Rocco
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.
The cabin door creaked open behind him. "You planning on standing out here all morning?" Dante asked.
"I noticed." A second coffee mug appeared beside him on the porch railing. For several minutes, neither man spoke. They simply watched the sun rise. Finally, Dante broke the silence. "You don't trust me."
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.
Lark looked over at him. "Why are you looking at me that way?"
"Your smile is beautiful,” Rocco breathed.
"It is?” she asked.
“It is,” he said.
"You've been watching me,” she whispered. He hadn't even realized that he had, but maybe she was right.
The smell of bacon drifted from the kitchen, and Rocco frowned. "I don't remember cooking."
"I did,” Lark said. Both men looked at her, and she shrugged.
"You were outside,” she said. The smoke detector screamed, and Lark winced. "Oh, shit.” She covered her face. "I might've burned it."
Rocco burst out laughing, running into the cabin. Dante followed a second later. "I was trying to do something nice.” Lark looked at the stove as though it had offended her in some way.
"You nearly burned down my father's cabin,” Rocco said, with no real anger.
"It was one pan!" Lark defended.
"There are flames,” Rocco said.
"They're little flames,” Lark insisted. Rocco walked into the kitchen and, sure enough, smoke curled from a cast-iron skillet while blackened bacon resembled charcoal. He reached over and turned off the burner. Lark stood beside him, looking thoroughly embarrassed.
"I've never cooked before,” she breathed.
He looked at her. "Seriously?"
"My father had chefs,” she said. "I wasn't exactly allowed near a stove." The humor faded because that was another thing Rafael had stolen from her—the normalcy of being able to do something as simple as cooking for herself.
He opened the refrigerator. "Good news,” Rocco said.
"What is?" Lark asked.
"I know how to cook,” he said.
She smiled. "You do?"
"My dad insisted that I know how to fend for myself.” He reached for eggs.
"He said everybody should know how to feed themselves.
" Lark quietly leaned against the counter while he worked, and after a moment, Dante joined her.
Neither interrupted, and neither offered to help.
Instead, they simply watched. It felt more domestic than it should have, and Rocco found himself feeling completely at ease with the two of them.
Breakfast was served around the small wooden table—three plates, three mugs, and three people who barely knew each other.
But conversation came more easily than Rocco expected.
Lark admitted she'd never gone camping, and Dante confessed he'd once gotten lost on a training exercise for three days.
Rocco admitted he'd failed high school shop class because he'd accidentally welded his instructor's toolbox shut.
Lark laughed so hard that coffee nearly came out of her nose.
"You didn’t,” she said.
"I was sixteen,” Rocco defended.
"I would've paid money to see that,” Dante said.
"So would've my dad,” Rocco said. The words slipped out before he could stop them, and Lark reached across the table, letting her fingers brush his.
"I'm sorry,” she said. He looked at their joined hands and then at Dante. Instead of jealousy, he only saw understanding in Dante’s eyes. He simply nodded, as if to say—you’re not carrying it alone anymore.
Later that morning, Lark wandered into the living room to study Isabella's journal. Rocco and Dante quietly unpacked weapons and supplies onto the dining table. "So." Rocco kept his voice low. "We should probably talk."
Dante nodded. "About her."
"About the three of us,” Rocco said. That earned him a raised eyebrow.
"You noticed it too?” Dante asked.
"I'd have to be blind not to,” Rocco said. "I don't want to compete with you."
Dante looked surprised. “I don’t want to compete, either."
"I've watched the way she looks at you,” Rocco said.
"And I've watched the way she looks at you,” Dante countered.
Rocco rubbed a hand over his jaw. "She trusts us differently."
Dante nodded. "But she trusts us, and that’s all that matters. I won't make her choose.” The words came quietly as Dante met his eyes.
"I wouldn't ask her to, either,” Rocco promised. Something shifted between them. It wasn’t friendship—not yet- but something more like respect. It was the kind forged in firefights and impossible choices.
"We let her decide," Rocco said. "When she's ready." Dante extended his hand, and Rocco looked at it for a second before shaking it.
"No pressure, no cages, and no ultimatums,” Dante said.
A soft voice drifted from the living room.
"I'd like that." Both men turned to find Lark standing in the doorway, Isabella's journal tucked against her chest. Rocco could tell that she'd heard enough.
A blush warmed her cheeks, but she didn't look frightened.
She looked hopeful. Her gaze moved from Dante to Rocco and then back again.
"I don't know what this is yet," she admitted quietly.
"But,” Rocco said.
A shy smile touched her lips. "But I want both of you, and I'd like the chance to find out if the three of us can work. The question is, can the two of you share me, or will I be forced to choose one of you at some point?” she asked.
Neither man rushed toward her nor demanded answers. Instead, they simply smiled, and for the first time since escaping the Santos compound, the little cabin didn't feel like a hiding place. It felt like the beginning of something entirely new.
The cabin settled into silence as darkness wrapped itself around the mountains.
A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, filling the room with warmth that had nothing to do with the flames.
Rocco sat on the porch longer than he should have.
He'd spent years believing he understood loneliness, but tonight proved he'd only understood being alone. There was a difference.
Every time Lark looked at him the way that she did, he turned into a coward and ran.
He came up with stupid excuses to check on something or call into STARR, when all he was doing was running.
He could see in both Lark's and Dante’s eyes that they knew what he was really doing.
He wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all himself.
The cabin door opened behind him. "You planning on sleeping out here?
" Lark's voice was soft enough that it blended with the breeze.
He looked over his shoulder to find that she'd changed into one of his old sweatshirts, the sleeves hanging well past her hands.
Her damp hair fell over one shoulder, and the bruises on her face had begun fading into pale yellow.
"I couldn't sleep,” he lied. He knew that if he closed his eyes for just a second, he’d fall asleep for days.
She smiled knowingly. "You keep saying that."
"It's still true,” he grumbled. She walked onto the porch and leaned against the railing beside him. For several quiet moments, they watched fireflies drift through the trees.
"I've been thinking,” she said.
"That worries me,” he teased.
She laughed. "It worries me too." Her smile slowly disappeared. "I've spent my whole life having people decide everything for me."
Rocco nodded. "I know."
"My father decided where I lived." She looked out into the darkness. "What I wore, and who I talked to." His chest tightened. “He even decided who I would eventually marry." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't want anyone making those decisions ever again."
"No one will, Lark. Not ever again,” Rocco breathed.
She looked at him. "Promise?"
"I promise,” he said.
"You can't make me that promise, Rocco,” she insisted.
He frowned. "What?"
"You can't promise that,” she said.
"I can promise I'll fight for you to be able to make your own decisions,” he insisted.
She searched his face and then slowly nodded. "I believe you." The words settled somewhere deep inside him. She believed him—not because he'd asked her to, but because maybe he'd earned it. “So, if I decide that I want both you and Dante, you’d help me fight for that to happen?” she asked.
Before he had a chance to answer, the front door creaked open again. Dante stepped outside carrying three mugs of hot chocolate. "I figured neither of you was sleeping."
Lark smiled. "You know me too well."
"I've had three years to practice." He handed them each a mug before sitting on the porch step below them. No one spoke.
Lark looked between the two men. "I think that we need to finish our conversation,” she said. Rocco glanced at Dante, and he could almost read the man’s mind with just one look. "You said you weren't going to make me choose."
"We meant it," Dante answered immediately.
Rocco nodded. "I'll never ask that of you."
She lowered her eyes to the steaming mug in her hands.
"I've never been in love before, so I don't know what it's supposed to feel like.
" She looked first at Dante. "When I'm with you, I feel safe.
" Then she turned toward Rocco. "And when I'm with you, I feel free.
" Rocco's heart forgot how to beat. "I don't know if that makes any sense. "
"It does," Dante said quietly. "It makes perfect sense."
Tears gathered in her eyes. "I don't want to lose either of you." Neither man spoke, and she laughed nervously. "I know how crazy that sounds."
"It doesn't.” Rocco surprised himself with how quickly the words came.
She looked at him. "It doesn't?"
He shook his head. "I've been trying to convince myself that what I feel for you is something I'd get over."
"And?" she asked.
"I was lying to myself,” he admitted. The confession felt strangely freeing. "I care about you." He smiled sadly at her. "More than I should."
Lark's eyes shimmered. Dante looked down at his mug before quietly speaking. "I've loved you for years." She looked at him in surprise. "And now, I just wanted you to have the chance to live." Her hand found his, and then, after a hesitant moment, she reached for Rocco's with her other hand.
She looked down at their joined hands resting in her lap. "I don't want either of you to give up something because of me."
Rocco squeezed her fingers gently. "You're not something to divide."
Dante nodded. "Or something to win."
Lark looked between them. "So—” She took a deep breath and let it back out. "What happens now?" Rocco met Dante's eyes. Years of training had taught him how to read men. There wasn't competition there—only the same hope he felt himself. Dante gave the smallest nod, and Rocco understood.
He looked back at Lark. "Nothing happens unless you want it to."
She smiled through happy tears. "I want it too. I choose both of you.” His pulse quickened. The words hung in the cool mountain air. "I don't know what this relationship will look like." She laughed softly. "I don't know the rules."
Dante smiled. "Then we'll make our own."
"No secrets," Rocco said.
"No competition," Dante added.
Lark squeezed both their hands. "And no cages." A smile spread across all three of their faces. Rocco stood first, then offered her his hand, and she accepted it. Dante rose beside them, and for a moment they simply stood there, the three of them, hands linked beneath a sky full of stars.
Lark looked from one man to the other. "I've never had a family that felt like home before."
Rocco brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You do now." She leaned forward and kissed Dante gently, and when she pulled back, she turned to Rocco and kissed him with the same quiet tenderness. Neither kiss was about passion. They were about choice, trust, and a new beginning.
When she stepped back, she smiled at them both.
"I think that this is the first decision I've ever made completely for myself.
" Rocco wrapped one arm around her shoulders while Dante took her hand again.
Together, the three of them walked back inside the little cabin, closing the door against the darkness outside.
For the first time in any of their lives, none of them walked into the future alone.