Page 187 of The Contract

Sadness claws at my chest for the thousandth time today.

A scab I rip off daily just to feel it bleed.

Because that’s the thing. This isn’t something I get to come back from. No phone-a-brother for a lifeline. No mid-torture pep talk.

That ship didn’t just set sail. It fucking sank. Titanic-style.

Carefully crafted plan, meet fuck-you-in-the-ass consequences.

To the world, I really did die.

Maybe not in body, but in all the irreversible, soul-fucking ways that counts.

My family and friends… they mourned me.

Buried me.

Live each and every day with the memory of me.

Never knowing I’m still here.

Still… with them.

But goddammit, I had no choice.

My uncle’s tentacles reached farther than any of us ever fucking imagined.

Every time I peeled back a layer of hell trying to find our father, more appeared. A colossal clusterfuck of a Russian doll.

Open one?

Another chamber of secrets. Another locked door.

There was only one way in—and one way out.

The lie that I can never return from.

I. Am. Zver.

The beast.

A name I will carry for the rest of my life.

Passed down from my grandfather—the real fucking crazy one.

His torture blueprints?

Epic.

Mine will be too.

The Keenans. The cartels. Even fucking Andre.

They all trust Zver.

Because Zver killed Dante. And we made sure everyone knew.

Dominic moves fast—killing the power, yanking leads with practiced hands. “They have a meeting tonight,” he mutters, efficient as he works. “Andre D’Angelo and…”

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