefully picked it up.
"My mother helped me paint it." Her thumb brushed over a tiny carved heart on the underside.
"I'd forgotten about it." Emotion tightened in Dante's throat.
So many memories had been stolen, and so many lies were told. No one deserved to live like that.
Three sets of headlights swept across the windows, and Rocco immediately dropped below the sill. "They found the cottage."
Dante cursed under his breath. "Already?"
"Keller must have anticipated the escape route,” Rocco said.
Lark looked around desperately. "What now?" she asked.
Rocco looked over a faded map hanging beside the door. "There's an old logging road." He pointed through the back window. "If we reach the tree line, we'll lose the vehicles." Dante looked outside. He knew that their escape route wasn’t ideal, but it was better than waiting.
He looked at Lark. "Can you run?"
She squared her shoulders. "I've been running all night."
"Then we need you to do it one more time,” Rocco said.
She nodded. "I'll keep up with you."
They burst through the back door just as mercenaries stormed the cottage and gunfire erupted instantly. Rounds snapped through the trees as Rocco returned fire. Dante stayed glued to Lark's side.
"Left!" Rocco shouted. They veered downhill through thick brush. Branches tore at their clothes, and mud sucked at their boots. Lark stumbled, but Dante caught her before she fell.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine,” Lark insisted. “Honestly, the only thing that hurts is my pride.”
"Liar,” Dante breathed.
She laughed breathlessly. "I've apparently learned from the best." Despite everything, he smiled.