Page 167 of The Contract

By now, I’m lighting a cigar—flicking the flame like it’s not the fucking end of the world.

“Who’s they?”

“Your uncle.”

I blow a slow plume into an O. “Anyone else?”

“Roman. And…”

A brutal, suspended second.

“Zver.”

I smirk. Fucking priceless.

My uncle. Zver. That, I knew.

Roman?

Not a fucking clue.

See? This right here—this—reinforces the evil genius of my plan.

Granted, death may be ticking down—for sure.

But I’m taking ten goddamn seconds to gloat.

I was fucking right.

And this plan is…perfect.

Even with the whole impending death thing looming and all.

“I had no choice,” Dominic says, now full blown sobbing, heavy with remorse. “But—” he straightens his spine, jaw hardening—“If I’m already dead, they’ll spare my family. You don’t have to be. You can live.”

The hit comes fast.

Emotion—sharp, uninvited, and totally fucking inconvenient.

I can… live?

Wow.

Dominic’s loyal-to-a-fault, puppy-dog Lassie Come Home shit is noble and tragic and surprising as hell.

The operative word being—fault.

“You’d die with me?” I ask, the words coming out lower than I expect. “Give up your family?”

Just like I’m giving up mine.

He looks at me then. Really looks.

“Yes, sir!” Eyes raw, anguish carved into every line of his face. “If I die, my family lives.”

He swallows hard. “Death was always in the cards, Mr. D’Angelo. Just another pawn in their game.”

My jaw tightens. “What if they kill your family anyway?”

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