Page 159 of The Contract

For once, seeing him is a relief.

“Time to go,” he says quietly—like he’s hoping I’ll play along.

With Decker and me locked in this shitshow of a standoff over Mila, oh, it’s way too late for that.

“Good,” I mutter, nodding toward Mila—slumped in a velvet chair behind Decker like a marionette with her strings cut. “Between the three of you, I’m sure someone can fireman-carry my friend to your car.”

I shift to Chio, who’s still standing there, silent and still, like a goddamn gargoyle.

“Where’s your car?”

His jaw ticks, silently. Feet still cemented in place. It’s not anger that pulls at his features—it’s something quieter. More potent. Regret, maybe. Or restraint.

Then he speaks. “You can go. She can’t.”

“What?” The floor tilts under me. “Why?”

“The auction’s about to start.” His chin tips toward the necklace around Mila’s neck. “Club rules.”

Two words. Not loud, not violent. A low, bitter phrase that hangs between us like a noose.

Club rules.

The thing is, I can’t carry Mila out of here, and I sure as fuck can’t leave her behind.

I search for the nearest exit. Every last one is flanked by a wall of shirtless men sporting skull masks. Built like they eat rugby players for fun.

It’s also glaringly obvious I’m now the only woman in this place without a collar choking my neck.

Out of options. I reach for the only thread I have left—frayed, fragile, and wrapped around a name that makes my chest ache.

“Then I need to see Dante.” Even if he doesn’t want to see me.

I expect pushback from Chio—some grand protest, at the very least.

Especially since I’m still wrapped in his coat, a walking cautionary tale sponsored by tequila.

But he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t flinch. Just lifts one gargantuan finger and points.

I follow his gaze.

And there he is.

Dante.

Cold. Composed. In all his broody glory, buttoned up a hundred times tighter than when he’s fucking.

And so fucking gorgeous, it’s hard to breathe.

His eyes find mine like a sniper sight. Sharp enough to stop time. They flick to Mila. Then just like that, he turns away and takes a fucking call.

The king of detachment ignores me. Why am I even surprised?

I snap my gaze back to the guards.

“Do not leave her,” I order like I own the place. They glance at each other, blank as bricks.

I press a finger to the center of Chio’s chest—hard. “Do not let her out of your fucking sight.”

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