Page 83 of The Contract

Dillon stares at me, every ounce of his torment a reflection of my own. It’s brutal, seeing my darkest demons carved so clearly onto his face—my guilt, my shame, my desperation—all of it staring back at me, daring me to fucking blink.

So I do.

“It’s under control,” I lie through my teeth.

It’s not. Not even close.

More like barely chained insanity. One breath from imploding.

“Really?” Mateo’s voice sharpens to bitter disbelief. “Tossing some nameless, faceless girl to wolves and crossing your fingers she survives?” He crosses both sets of fingers for effect.

Dillon’s hand lands onto my shoulder. “This isn’t you. We ripped that necklace off Trinity’s neck after her attack. Who knows how long she’d been hunted? Or have you conveniently forgotten?”

“I. Fucking. Found. Her.” I shove his hand off, control splintering in every direction. “Not we. Me. I know exactly what’s at stake.” I suck in a breath, battling the fury coiled tight in my chest. “Nothing will happen. If push comes to shove, I’ll bid on the girl myself.”

“Oh, right.” Dillon scoffs, sarcasm bleeding from each syllable. “Because that won’t send red fucking flares to every faction in the city.” His eyes narrow, suspicion warring with concern. “You’re in a devil’s deal with zero leverage, scotch-taped together with nothing more than your inflated ego and thirst for blood.”

“Two of my finest qualities.” I fire back dryly.

Mateo’s patience snaps clean in half. “Cut the shit, Dante. Tell us what you’re really planning.”

I’m planning my own death.

In excruciating detail.

Because my life’s become a ticking bomb—and time’s about up.

But I don’t say that.

I just shrug, casually, like it’s nothing. “Who says I’m planning anything?”

“We’re stronger together.” Mateo’s right—I know he is. But admitting my death is the inevitable finish line…

Either they tie me up, duct-tape my mouth shut, and stuff me into the trunk of my own damn car—for my own good, of course—or they insist on joining me.

Three D’Angelo deaths instead of one?

My uncle and Zver rejoicing over the happy accident over premium vodka. I can almost see it.

It’ll already be bad enough for my family to mourn my sorry ass. Three would push it too fucking far.

Even for me.

Not that they’d ever agree to my plan.

And even if they did, dragging them into hell with me isn’t a fucking option.

Mateo snorts bitterly. “Whatever you’re planning, it’s asinine, reckless, and probably going to get you killed.”

Not probably. Definitely.

A timid knock interrupts, dragging our attention to the door. “Come in.”

Raja steps cautiously inside, clutching the contract in her blood-red talons. The hesitation in her eyes is new, irritating as hell, and fraying my last nerve. “Tell me she’s gone.”

“Uh, I can’t.” She delicately places the contract on the desk, backing away as if it’ll explode. Or I will. “She signed it.”

“She what?” I press my temple. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

---