The invitation came three days after the fango, delivered by a Vanetti courier to the brewery.
Rio opened the envelope. Inside, elegant handwriting on expensive paper:
Dinner. My quarters. Eight o'clock tonight. Come alone.
- N
"What is it?" Corteo asked, looking up from his chemistry equipment.
Rio folded the note. Slipped it into his pocket. "Work thing."
"What kind of work thing requires fancy paper?"
"The social kind."
Corteo's expression shifted. Worried. "Rio. Be careful."
"It's just dinner."
"With Nero Vanetti. Alone. In his private quarters." Corteo set down his beaker with deliberate care. "That's not business. That's personal."
"Maybe."
"There's no maybe. He's interested in you. Anyone with eyes can see it." Corteo's voice dropped. "And you're interested back. I can see that too."
Rio didn't deny it. Couldn't deny it. Whatever was building between him and Nero had gone past professional interest weeks ago.
"It's complicated," Rio said.
"It's suicidal." Corteo moved closer. "He's the heir to the family we're infiltrating. Getting personally involved—emotionally involved—that's exactly how this mission fails."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you're making the same mistake Angelo warned you about. You're getting attached."
"I'm doing my job. Getting close to the heir. Building trust."
"Is that what you call it?" Corteo's voice was gentle but sharp. "Rio, I've known you since we were kids. I can tell the difference between you pretending and you actually feeling something. This isn't an act anymore."
No. It wasn't.
Rio thought about Nero's smile. The way his eyes tracked Rio across rooms. The conversations that went deeper than they should. The moments of connection that felt real despite being built on lies.
"What do you want me to do?" Rio asked quietly. "Pull back? Create distance? That defeats the entire purpose."
"I want you to remember why we're here. What they did. What we're doing." Corteo's desperation was palpable. "I want you to protect yourself. Because when this falls apart—and it will—I don't want you to be destroyed by it."
"I'll be fine."
"Will you?" Corteo looked at him with something like grief. "You're falling for him, Rio. Maybe you don't want to admit it. Maybe you think you can control it. But I see it. And it's going to break you when the truth comes out."
Rio didn't have an answer.
Because Corteo was right.
He was falling. Had already fallen. Into something dangerous and doomed and inevitable.
The fragments whispered warnings about past attachments. Past loves that ended in blood and betrayal. About the cost of caring.
But they also whispered that maybe—just maybe—some things were worth the cost.
Even if they killed you in the end.
"I have to go," Rio said, checking the time. "Can't be late."
"Rio—"
"I know what I'm doing."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
---
Rio dressed carefully. Nothing too formal—didn't want to look like he was trying too hard. But quality enough to respect the invitation. The balance between professional and personal.
Avilio was out on a job with Ganzo. Rio was glad. Didn't want to explain where he was going. Didn't want to see Angelo's cold disapproval.
The walk to the Vanetti mansion took twenty minutes. Evening had settled over Lawless—that golden hour between day and night when the city looked almost beautiful.
The guards at the gate recognized him now. Waved him through without questions. He'd become familiar. Expected. Part of the landscape.
A servant met him at the entrance. Led him through corridors he was starting to know. Up stairs to the family's private quarters—the parts of the mansion most people never saw.
Nero's rooms were on the third floor. Corner suite with windows overlooking the city.
The servant knocked. Waited for Nero's response. Then opened the door and gestured Rio inside.
Nero stood by the window, backlit by fading sunlight. He'd changed from his usual business attire into something more casual—no jacket, shirt sleeves rolled up. More himself. Less the heir to a criminal empire.
"You came," Nero said, turning.
"You invited."
"I wasn't sure you would. It's... forward. Inviting you here."
"It is." Rio closed the door behind him. "What are we doing, Nero?"
"Honestly? I'm not entirely sure." Nero moved to a small table set for two. Food already laid out—quality dishes, wine, the kind of meal that required planning. "I told myself this was business. Getting to know a valuable associate. Building rapport."
"But?"
"But that's not why I invited you." Nero met his eyes. "I wanted to see you. Away from the family. Away from the work. Just... you."
The honesty was disarming.
Rio should deflect. Should maintain the professional distance. Should remember he was here to infiltrate and destroy, not to—
"I wanted to come," Rio said. And it was true.
Nero smiled. Relief and something else. "Then sit. Eat. Tell me things about yourself that aren't tactical assessments or combat efficiency."
They sat. The food was excellent—real cooking, not speakeasy fare. Nero had clearly put thought into this.
"You first," Rio said. "Tell me something real."
"What do you want to know?"
"Why you're doing this. Running the family business when you clearly have doubts about it."
Nero was quiet for a moment. Poured wine for both of them. "That's not a small question."
"I don't do small talk well."
"No. You don't." Nero drank. "The honest answer? Because it's expected. Because my father built this empire and Frate would destroy it within a year if he took over. Because someone has to keep everything from collapsing into chaos."
"That sounds like obligation, not desire."
"It is obligation. But desire is complicated." Nero's voice was thoughtful. "I don't love the violence. I don't love the moral compromises. But I love the family. The people. The sense of building something that matters."
"Criminal enterprise matters?"
"Community matters. In Prohibition America, bootlegging is how you build community. How you provide for people. How you create something lasting." Nero leaned back. "Is it perfect? No. Is it moral? Debatable. But it's real. And it's mine. That has to count for something."
Rio understood that more than he wanted to admit. The fragments supplied memories of other organizations, other structures. The need to belong to something larger than yourself.
Even if that something was built on questionable foundations.
"Your turn," Nero said. "Tell me something real about Rio Ceriano."
"What do you want to know?"
"Why you're here. Really. Not the Chicago story. The real reason you came to Lawless."
The question landed heavy. Because the real answer was revenge. Infiltration. Destruction.
But Rio couldn't say that. So he said something else that was also true:
"I was bored. Dying slowly in Chicago from the monotony of safe, successful, predictable existence. Then opportunity appeared. Dangerous opportunity. The kind that makes you feel alive." Rio met Nero's eyes. "Sometimes danger is the only thing that reminds you you're real."
"That's dark."
"I'm a dark person occasionally."
"Are you?" Nero studied him. "I see someone who deflects with humor. Who keeps people at arm's length while making them feel close. Who's running from something but won't say what."
Too observant. Always too observant.
"Maybe I'm just complicated," Rio said.
"You're definitely complicated." Nero's voice dropped. "That's what makes you interesting."
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. The conversation flowed easier after that—books they'd read, places they'd been, stories from their pasts carefully edited to maintain cover identities.
But underneath the conversation, tension built. The kind that came from two people circling something neither wanted to name but both could feel.
After dinner, Nero poured more wine. They moved to the sitting area—comfortable chairs, soft lighting, the intimacy of private space.
"Can I ask you something personal?" Nero said.
"You're going to regardless."
"True." Nero smiled. "Are you involved with anyone? Romantically?"
The question hung in the air.
"No," Rio said. Honest answer. He'd had hookups in Chicago. Temporary connections that meant nothing. But involved? No. "You?"
"No. It's... complicated. Being the heir. People want you for position more than personality. Hard to know what's real."
"I can imagine."
"Can you?" Nero's attention focused entirely on him. "Because you do the same thing. Keep people guessing. Never quite let them in. I've been watching you for weeks. Trying to figure out what's real and what's performance."
"What have you concluded?"
"That you're both. That the performance is part of what's real. That you're someone who's learned to survive by never being fully known."
The fragments screamed warnings. He sees too much. He's going to unravel everything. Deflect. Distance. Protect the mission.
But Rio didn't deflect. Just met Nero's eyes and said, "You're not wrong."
"I don't want to be right. I want—" Nero stopped. Shook his head. "This is inappropriate. You work for my family. I'm your superior in the organization. This conversation shouldn't be happening."
"But it is."
"But it is." Nero's voice was quiet. Conflicted. "And I don't know what to do about that."
Rio knew what he should do. Stand up. Leave. Maintain professional distance. Remember the mission. Remember that Nero Vanetti was the target, not—
He didn't stand up.
"What do you want to do about it?" Rio asked instead.
Nero's eyes met his. Held. The moment stretched.
Then Nero moved. Crossed the space between them. Stood close enough that Rio could feel his presence, his heat, the intensity of his focus.
"I want to know if what I'm feeling is real," Nero said quietly. "Or if I'm imagining it."
"You're not imagining it."
"Then what is this?"
Honest answer? Disaster. Complication. The worst possible development for the mission. Everything Corteo warned about. Everything Rio should avoid.
But fragments whispered something different: Connection. Real connection. The kind that happens rarely across lifetimes. The kind worth dying for.
"I don't know," Rio said. "But I feel it too."
Nero's hand came up. Cupped Rio's jaw. Gentle. Questioning.
Rio could stop this. Should stop this. Every tactical instinct screamed warnings.
He didn't stop it.
Nero kissed him.
Gentle at first. Testing. Then deeper when Rio responded. When Rio's hand came up to grip Nero's shirt. When the careful distance they'd maintained collapsed entirely.
It lasted seconds. Maybe longer. Time felt strange.
When they pulled apart, both breathing hard, Nero's expression was complicated.
"I shouldn't have done that," Nero said.
"Why?"
"Because you work for me. Because mixing business and personal is dangerous. Because—" He stopped. "Because I don't do this. I don't lose control like this."
"Is that what this is? Loss of control?"
"Isn't it?"
Maybe. Rio's own control was fracturing. The professional distance he'd maintained was gone. The mission was secondary to the man standing in front of him looking vulnerable and conflicted and real.
"I should go," Rio said.
"Stay."
"That's a bad idea."
"Probably." Nero's hand was still on his jaw. "But I want you to stay anyway."
The fragments offered warnings. Tactical assessments. Probabilities of mission failure if this continued.
Rio ignored them all.
"Okay," he said. "I'll stay."
---
What happened next was inevitable and dangerous and exactly what Rio knew he shouldn't do.
They talked. Then stopped talking. Then the careful boundaries dissolved entirely.
Nero's bedroom was through an adjoining door. They made it there eventually. Barely. Stumbling through kisses and removed clothing and the kind of urgency that came from weeks of denied attraction.
Rio's body knew what to do. The fragments supplied experience from lives he didn't remember. Made him confident and skilled and present in ways that had nothing to do with infiltration or mission objectives.
This was just—want. Connection. The dangerous kind that made you forget everything else.
After, lying in Nero's bed with skin against skin and breathing synchronized, Rio stared at the ceiling and tried to process what he'd just done.
He'd crossed a line. Multiple lines. The mission was compromised. His objectivity was gone. He'd just slept with the heir to the family he was supposed to destroy.
And he didn't regret it.
That was the terrifying part.
"What are you thinking?" Nero asked quietly.
That I've made a catastrophic mistake. That Corteo was right. That I'm too deep and can't get out. That I'm falling for you and it's going to destroy everything.
"That this is complicated," Rio said instead.
"It is." Nero's hand traced patterns on Rio's chest. Idle. Comfortable. "But maybe complicated is okay."
"Is it?"
"I don't know. But I want to find out." Nero propped himself up on one elbow. Looked at Rio with those intelligent, dangerous eyes. "This isn't just physical for me. I want you to know that. This is—you're—" He struggled for words. "I care about you. More than I should. More than is smart."
The confession landed like a punch.
Because Rio felt the same. Had been feeling it for weeks. And hearing Nero say it made it real in ways that terrified him.
"I care about you too," Rio said quietly. And it was true.
Dangerously, catastrophically true.
Nero smiled. Relieved. Happy in a way Rio hadn't seen before. "Then we'll figure it out. Whatever this is. We'll figure it out."
Rio wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe they could navigate this impossible situation. That caring about each other was enough.
But the fragments whispered darker truths: You're a spy. He's your target. This ends in betrayal and blood. It always does. Caring doesn't change that. It just makes it hurt more.
"Stay tonight," Nero said. "Please."
Rio should refuse. Should return to the brewery. Should put distance between them before this got worse.
"Okay," Rio said instead.
They lay together in the dark. Nero fell asleep first—trust and exhaustion letting him drop off easily.
Rio stayed awake. Staring at nothing. Feeling the weight of what he'd done.
He'd compromised the mission. Betrayed Angelo's trust. Crossed every line he'd promised not to cross.
And somehow, lying there with Nero's breathing steady against him, Rio couldn't bring himself to care.
The fragments mourned in advance for what was coming.
But tonight, Rio let himself have this. Connection. Warmth. The dangerous illusion that he belonged somewhere.
Tomorrow he'd deal with the consequences.
Tonight, he just let himself feel.
Even knowing it was going to destroy everything.
---
Rio left before dawn. Slipped out while Nero still slept. The walk back to the brewery felt surreal—Lawless emerging from night into early morning, Rio carrying the weight of his choices.
Corteo was awake when Rio entered. Took one look at him and went pale.
"You did it. You actually did it."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"We have to talk about it. You just—Rio, you just slept with Nero Vanetti. The heir. The target. The—" Corteo's voice broke. "Do you understand what you've done?"
"I understand."
"Do you? Because this isn't just a complication. This is mission failure. This is—if Angelo finds out—"
"He won't. Not from you."
Corteo stared at him. "You're asking me to lie to Angelo?"
"I'm asking you to let me handle this. Please." Rio met his eyes. "I know I made a mistake. I know it's complicated. But I need time to figure out how to navigate it."
"There's no navigating this. You're emotionally compromised. You care about him. And he cares about you. How exactly do you think this ends?"
"I don't know."
"Badly. It ends badly. With people dead and you—" Corteo stopped. "I'm trying to protect you. Can't you see that?"
"I know. And I appreciate it. But this is my choice. My mistake. Let me deal with it."
Corteo looked at him with something like grief. "You've changed. Since we got here. Since we started this. You're not the person you were in Chicago."
"People change."
"Not like this. Not this fast." Corteo's voice was desperate. "You're falling apart, Rio. Piece by piece. And I don't know how to stop it."
"Maybe you can't. Maybe I can't." Rio moved toward his room. "Maybe this is just what happens when you infiltrate something. You either stay detached and succeed, or you get attached and fail. I chose the second one."
"That's not a choice. That's surrender."
"Maybe surrender is all I have left."
Rio closed the door. Leaned against it. Let the weight of what he'd done finally settle.
He'd crossed every line. Broken every rule. Compromised everything.
And the worst part?
He'd do it again.
The fragments offered no comfort. Just the certainty that this path led to destruction.
Rio just hoped he could survive it.
Or failing that, that the destruction would be worth it.