Page 108 of The Contract

“Get dressed,” she orders, triumphantly yanking a clearly stolen bottle of Don Julio 1942 from her purse. “Tonight, we crash Dante’s Inferno.”

“Absolutely fucking not. And why aren’t you at work?” My eyes narrow suspiciously at the ridiculously expensive tequila dangling from her hand. “Did you get fired?”

“No,” she drawls, leaning closer, dark eyes glinting with scandalous delight. “We got kicked out early—with pay. The club’s locked down tight for some hush-hush, VIP-level shitshow, and you and I just snagged front-row fucking seats.”

She flings her coat onto the sofa without a second thought. I roll my eyes, scoop it up, and hang it neatly. “How the hell is Dante having a party if he booted the entire staff?”

She lifts a casual shoulder, lips curling with shameless amusement. “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

She rips off her cherry-red uniform bow tie, snapping it playfully at my ass like a locker-room towel.

I snatch it from her hand, giving her a pointed glare. “It’s literally your circus. We’re the damn monkeys.” I shake my head. “And how the hell do you even know who’s going?”

“Easy.” She collapses dramatically onto the sofa and kicks off her shoes, one landing dangerously close to the coffee table. “The second the concierge hauled ass to the bathroom—and trust me, with a bladder the size of a Macy’s parade float, that took forever—I swiped a glance at her computer. Saw the guest list. Oh, and the minimum entry fee is ten grand.”

I choke on a laugh. “Yeah, well, I don’t exactly shit cash like a golden goose or spit bills like an ATM.”

“No problem,” she drawls, spelling it out slowly like I’m five. “Women are F-R-E-E. As long as they have an escort.”

“Escort?” My stomach drops.

Her smirk widens, completely unapologetic. “Already covered.”

It is?

I tuck her discarded shoes neatly by the door and whip around sharply. Facing Dante right now? Absolutely fucking not. “I’m going back to bed.”

She grabs my arm, hitting me with a dose of cupcake-flavored tough love. “If you stay here and wallow, he wins. Whoever the fuck he is. So lace up your most ruthless fuck-me heels, and let’s remind everyone—including yourself—that you still breathe fire like the bad bitch you are.”

I chew my lip, resolve splintering under the sheer force of her stubborn optimism. “Booze and a bad decision or two might help.”

“Fuck yeah, they will.”

“But I’m not crashing a party.” Least of all Dante’s.

“Relax,” she says breezily, flicking her hand like it’s nothing. “If the guy you’re hiding from works at the club, fear not. It’s rented out tonight.” She flashes jazz hands dramatically. “He won’t even be there.”

Really?

“And even if he is, seeing you so completely over his bullshit will make him regret every life decision he’s ever made.”

I crush the traitorous flutter of hope in my chest. It’s a spoiled-rich-boy playground—running into Dante is a definite possibility. And if he’s there, any one of his brothers could slither in, too.

What if Enzo shows up?

Then again, what if this is my last real shot at getting something on the D’Angelos?

To dig up answers.

Or better yet, to let Dante catch me living my absolute best life. That would be a top-shelf shot of revenge.

Stop it.

“I don’t know.”

Mila thrusts out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, eyes round and pleading like an outraged toddler’s. “Pleaseeee?” A full minute into her Oscar-worthy theatrics, it’s painfully clear she won’t stop until I cave.

I blow out an exasperated breath. “Fine.”

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