Page 151 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

I suck in a slow breath and release it through my teeth. “How?”

“Executed on the same order today. For failing to keep you on a leash.”

Guilt twists my gut. I had no love and little respect for Marcus Hawkins. Still, I’d rather kill a man with my own hands or not at all.

I blink away the red haze of rage in my field of vision. All these years, I never missed a hit, never botched a mission. And yet the Beast executed my handler because I was having a bad week?

A bitter chuckle escapes me. “That son of a bitch remembers me.”

Dante leans forward, and his voice drops. “You’re right, Quinn. Giovanni remembers you. Question is—why?”

I take a breath, then let it out slowly. “I had orders to kill him six years ago.”

Dante whistles, his eyes brimming with intrigue. “Well, why didn’t you do it?”

Because he was an innocent man that the government sentenced to die at my hand.

Instead of killing him, I dragged Giovanni across Europe and dumped him on my former handler’s porch.Only now do I realize it wasn’t the government who wanted Giovanni dead. It was Luca Moretti, and I delivered him right into the hands of a man who may have turned him into the monster he is today.

“It would seem you’ve never been great at taking orders, Quinn,” Dante taunts.

“It’s not too late to rectify that error,” I retort.

Nico, who had been silent through our exchange, finally speaks. “You will do nothing of the sort. Going after the Beast is an act of war. One the Outfit cannot afford.”

I turn my glare on him. “What the fuck have my hits got to do with the Outfit?”

“Good question.” Nico steeples his fingers, his signet ring catching the dim light like a silent reminder of his authority. “Dante had to talk fast to stop your execution. He told Giovanni that as my soldier, you kidnapped Luna Romano on my orders.”

Nico pauses for effect, letting the weight of his next words sink in. “I backed his story up, of course, on my honor as your Don. And by surrendering half the Outfit’s assets as ‘damages’ for the inconvenience you caused.”

“Your soldier. Acting on your orders.” I repeat flatly, looking from one brother to the other. “You two must be smoking some high-grade shit.”

“Let me make something clear, Quinn.” Nico’s voice drops to a register I imagine makes his men shit themselves. “I’m the only reason you’re breathing. You owe me your life and half an empire. And I plan to collect—starting now.”

I arch a mocking eyebrow. “Alright, humor me. What do you want?”

“I thought I already made it clear.” Nico’s cold blue eyes lock on mine. “You were loyal to Giovanni once. Now, as my soldier, I expect nothing less.”

The room spins as his meaning becomes clear. This asshole isn’t bluffing.He wants me under his thumb.

“Now, in case you’re struggling to grasp my terms, let me spell it out for you.” He leans closer. “Either you come work for me, or Giovanni and I will have you buried in a grave so deep, the Reaper Druids will need a fucking radar to find your corpse. Your choice.”

Your choice.

The words echo in my skull, a taunt, an ultimatum that sets every nerve ending on fire.

One second, I’m seated. The next, I’m on my feet, and my chair is smashing down on Nico’s head.

Except it doesn’t land.

Dante is faster than I anticipate, kicking the chair out of my grip with a precision that sends wood splinters scattering across the room.

My hand drops instinctively to my holster, fingers curling around my Glock. This time, Nico moves, rolling across the table in a blur of speed. He crashes into my side just as my finger finds the trigger. His iron grip clamps onto my wrist, wrenching it upward. Bullets punch into the ceiling, sending a shower of plaster dust raining down over us.

Nico twists my arm behind my back while Dante sweeps my legs out from under me. I hit the filthy carpet face-first, and Dante’s weight pins me down. Through the grit and dust, I see Nico’s leather shoes retreating, putting space between us with the same fluid grace that evaded the bullet.

“Calm the fuck down, or I’ll put you down.” Dante’s knee digs into my shoulder blades as he pries the Glock from my grip. I let him take it.

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