Page 7 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

“Darling, I never joke about money. He’s in Chicago this week and wants to meet. This could be your golden ticket into Nico Vitelli’s pants—ahem—inner circle.”

“Delilah,” I warn, “for the last time, that man is married.”

“And a girl can always hope for a little Mafia drama,” she sighs, undeterred. “Anyway, gotta run—need to film. I’ll keep you posted. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Which isn’t much.” I think of all the outrageous stories she’s shared since we met.

“Exactly.” There’s a wicked grin in her voice as the line clicks off.

I stare at my phone, grinning like an idiot. An investor! Talk about an eleventh-hour miracle. For the first time in days, I don’t feel like the “sniveling brat” Papa’s branded me since I moved back from Paris. Right now, I’m an entrepreneur on the brink of a major break.

I’d planned to spend the rest of the day brooding, but now? A celebration sounds far better. A stiff drink—or two—to remind me that my life isn’t entirely unraveling.

Knowing she’ll be prepping for her recording, I don’t bother calling Delilah back. Instead, I type out a quick text:

You free later? We should celebrate this.

I hit “send" and toss my phone onto the dresser, feeling the tension from my argument with Papa melt away.

My phone buzzes almost immediately.

Depends. Can you ditch the bodyguard?

I smirk at the screen. Of course, Delilah would ask that.

Sure.

A thumbs-up emoji, then:

Meet me at Enigma in Downtown. 10 PM.

My fingers pause over the screen.

Enigma is a little . . . sketchy? Isn't it?

Her reply comes in almost immediately.

Unfortunately. Got a friend I can’t blow off tonight. I promise it’s safe. Unlessyou prefer to meet at the usual—Urban Elixir? But I won’t be free until tomorrow night.

I hesitate, chewing my lip. Enigma is no doubt full of people who wouldn’t think twice about throwing a punch. Not exactly my usual scene—or Delilah’s, for that matter.

But with her fans and proclaimed stalkers, Delilah is probably more at risk in a seedy club like Enigma than I am. I type my reply.

I’ll be there.

3

Cade

Enigma is a cesspit of desperation masked by cheap cologne and neon lights.

From my shadowy booth, I catalog every face, my fingers absently tracing the rim of my untouched scotch.

Tonight’s hit is Hector Lobo, a trafficker, and human garbage in designer clothes. He’s late, but patience is a weapon I’ve honed to perfection.

My gaze drifts to the willowy blonde plastered to Scar’s side in the corner booth. Katarina is my “merchandise” for the night—a former CIA spy who now works for me.

Kat’s talents shine tonight as she plays the ignorant girlfriend about to be trafficked, making out with Scar, her “evil boyfriend” and supposed facilitator for tonight’s sale.

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