Page 99 of The Contract

The edges of my platinum poker face melt away—just enough.

Declan’s grin widens, confirming exactly what I already know…

He’s got me.

I’ll pay any price. Even the one he’s already named.

But that doesn’t mean I’m handing over everything for fucking table scraps.

“A black necklace for the image,” I say coldly. “And you still owe me.”

Declan pounds a fist against his heart, pure mob arrogance wrapped in old-school bravado. “Done.”

My gaze drops to his hand, catching raw, angry flesh beneath a freshly peeled scab—a flaming shamrock branded brutally deep into his skin.

Irish resilience etched in blood and fire. A mark that’s far from decorative ink.

It means junior here pissed off his father one too many times and got tossed into the pit. Him against a syndicate enforcer.

Well, color me stunned. The fucker survived.

I guess Enzo was right. Size doesn’t matter with scorpions. Cornered, and every last one strikes to kill.

“Well?” Declan snaps. “You want it?”

When I hesitate too long, he lifts the page, flicks a lighter from his pocket, and holds the flame irritatingly close to the edge. By the frayed corners of the yellowing paper, I’m guessing it’s the only copy he has. “Or not?”

Goddammit, it’s infuriating.

I’ve got a solid foot and at least sixty pounds on him. Yet I can’t just snap his neck and snatch the damn photo.

Because with the Keenans, consequences aren’t slaps on the wrist or friendly warnings.

They’re more like kicking a hornet’s nest in a broom closet—chaotic, relentless, and more guaranteed ass pain than they’re fucking worth.

I slap mental duct tape on my trigger finger—and my fucking conscience—and force out a tight nod. “We have a deal.”

Declan gets the hint, blowing out the lighter.

Without hesitation, I press a finger beneath the desk. The biometric scanner hums to life, and the side panel whispers open with a soft, mechanical click.

There, swaddled in velvet, lies the last sliver of my humanity: one black diamond necklace, exactly as requested.

Hell unleashed for someone.

Salvation for me.

Isn’t this why I bought the Inferno in the first place?

My throne.

My cage.

My fucking penance.

To own every whisper. Every secret. Basically, own every last fucker who ever stepped foot inside its doors.

I clasp the necklace hard. Can I really do this?

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