Page 50 of The Contract

“You want to get back at him for the bruises on your face, I’m your ticket.”

I shake my head firmly. “Dante didn’t do this.”

Caleb’s expression stays set, stubbornly unimpressed. “Then it’s just a matter of time. Work with me. He won’t touch you again.”

Frustration snaps through me, sharp and raw. “For the hard of hearing, I’ll say it again. Dante didn’t touch me.”

“Really? Because he was touching you when I walked up.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, he might’ve touched me,” I bite out, “but he didn’t hurt me.”

“Are you sure?”

Arms crossed tight, I glare straight ahead. “I don’t lie.” At least, not about this. “Stop interrogating me.”

Caleb’s knuckles go white, strangling the steering wheel. Annoyance simmers beneath an artfully crafted blank face. He keeps his irritation leashed. Barely.

“Fine,” he inevitably blows out, clinging to the world’s thinnest strand of patience. “Dante didn’t hurt you. But someone in D’Angelo’s world did, right?”

Yes. I just don’t know which one. A fact that, for now, I’ll keep to myself.

Caleb shakes his head, determination etched deep into every line of his face. He seems torn, caught somewhere between pushing further and letting it drop.

When he finally speaks, his voice is roughened by hesitation.“You’re already on his radar, Riley. And once a D’Angelo sets their sights on something or someone, there’s no fading quietly into the night. But maybe we can help each other. You give me something, and I’ll make sure you get something in return.”

“Give you what?”

“The D’Angelos are making moves—dangerous ones—and Dante’s club, the Inferno, is ground zero. I need intel. Get me anything you can about Dante’s plans, his associates, his weaknesses—who he trusts, who he’d throw to the wolves—and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Emotion burns my throat, razor-edged and raw. “What if I want the man who murdered my father to pay?”

“Pay?” he asks.

“Yes. Fucking pay. Not rotting away in supermax, reigning from his cage. Can you deliver that?”

Something flickers behind Caleb’s eyes—unease, uncertainty, maybe even regret—but it’s gone in a blink.

He keeps his eyes locked on the road, voice dropping lower, dark along the edges. “Careful what you wish for, Riley.”

“Do we have a deal or don’t we?” I fire back.

A heavy beat of silence stretches between us, tension tightening like a wire pulled almost too tight. Caleb shifts slightly, fingers strangling the steering wheel.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he murmurs, his voice bitter with easy assurance, “Though getting intel would be easy enough for you…” His gaze slips from the road to deliver a blatant sweep down my body.

Heat flashes hot beneath my skin, my pulse spiking in anger. My eyes narrow sharply. “What the fuck does that mean?”

His jaw tics. “You know exactly how Dante looks at you. Hell, I saw it from a mile away.”

That snaps my gaze to him. “And how exactly did he look at me?”

“Like a ripe peach he’s dying to pluck and carve up for dessert.”

Before I can launch a full on denial, Caleb’s phone interrupts. His eyes flicker to the caller ID, body stiffening—rigid, ready for impact.

“Not a word,” he warns quietly, tapping the speakerphone. “This is Knox.”

“Where the hell are you?” The voice on the line growls, a demand wrapped in authority, accustomed to being obeyed.

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