“Yeah.” Dante nods slowly. “Only problem is, I don’t exactly want to threaten them. They’ve been through enough already.”

“We don’t have to go in guns blazing,” I say.

“Yeah?” Dante cocks an eyebrow at me. “You gonna be chill this time?”

“Of course,” I say, shrugging off his look. “I’m fine.”

I’m not fine, though. I don’t know what the fuck that was in there—I completely lost my temper. That’s twice in two days.

Maybe I’m not cut out for this bodyguard life. I’m getting overly invested. All wrapped up in this thing with a level of emotion that isn’t usual for me.

As we get back into the car, my phone buzzes with a text from my brother:

You missed mom’s birthday. And the anniversary.

He means the anniversary of our dad’s death. It happened only two days apart from Mom’s birthday, so it’s always a hard time of year for her.

I text him back:

I called her.

A pause, then he replies:

Calling isn’t the same as visiting.

I haven’t been home in a while. Almost three years. But who’s counting.

I can picture the ranch as clear as the busy Chicago streets right in front of me. I can see the stands of birch trees, and almost smell the scent of clean hay and warm horseflesh.

I feel a pull to be in a warmer, greener place than here.

But I also feel a deep sorrow and shame at the thought of visiting home.

So I text back:

I’m on a job right now.

Grady fires back:

You’re always on a job.

There’s a pause where he waits for me to respond. When I don’t, he texts again:

Mom hurt her foot. She’s getting too old to do this full time. We need to talk about what we’re gonna do with the ranch . . .

I turn my phone off and stuff it in my pocket, annoyed.

“Problem?” Dante says.

“No.” I shake my head. “No problem at all.”

* * *

11

Riona

While I’m working, Nero is fucking around with his switchblade.

I used to think that he played with it to try to look tough, but watching him now, I realize it’s almost like meditation for him. The blade moves through his fingers with incredible speed and fluidity. He zones out, his eyes becoming calm and focused, and his breathing slows down until his chest is barely rising and falling.

It’s funny to think that he and Dante are brothers, when Dante is so rough and brutal-looking, and Nero is, for lack of a better word, simply beautiful. In temperament they’re opposites, too—Dante deliberate and disciplined, and Nero impulsive and ferocious.

Or at least, that’s how he used to be. Today he seems more relaxed, and in a better mood than I’ve seen before.

Dante told me that Nero’s head over heels for a girl he knew in high school—Camille. I thought Nero would be the last person in the world to ever fall in love, but I guess that’s me instead.