Page 48 of The Contract

The Inferno

Dante D’Angelo

555-952-6666

Not exactly what I expected. Aren’t mob boss calling cards supposed to be horse heads in a bed?

And as if I’d ever call him.

I’d sooner scrawl Thou shalt not hump thy brother-in-law’s thigh ten times across my forehead—in permanent fucking ink—than spend another minute with him.

But I don’t want a scene so I take it and let Knox guide me toward his car.

I fasten my seatbelt, irritated when I can’t casually catch Dante’s reflection in the side mirror. Unable to resist, I swivel and glance back once more.

The Roman statue remains rooted to the spot—sculpted arms crossed, jaw carved from ice. He’s not following, thank God.

But I know that look.

This isn’t the glare of a man defeated.

It’s the look of a man plotting his revenge.

One punishment at a time.

CHAPTER 13

Dante

I watch the shitty sedan drive away, taking Pom with it.

Pom. Riley fucking Mullvain.

Of course, she left with Caleb Knox. The poster boy for mediocrity. Cheap suits, douchey grins, and that irritating habit of showing up precisely where he shouldn’t.

Anger burns up my spine, sears into the base of my skull. Could I have a more pathetic rival?

She’s the last thing you need, I remind myself.

But the thought doesn’t stick. She’s forbidden fruit. Lush, ripe, taunting me to lick, nip, and suck every inch of her. Riley is every wicked desire I shouldn’t have, every twisted impulse begging for release.

An itch beneath my skin, driving me insane because I cannot—should not—touch her.

Fuck.

If that girl is within arms length, how the hell am I supposed to keep my hands off her?

Riley is fire wrapped in satin, reckless defiance glittering in those maddening eyes, and curves that manage to find my brains’ off switch every goddamned time.

And that mouth. Christ. It never stops running. Full, pink lips that actually told me to fuck off.

A girl just begging for my cock.

The thought of her coming undone on my thigh sears me like a branding iron.

She’s got enough venom to be toxic, and enough delicious innocence to tempt every sadistic desire.

In a nutshell, exactly what I don’t fucking need.

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