Page 95 of The Contract

CHAPTER 31

Dante

“What did you just say?” I don’t blink. Just…wait.

Declan doesn’t flinch. He’s either fearless or fucking brain-dead. My money’s firmly on the latter.

He tips his head, an amused flicker darkening those hollow eyes. “You heard me.”

Goddamn. This guy has all the survival instincts of a goldfish sunbathing on a sushi counter.

The mere suggestion Declan Keenan has intel about my father’s disappearance makes my fists clench until my knuckles crack.

I’m about ten seconds from wiring his tongue to a car battery and frying answers straight from his skull.

But I don’t.

Because I’m not the reckless, blood-drunk savage I was last week.

Today, I have self-control.

Barely.

The last thing I need is the Keenan clan breathing down my neck, hunting for an excuse to torch our agreement and dial up the war.

My brother was right. I have zero fucking leverage.

Which makes it about as smart as playing Russian roulette with a half-loaded gun.

Not that I had a choice.

Still, if this blows up, I’ll never hear the end of it.

Actually, I won’t.

Because I’ll be fucking dead.

I sit back and blow out a slow breath.

Facts are facts: Declan owing me anything is about as useful as a condom in a nun’s nightstand. But a Keenan—any Keenan—in my debt?

That’s power.

That’s the kind of leverage money can’t buy.

I choke down my conscience—the screeching banshee in my skull—and calmly say, “I’m listening.”

Declan’s lips twitch into a smug little half-smirk. “I hear you have a black necklace.”

Shit. I should’ve seen this clusterfuck of a dumpster fire from a mile away.

My arrangement with his father covered arms routes, financial backing, and a rock-solid non-aggression clause between our factions—plus exclusive use of my club for one night.

No interference. No surprises.

And yes, one black necklace. But definitely not for his rapist fucktard of a son.

And since junior wants it now, I haven’t exactly locked down every safeguard.

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