Page 101 of The Contract

Silence.

Then, Father Marc gives a clipped, cold reply. “Zver is the bane of my existence.”

“He’s coming, nonetheless. And if there’s one man who needs a come-to-Jesus meeting?—”

“Where?”

“Keenan’s Auction.” No date or time needed since the neighborhood priest hears everything. It’s a wonder the man’s ears haven’t melted off.

A longer silence this time.

I can practically hear the gears turning, calculating just how far out on the tightrope he’s wandered.

And how much further he’s willing to go. A question I ask myself every hour of every day.

“Fine,” is all he says. Then the line goes dead.

I stare at the phone, rolling my shoulders, forcing down feelings I’d sworn were long dead.

Whatever hell I’ve just unleashed with that necklace, there’s no clawing back from it now.

With a slow inhale, I slip the phone into my pocket.

The air thickens around me, heavy enough that my head dips involuntarily. My gaze lands on the photo still clutched in my hand.

Antonio D’Angelo.

The ghost of our father stares back at me from the grainy image, frozen in bitter, accusing silence.

Grief floods my veins. First cold as steel, then searing, blistering molten lead.

I let it burn away every useless emotion until only one remains.

Wrath.

CHAPTER 33

Riley

Three nights.

Three very restless nights.

And not because a certain infuriatingly hot asshole has been haunting my thoughts. Well, not entirely.

For the fifth time tonight, I peer out the window. A black car gleams like polished obsidian under the flickering streetlamp. Too sleek. Too pristine for this gritty block. But it’s not the car that sends chills skittering down my spine.

Even hidden in darkness, that jagged silhouette is unmistakable. A man. Not smoking. Not pacing. Not even checking his phone.

Just watching.

Possibly watching me.

He could’ve been sent by Dante.

Or Knox…or Knox’s dipshit boss.

And for the record? I have nothing—zero—to tell them. Hence my stubborn refusal to pick up Knox’s relentless calls. Which makes me suspect they’ve abandoned courtesy calls in favor of flat-out stalking.

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