Savage Lover: Chapter 27

I wait for Vic to wake up, then stumble out to the kitchen where I’ve left his present on the table. I know he’s seen it when I hear his whoop of surprise.

I poke my head out of my room, already grinning.

“You like it?” I say.

I bought him the best damn mixing board money can buy. I promised Nero I wouldn’t use the bank heist money for anything flashy—just my dad’s medical bills, and Vic’s college. But I figured we could get one little luxury without anybody noticing.

“Are you kidding me?” Vic says, his face lit up with joy. “It’s fucking fantastic!”

“Hey, put a quarter in the swear jar,” Dad says, shuffling out of his room. He’s looking not-terrible today, which is an improvement.

“If you enforced that rule with Camille, we’d have a million dollars,” Vic says.

“What? My baby girl?” Dad says, pretending to be shocked.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” I say, innocently.

Vic rolls his eyes at me, turning his attention back to the mixing board. He looks like he wants to kiss it.

“Uh oh,” Dad says. “I think Vic has finally fallen in love.”

Vic gives me a mischievous grin. “I hear I’m not the only one,” he says.

“What, what? What did I miss? Don’t tell me we’re talking about Nero Gallo . . .”

“Uh . . .” I say, blushing. “Yeah. I mean, yes. We’re together.”

“Nice work,” my father says, giving me an approving nod.

“You don’t mind about . . . you know,” I say, referencing the Gallos rather colorful reputation.

“I never expected you to fall for anyone normal,” Dad says, shrugging his shoulders.

Vic snorts, and I can’t help laughing too.

“Me either, I guess,” I say.

As Vic tries to sneak his gift back to his room, I add, “Don’t think this means you’re dropping out of school! You still need to get a degree. Even if you are making sick beats on the side.”

Vic groans. “Please don’t say ‘sick beats.’ “

“Why?” I tease him. “Is that not ‘fire’ anymore?”

“What’s ‘fire?’ ” Dad says, mystified.

“You two are killing me,” Vic says, pulling his hat down over his eyes in embarrassment.

“I’m starting to think that he doesn’t think we’re cool,” I say to my Dad.

“Impossible,” he shakes his head.

I grab the last piece of toast, and head down to the auto bay.

Even though my cut of the money was an utterly insane sum, it’s business as usual for the foreseeable future. For one thing, Nero drilled it into my head again and again that we can’t behave any differently. Cops, gangsters, and Raymond Page will all be sniffing around, looking for the slightest sign of bank robbers flush with cash. Even the gorgeous Grand Sport is currently hidden under a dust cover in the garage, so I don’t draw attention to myself.

Funnily enough, I don’t mind buckling down to work, now that it’s a choice instead of a necessity. I guess it helps that if some dickhole comes into the shop, hollering about the quote we gave him, I can tell him to bugger off. It’s nice to have a cushion, so you don’t have to cling to every job that comes your way.

I work straight through lunch, so I can leave early tonight. I’ve got a date with Nero—one I’m a little nervous about.

Once I’m finished, I head upstairs with plenty of time to shower and scrub my hands clean.

I wish I had Patricia to doll me up, but I’m on my own tonight. She’s got her own date with Mason.

She called me up to tell me all about the reconciliation.

“He flew Nana out to visit, it was a total surprise! AND he remembered to pick her up at the airport, right on time. He had this whole thing planned for us where we did the architecture river cruise, and the SkyDeck, and ate at Smoque . . . Nana was so happy, she said it was the best trip of her life. I swear, Camille, it’s like he got this fire lit under him. He says he found an apartment, and he wants to start a business, renting portable movie screens . . . I don’t know what happened to him!”

“That’s amazing,” I said, trying not to laugh. “I’m really happy for you, Patricia.”

I feel a little guilty having to play dumb with Patricia, but I’m sure Mason will tell her in time.

I’ve got a different secret weighing even heavier on my conscience.

It’s the secret of Vic’s real father.

I know he’s told me a hundred times that he doesn’t want to know. And he might be better off—Raymond Page is an absolute ass. But I keep thinking of Bella. That burst of empathy I had the night on the beach hasn’t entirely left me. I think Bella is the way she is because of her parents. I wonder if she’d be different if she had a family member who wasn’t cold-hearted. Someone funny and kind. Someone like Vic.

Once I’ve showered and put on my robe, I knock on Vic’s door.

“Hey,” I say, poking my head inside. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure,” he says.

I’m pleased to see that he’s got his homework spread out in front of him, even with the temptation of the new mixing board right next to him.

“Vic, I know we’ve talked about this a bunch of times. But sometimes when something’s theoretical, it’s different than reality . . .”

“What are you talking about?” Vic says, chewing the end of his pencil.

I take a deep breath.

“I found your father. And a sister, too.”

For once, Vic doesn’t dismiss the subject immediately. He sits very still, looking up at me with those big, dark eyes.

“A sister?” he says.

“Yeah.”

“How old?”

“Uh . . . my age, actually.”

Vic puts the pencil down.

“I guess . . . that is different,” he says.

“Yeah. I know where she is. If you wanted to meet her.”

Vic runs both hands through his hair, thinking hard. I give him time, not interrupting.

Finally he says, “Ask me again in a year. When I graduate.”

I let out the breath I was holding.

“Yeah?” I say. “You sure?”

“Yup.” Vic gives me a quick hug. “I’ve got enough sisters for now.”

I ruffle his hair, hugging him back with my free hand. Then I leave him alone so he can get back to work.

I feel a sense of relief as I walk back to my room. If Vic wants to meet Bella in a year . . . I’m okay with that. It gives me enough time to get used to the idea.

Plus time to figure out how to do it without seriously pissing off Raymond Page.

I get dressed much more carefully than usual. I put on a new red dress that Patricia helped me pick out. It’s got sort of a Latin vibe to it, bright and playful, which isn’t exactly how I’d describe myself, but Patricia assured me that it was the perfect “meet the family” outfit.

I put my hair in a braid while it’s still damp, then I carefully dab on a little lip gloss, the same color as the dress.

I slip my feet into a pair of sandals, then head back down to the auto bay for Nero to pick me up.

The black Mustang pulls into the drive, right on time.

Nero jumps out, kissing me before he opens the door for me.

“You look stunning,” he says.

“I feel like I might throw up,” I admit.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “They’re going to love you.”

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.

Greta starts bringing the food up from the kitchen. Sebastian jumps up to help her. I can see him limping just a little. Otherwise, he looks healthy and strong. He easily carries several platters at once, setting them in the center of the table.

I’m not Italian, but you can’t grow up in Old Town without learning about proper Italian cuisine.

I can see that Greta knows what she’s doing. The platters are heaped with roasted vegetables, eggplant Parmesan, radicchio Panzanella, Italian wedding soup, giant meatballs, and freshly-made pasta with clams and hot Italian sausage.

Once all the food is brought up, Greta sits down to eat with everyone else. It’s clear that she’s family, too. That makes me feel just a little more comfortable, as evidence that the Gallos aren’t snobs.

“Take a meatball!” Aida encourages me. “They’re the best you’ve ever had, I guarantee it.”

“Don’t hype it up too much,” Greta says, “I’m sure Camille has had plenty of meatballs in her life.”

I take a bite, chewing carefully so I don’t burn my tongue.

“Not like this,” I say, seriously impressed. “This is amazing.”

“You should open a restaurant,” Sebastian says to Greta.

“Don’t tell her that!” Aida cries. “She’ll never come back here if she knows she has other options.”

Greta snorts, pouring herself a generous glass of wine.

Seeing that she can’t get a rise out of Greta, Aida turns her attention on me instead.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Aida says, with a concerned expression. “But have you suffered a head injury lately? Because it appears that you actually like Nero . . .”

Nero scowls at her.

“You promised to behave yourself tonight.”

Aida lets out an infectious peal of laughter. “Is that by your standards, big brother? Because if that’s the case . . . I think anything short of burning the house down is acceptable.”

“You’re the only one at the table who’s set a house on fire,” Aida’s husband reminds her.

That’s Callum Griffin—probably the richest and most influential person at this whole table. He looks stern. But there’s no malice in his tone—he’s only teasing Aida.

“One library,” she says, airily. “Not a whole house.”

“That was my library,” he growls.

“Well, now you have a whole new apartment! And a wife!” Aida grins. “What a good trade.”

I can feel Nero sitting tensely next to me. I glance over at him, afraid that he is embarrassed of me after all.

Then I see that he’s looking at Aida, not at me—nervous at how I’ll take her jokes.

I realize he’s worried what I’ll think of his family, now that I’ve seen them all in their natural state.

I squeeze his hand, smiling up at him.

“These really are the best meatballs,” I whisper to him.

He relaxes a little, smiling back at me.

“I know,” he says. “You can’t oversell them.”

In the end, the dinner is just as lovely as the setting. Nero’s family is warm, charming—and most of all, just a family. Who love each other and drive each other crazy, in equal measure.

I feel like I could fit here.

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.

I love being inside Nero’s car. It smells like him. It feels like him. The gearshift and steering wheel have been worn by constant contact with his hands. His shape is indented into the driver’s seat.

I love the way he lays my seat back and climbs on top of me, pinning me down in the confined space. I love how close his face is to mine, as he slides his cock inside of me.

He’s fucking me slow tonight, more gently than usual. His arms are wrapped around me, his hands thrust into my hair.

Our lips lock together in one long kiss that goes on and on.

I run my hands down his back, beneath his shirt. I’ve never met a man with skin so phenomenally smooth. The softness of the skin and the hardness of the muscle beneath is a dichotomy I never tire of exploring.

Every time he thrusts into me, I can feel his back flexing, as well as his ass. I run my palm down the hard curve of his ass cheek, thinking what an under-appreciated part of a man this is. The Greeks and Romans knew how to take an ass like this, and immortalize it in marble.

Nero should be a statue.

If he were, I would worship it.

I press my face against the side of his neck, inhaling his scent. That’s all it takes—that’s the catalyst that pushes me over. I start to cum, and he’s cumming too. It almost always happens at the same time now. Whether he starts first or I do, the clenching and squeezing of our flesh puts the other one over the edge.

Every time we do this, I fall more and more into my obsession with this man. I realize that I could never feel this way about anyone else. If I lost Nero, I would spend the rest of my life remembering what it was like to experience desire on this level. Pleasure on this level. Connection, admiration, love, on an all-encompassing scale.

That’s the harrowing thing about falling in love.

I’m Eve in the garden. Once I eat the fruit, I can never go back. I can never forget what I tasted.

And I don’t care. I would give a thousand gray and lonely years for one hour of this.

I would give anything to have Nero.

We lay together in the cramped passenger seat, wrapped up tight in each other’s arms.

After a while, Nero says, “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I found something out about your mother.”

The silence in the car seems enormous. Even in the warmth of Nero’s arms, I feel cold. I already know what he’s trying to tell me. I can read him so well by now. I feel the stiffness of his shoulders, and the tension in his voice.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

The finality of that is like a door slamming in my face. All the things I wanted to say to her, all the things I hoped she might say to me one day . . . it all waited on the other side of that door. Now it’s closed, and it can’t ever open again.

“I think I knew it. When she hadn’t called in so long . . . not even once. I guess I knew what it meant.”

“Still,” he says. “Knowing for certain is different.”

I bury my face in his chest, clinging to his arms wrapped around me. He’s the only thing holding me steady right now.

“What happened?” I ask him.

“From what I could find, it was an overdose.”

I sigh.

I had a fantasy in my head that she might have gotten clean. Moved to another city. Changed her whole life. I thought she might come back one day, looking as beautiful as she used to. She’d knock on the door, just like the night she brought Vic. But this time she wouldn’t run away. She’d come into the kitchen and sit down with us. And tell us where she’d been.

I almost believed that I could make that happen for her, just by holding that picture in my head. A possible future that she could step into, as long as I kept it ready for her.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Nero says, wiping the tears off my face with his hand.

“I’m glad you did,” I tell him. “So I wasn’t wondering anymore . . .”

“I won’t ever leave you,” Nero says. “Never, Camille. You’ll never have to wonder where I went. I’ll be right by your side.”

I look up into his face.

I’ve spent a long time with a hole in my heart.

Nero fills all the empty space inside of me. He heals every wound. I know how dangerous he is. How intelligent. How ruthless. He makes me feel invincible, because with Nero next to me, nothing can hurt me.

I’m sorry about my mother.

But it’s time for me to finally start the next chapter of my life.

I’m moving forward—Nero and I, together.