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I know that’s what Nero wants.
He put me right in the center of the table. He looks at me with an expression that plainly shows he wants me to feel at home. A part of this group.
I’m not a fool—I know this is the Gallos at rest. In their den, so to speak. When they’re out hunting, they become a different sort of beast entirely. Violent. Calculated. Vengeful.
But that doesn’t concern me. There’s a core of darkness inside of me, the same as Nero. We recognized it in each other.
The Gallos see it, too.
I do belong here.
After the meal, Nero takes me for a drive, like we do almost every night.
Sometimes he’s behind the wheel, sometimes it’s me. Either way, we never tire of the wind in our faces, and the road unspooling beneath the wheels of the car.
Tonight, he takes us out to Peoria Heights. Teddy Roosevelt once said this was the most beautiful drive in the world. Admittedly, Nero and I might be more fascinated by the car Teddy Roosevelt drove than the view itself, but either way, he wasn’t wrong. On a clear night like this, you can see thirty miles across the Illinois River Valley.
It’s always easiest for Nero and me to talk while we’re driving. It puts us in our calmest state. The car is like a bubble, containing only the two of us, where anything can be said.
“What did you think of my family?” Nero asks me.
“I loved them,” I say.
“All of them?” he asks, in a tone of disbelief.
“Yes, all of them,” I laugh. “You’re lucky to have so many people that have your back.”
“Well, tonight they were there to see you,” Nero says, looking over at me. “They know how much you mean to me. But it was nice—having everyone together again.”
“Do you remember the first time I came to your house?” I ask him.
“Of course.”
“You said you weren’t anybody’s favorite.”
He shrugs. “No, probably not.”
“You’re MY favorite,” I tell him. “You’re my favorite person in the world.”
He looks over at me, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Nero looks fierce or moody almost all the time—even when he’s relaxed. But his smile is truly stunning. It’s slow, it’s sexy, and it makes him look more wicked than ever.
It makes my chest burn and my whole body go weak.
“Is that right?” he says.
“Most definitely.”
He puts his warm palm on my bare thigh and slides it up a little under my skirt.
“You’re driving me insane in this red dress,” he growls.
“You should do something about that . . .”
He finds a place to park, with the valley spread out below us.
I don’t think there’s ever been a couple who spent so much time taking each other’s clothes off in cars.
