Even Nero sees it.

He looks up from his switchblade, fixing me with his cool gray eyes, and says, “So, are you and the cowboy fucking yet?”

That’s a classic cross-examination tactic. Ask a question bluntly and abruptly to try to shock the defendant into answering honestly.

“No,” I say, without giving Nero the pleasure of an emotional response. “I have a boyfriend.”

“But you would otherwise.”

“No,” I say calmly. “I wouldn’t.”

Nero snorts, obviously thinking I’m full of shit.

“I know this will come as a shock to you, but most people don’t fuck every single person they meet,” I inform Nero.

“They do if they’re hot,” Nero says.

“Oh, so you think Raylan’s hot?” I say innocently.

To my surprise, Nero grins. “Yeah,” he says. “Real dreamy.”

Wonders never cease. Nero Gallo showing an ounce of self-deprecation. He really must be in love.

To test that theory, and to shift the focus off myself, I say, “Dante told me you’re dating someone.”

“I am,” Nero says, unembarrassed.

“Is it serious?”

“Yes,” he says with simple finality.

This is so bizarre to me. Nero was the epitome of a Lothario. He didn’t seem to give a fuck about anyone or anything.

“What’s different about her?” I ask.

“It’s got nothing to do with being different,” Nero says, in his cryptic way. Nero sometimes reminds me of the Cheshire Cat—he’ll respond to questions, but he doesn’t give a damn if you understand his answers.

Usually, I’d just ignore him. But I’m genuinely curious about this. I want to know how he could change so drastically. I used to think people didn’t change at all.

“Explain it to me,” I say, putting down my pen and giving him my full attention. “I really want to know.”

Nero closes his knife and slips it back in his pocket. He sits forward, elbows on his knees.

“Camille and I are the same,” he says simply. “Not in circumstances or experiences. Not on the outside. But in the things that matter, we’re aligned. What we care about. What we want. What we feel.”

I really don’t understand love. I was just thinking that opposites attract. Now Nero’s saying it’s all about finding someone the most like yourself internally.

“So . . . you’re just really similar,” I say.

“It’s more than that,” Nero says. ”There’s the parts that are the same, and the parts that fill up the holes in each other. You don’t know what’s missing inside of you, until you find it in someone else.”

I never thought I’d be discussing love with Nero. This month has been utterly bizarre. I have more questions I want to ask him, but Raylan and Dante interrupt.

“Any luck?” I ask them.

“No.” Dante shakes his head. “Barker is an asshole, but a broke and unmotivated asshole, as far as we could tell.”

I glance over at Raylan, who looks strangely guilty. Nero, ever eagle-eyed, notices the same thing.

“What happened to your hand?” he demands.

“Nothing.” Raylan stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets, but not before I see what Nero was referring to—the knuckles of his right hand are definitely swollen.

“Did he attack you?” I ask Raylan. Barker is an asshole alright, but I can’t imagine him having the balls to take a swing at Raylan—especially not with Dante right there, backing him up.

“No,” Raylan says. He’s not looking at me, and he seems irritated by the questions.

“We talked to John Hartford as well,” Dante says to me quickly, changing the subject. “Victoria’s older brother. He’s pretty pissed at my family—he knows we helped Bosco Bianchi. Which I fucking wish we hadn’t. But I don’t think he knows you were involved at all. So if he wants revenge, I don’t think it would be pointed in your direction.”

“So we learned . . . nothing whatsoever,” I say.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Raylan nods.

“Great.” Nero pushes himself up from the chair. “Sounds like an afternoon well spent.”

“I’m sure you had way more important things to do,” Dante snorts, shaking his head at his little brother.

“Oh, I’m not complaining.” Nero shoots a glance in my direction. “Riona and I were having a real nice chat.”

Dante raises his eyebrows at me, clearly having as much trouble imagining what that would look like as I would have trying to explain it to him.

Dante and Nero head out, and Raylan takes his customary chair in the corner. But he’s not in his usual good mood. Actually, he looks pretty wound up about something.

“What?” I say to him. “Are you mad because you didn’t find what you were looking for?”

“No,” Raylan says shortly.

“What, then?”

“Nothing.”

I roll my eyes. I don’t want to have to guess what he’s annoyed about.

After a few minutes of silence, Raylan says, “What did Nero mean?”

“Oh. We were just talking about him and Camille.”

“Is that all?” Raylan says suspiciously.

“Yes . . . ” I reply.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think Raylan was jealous of Nero. He’s acting very odd.

“Are you going to tell me what happened to your hand?” I ask him.

“No,” Raylan says.

I make an irritated sound and go back to my work.

When it’s finally time to leave, Raylan seems to have relaxed a little. He grabs my coat and holds it so I can slip my arms into the sleeves. Then he opens the door for me.

Usually I don’t like when men go over the top with chivalrous gestures, but Raylan does it naturally, not making a fuss about it. Everything he does with his hands is smooth and easy: cooking, driving, getting the door. He probably is great at chopping wood just like he said.

I can see Oran’s light still burning in his office, so I make a detour down the hall to say goodnight to him.

He’s bent over a stack of papers, looking intent and exhausted.

“ ‘Night, Uncle Oran,” I say. “I’m headed out.”

“Goodnight,” he says distractedly.

Uncle Oran is as well-dressed as ever, but there’s more gray than black in his hair now, and he’s got bags under his eyes. I sometimes forget he’s almost ten years older than my father.

“Your uncle never got married or had kids?” Raylan asks me as we get into the elevator.

“No.” I shake my head. “He’s had girlfriends—one for six or seven years. She was nice. Her name was Lorelei. She worked at a gallery in River West—it was for self-taught artists. ‘Outsider Art’ they called it. But they split up. I don’t know why.”

“You’re close to him,” Raylan says. It’s not a question.

“Yeah.” I nod. “He got me interested in law. Cal was always the heir to the empire, and Nessa was the baby. You know she’s such a sweetheart, everybody loves her. So I guess . . . there wasn’t anything special about me. Uncle Oran made me feel special.”