Page 29 of Shades of Grey & Gold

“The Halbrook case is—”

“Cal.”

“It’s a wrongful conviction, twelve years, the witness—”

“Calogero.”

I look at the ceiling. “Don’t full-name me like you’re our mother, Nicolas.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong here. I’m asking a question. Let’s try again: is it a what—like this Halboken—”

“Halbrook,” I correct.

“Is it a what or a who, Cal?” A beat. Then, with smugness that has defined his entire personality since birth, “Because if it’s a who, I’d really like to know who has managed to keep you at an office of a mid-sized regional law firm this long when you have an empire torun.”

“It’s not an empire.”

“It’s the likeness of an empire.”

“And I’m not running it. Go to bed, Nico.”

“I will, likely with a beautiful, dark-haired woman if I have my way,” he sounds wistful. “Maybe two. After you tell me when you’re coming home to take what’s supposed to be yours.”

I turn from the window. Look at the apartment. The just-fine couch. The good-enough bed. The kitchen I use for coffee. The total absence of anything that indicates a person lives here or cares to make a life here.

I think about the look on Max’s face in the restaurant tonight when she was right about Halbrook and knew it and waited to see if I’d admit it. The way she laughed. The way she didn’t make herself small. The way she lights up every room she enters and the way it fills my soul in every bright and beautiful way possible. In ways I had forgotten were possible, if I’m honest with myself.

In the way I’ve been waiting to admit since the day I met her nine years ago. Back when she just inserted herself into any place she wanted to be, with her wits and intelligence and God just every amazing part of her. The way I wake up every morning with a spring in my step just because I know I get to see her again.

And I keep finding reasons to stay. Because it’s like stepping into the sun after a long winter just to be near her again. I can’t leave yet.

“I’ll come back,” I say it with finality. “When I can. I’m busy with something.”

“With the Halbrook case.”

“Yep.”

“And with the who.”

I don’t answer that one.

Nico laughs. It’s short and knowing and deeply annoyed. “Okay, brother. I’ll tell the men you’re working. Very important case. Very important.” Another pause as he raises his voice. “She must be something. Something dark-haired and curvy with a big, fat a—”

“Goodnight, Nico.”

“She must have some body for—”

I hang up.

I stand in the quiet apartment for a minute, spinning the ring that has rested on my finger for over a decade. The top has anRengraved inside a crest. A tiny horn carvedinto the metal side catches the light from outside as I glance down. Thecornicello1. My grandmother’s idea of protection.

I wonder sometimes if she knew what she was protecting when she gave it to us as teenagers. Definitely did.

I finish the whiskey and rinse the glass because I can’t have the place looking like someone lives in it.

Then I find Max’s name in my contacts on the phone Nico didn’t call me on and I type:

Cal: Good call on the Halbrook alibi witness. I’m using it.