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I try to return to the table, but Nero steps into my path before I make it halfway. He stares at me too long without saying anything. Last time we saw each other, he was dangerous to his surroundings. Tonight he seems restrained, almost civilized. Good dog.

“My father wants to talk to you,” he says.

That’s odd, meeting with Vito in a public setting. Still, I follow.

We walk with two bodyguards, which feels funny, because I’m pretty sure Vito and Nero are both deadlier than their own security. But appearances matter. We enter a small side room where Vito already waits. The guards stay outside. Nero leans against the wall by the door, and I stand there for a second, not sure what I’ve walked into.

Vito looks at his son. “Leave us.”

I turn my head just enough to catch Nero’s reaction from the corner of my eye. He didn’t expect that. Silence stretches for one awkward beat before he pushes off the wall and leaves.

Vito gestures to the chair beside him. “Please, sit.”

I do.

“You have something tonight?” he asks.

“I always do.”

“I’ll take 20.”

That’s a lot, considering we saw each other not long ago. He must’ve upped the dose. I pass him the bags, and he empties most of the first one into several neat rails. Then hands me the rest of it as a tip. Even an old wolf can be a gentleman. I crush the powder with my black Amex, which is now more useful for this than shopping.

“You’ve dealt stardust for a long time. I also know you use a lot,” he states as I snort my dust. That doesn’t sound nice but ok.

“I’m not judging,” he adds with a wave of his hand. “None of my business. How often do people overdose?”

“Rarely. It’s too expensive, and you also don’t lose that much control after it. You have to be determined to overdose on stardust. You need to want it.”

“How much would someone have to take?”

That is a weird question.

“Depends on weight, magic, age, species. Average supernatural? Around ten grams.”

“What’s the most you’ve taken?”

I hold his gaze. “Nine.”

Vito looks impressed.

“You’ve been spending time at Moon lately,” he says.

Of course he knows. Nothing gets past Vito Caruso.

“I work everywhere.”

“Piro doesn’t look like he’s on stardust.”

“No, he is not.”

Vito rubs his temple with one hand, the tattoos across his fingers faded with age.

“I give him fucking everything. Power. Respect. Cars. Money. And what does he do? Gets high and sticks his dick into anything that moves. How can someone be so useless.”

He’s not exactly wrong. I stay quiet and try not to laugh. It feels like Vito just needs to vent. People do that with dealers. They treat us like bartenders, only better, because they know keeping secrets is part of the job. I let him talk.

“Maybe I should’ve been harder on him,” he says. “Nero turned out perfect.”