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.”