“Thanks for the lift,” Dante says, in his rumbling voice.

I can see Camille’s cheeks turning pink. She hasn’t officially met any of my family yet, but she knows who my brothers are, like everybody does in Old Town.

“Sorry I was late,” she says.

“How did it go?” I ask her.

“There were a couple . . . bumps along the way,” she says.

“But you’re okay? Really okay?”

“Yes,” she says, her dark eyes flitting over to me again.

I can feel my brothers watching us. I don’t give a shit.

I grab her hand and bring it up to my lips, kissing it.

“You’re incredible,” I tell her.

25

Camille

“Turn here,” Nero tells me.

We’re weaving through Roscoe Village. It’s funny being in such a sleepy little neighborhood, just minutes after pulling off a bank robbery. We’re passing by Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s. Hipster lofts and coffee shops seem like the antithesis of criminal activity.

I know we need to get rid of the police van, but Nero seems to have his own destination in mind.

“Right here,” he says, pointing to a parking garage.

I turn into the first stall, mildly confused.

“Are we leaving the van here?” I ask.

“Nope,” Nero says. “Come on.”

I get out of the van. Dante climbs into the driver’s seat instead.

“Nice to meet you, Camille,” he says in his deep voice.

“See you again soon, I’m sure,” Sebastian says, giving me a little salute.

They drive away, leaving Nero and I alone in the garage.

I turn to face him, utterly bemused.

“Where are they going?”

“To burn the van,” Nero says.

“How are we getting home?”

“I dunno,” he grins. “I was hoping you’d drive me.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. All I know is he’s definitely excited about something. Not just the insane amount of money we just stole—this is something else.

“What are you up to?” I say, suspiciously.

“I’m talking about your new car,” Nero says.

He pulls the dust cover off the car parked in the nearest stall.

I gasp, hands over my mouth.

I see a long, sleek body with outrageous curves, painted a deep oxblood red. The chrome grille and round headlights gleam in the dim parkade. The wheels are pristine. I can smell the fresh leather even from here.

“You’re joking,” I say.

“I would never joke about a car,” Nero says. “Especially not this one.”

I turn to look at him. His eyes look darker than usual, intently focused on me. His expression is serious.

“Nero, I can’t take this . . .” I say. “You may never find another one.”

“Camille,” he says, touching my cheek with his hand. “I’ve always felt things . . . intensely. Or I thought I did. But every emotion I ever had, my whole life through, is nothing compared to what I feel when I look at you. I don’t care about the car, or the money we just took, or anything else in this world. Next to you, all those other things just fade away.”

“This is crazy,” I whisper.

The Grand Sport is beautiful, utterly beautiful. Priceless, in that there’s not another one like it in the world, and you could never buy the countless hours of time that Nero put into it, when he thought it would be his.

But it’s not the car itself that’s making my heart race like mad, and hot tears spring up into my eyes.

It’s what it means, for Nero to give it to me.

Nero is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. He has a fire inside of him that burns hotter than the surface of the sun. I know how strongly he hates—I can only imagine the kind of love he feels. It terrifies me.

I don’t know how or why he’s given it to me.

I feel like a mortal, chosen by a god.

And yet . . .

It feels right.

The way our hands fit together. The way our bodies fit together, too. The way I understand him, when no one else seems to. And the way he sees me, when no one bothered to before.

The way we find peace in each other, when we’re two restless souls.

I’ve known he was the one for me for a long time now.

I just never thought I could be the one for him.

Then Nero says something even more insane.

“Do you think you could ever love me, Camille?”

I’m so startled that I almost laugh.

He mistakes the look on my face.

“I know I’ve got an awful history and honestly, I’m not much better now. My temper is shit. I want to kill any man that looks at you. I’m not . . . good with words, or feelings,” he takes a deep breath and I realize that Nero is nervous—almost as nervous as I am. “But I love you, Camille. I’ll never hurt you. You can trust me for that, if nothing else.”

I’m speechless. Desperate to answer him, yet totally unable to make a sound.

All I can do is grab him and kiss him. I kiss him like the very first time, hungry and aching. Then I kiss him like we kissed in my tiny little glassed-in room—as if the whole universe has passed away, and he and I are the only two things in existence.

When our lips part, I can finally speak.

“I love you so much it hurts. I’m scared to tell you, scared to even let myself feel it. But I love you, and I have for a while.”

“Good,” he says, with infinite relief.

He kisses me again, crushing me against his body.

When he lets me go, he grins and says, “Now take me for a drive.”

He hands me the keys. Even the fob is original to the car, made of old silver polished bright again.

I slide into the driver’s seat, inhaling the fresh leather and paint. The dash is all round dials, with the huge steering wheel in the center.

I turn the key, listening to the engine turn over with a roar, subsiding into a patient purr.

“When did you know you were going to give this to me?” I asked Nero.

“The moment you touched it, and I saw the look on your face,” Nero says.

I pull out of the parking garage, my heart soaring with every turn of the wheel. The car operates flawlessly. Nero truly is a magician.

He looks perfect in the passenger seat—stylish, haughty, and outrageously handsome.

As if reading my thoughts, Nero says the same thing to me: “It suits you. It was made for you.”

I take us east to Lake Shore Drive, so we can drive along the water. A cool breeze is blowing. The maples are turning red. It’s finally fall.

We stop at Montrose Point, parking the car so it faces the city. Chicago is lit up, the skyscrapers reflecting on the water.

I climb over onto Nero’s lap, straddling him. He reclines his seat so he can look up at me.

The moonlight illuminates one side of his face, the other deeply shadowed.

He’s always going to have two sides of him: the side that’s dark and vengeful. But also a side unearthly in its beauty.

I can feel Nero’s cock, already raging hard, pressing against me with too many layers of clothes between us.

I see myself reflected in his eyes. I see the longing radiating out of his face.