Page 123 of Savage Lover

We drive west through Old Town. As we cross over Sedgwick, I hear bagpipes. A police procession marches down the road. The end of the street is blocked off, with a wall of uniformed officers lined up.

“What’s all that about?” I ask Nero.

He raises an eyebrow at me.

“You didn’t read about it?”

“No,” I say.

“Papa gets the paper every morning. This was front-page stuff.”

“Are you going to tell me?” I demand.

“Chief Brodie got shot in the back of the head in Rosenblum park.”

“What? By who?”

“That’s the mystery. It happened in the middle of the night. He was all alone in the park.”

Nero has a strange look on his face, like he’s trying not to smile.

“What’s going on?” I demand. “You look like you know something.”

“Maybe I do.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you . . .” he growls. “If you convince me.”

“I don’t have time to convince you! We’re almost at your house!”

“Later, then,” he says, in his most infuriating tone.

We pull up to the Gallos’ mansion, which intimidates me much more than last time, because I know the whole family is waiting inside.

Nero takes my hand. He leads me up a dark, rickety staircase, all the way to the rooftop deck.

There I see the loveliest dinner imaginable. The place settings are laid out on a massive old table, big enough to seat twenty people or more. The dishes look heavy and hand-made, like they might have come from Italy a hundred years ago. Fairy lights twinkle from the bare grapevines that arch overhead, growing all across the pergola.

Nero’s family is already seated, waiting for us. I see Enzo at the head, looking older than the last time I saw him, but still intelligent and distinguished in his dinner jacket. On his right side is Dante, imposing in his bulk and his humorless scowl, until he gives me a nod of recognition. Sebastian sits next to Dante, much more cheerful than his eldest brother. He waves to me.

On the other side of the table is the baby of the family, and the only girl—Aida Gallo. I’ve never actually met her, because she’s so much younger—not even a freshman by the time I graduated. I heard stories about her, though. How she was wild like Nero, but kind like Sebastian. So I was always disposed to like her.

She’s quite beautiful—the same gray eyes as Nero, paired with a grin so impish that I don’t know whether to smile back, or be terrified of her.

Her husband, by contrast, is almost as serious as Dante. He’s starkly dressed in a dark suit, with carefully combed hair and pale blue eyes that are a little unsettling when they land on me.

However, he nods politely to me. I can tell from how close he sits to Aida, and the way he lays his hand on her thigh that they’re a tightly-bonded couple, no matter how mismatched they might appear.

The seat next to Aida is empty. I take it, with Nero sitting on my other side.

“Welcome,” Enzo says to me. “We’re very glad to meet you, Camille. I know your father, of course. I’m sorry to hear he’s been ill.”

“Thank you,” I squeak. “He’s getting better now.”

My heart is fluttering. The beauty of the table and this outdoor space, and all the handsome, well-dressed people sitting around it, are exactly the kind of things that remind me that Nero has always been wealthy and well-connected, while I’ve always been a nobody.

Nero is squeezing my hand tight. When I look at him, his expression is fierce and proud. He’s not embarrassed of me.

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