Page 8 of The Contract

Something dark moves through his eyes. “Don’t try.”

“So what do you want?”

I asked that when he cornered me in the cellar. He wouldn’t answer the question then, but tonight he says, “You.”

I stare at him, utterly dumbfounded.

He asks, “Why are you having trouble grasping that?”

No one has ever, in my entire life, said that they wanted me.

Maybe that fact shows on my pathetic face because Dante makes a thoughtful sound and doesn’t press the question.

I’m still staring at him. “You want to … with me?”

I skipped over the word, but he doesn’t. “Yes, I want to fuck you. But it wouldn’t be that simple.”

At the word fuck, heat zips through my body straight to my cock. “I … what do you mean?”

His eyes flick past me. They harden. “We’ll have to discuss it later. Go back to the bar, Tristan.”

“What—”

“Now.”

I jolt at the sharp command, turning to obey before I can stop myself. Anger sears me, and I spin back. My arm twitches with the impulse to slam my tray on his table and force him to explain himself. Then I see Lorenzo-fucking-Capelli sauntering my way. Sauntering Dante’s way, actually.

My heart leaps. Capelli is wearing a sleek, silvery-gray suit. The side part in his salt-and-pepper hair is razor sharp, and his ruggedly handsome face is all smug confidence.

A growl, an actual fucking growl, rumbles out from Dante. I glance at him. His eyes are locked on Capelli, then they flick to me in harsh warning.

I make a beeline to the bar, not even bothering with my usual studied walk. Holy shit.

Saylor gives me an annoyed look as I join her behind the bar. She’s getting behind, and it’s my fault. I make it up to her by mixing the Pisco Sour that just got ordered. She has a thing about egg whites.

While I work, I keep an eye on Dante and Capelli. Capelli hasn’t sat down. He’s speaking, and his face still has that smug look. Dante hasn’t moved. He still has one arm stretched out along the back of the banquette. I can’t see his other hand below the table. It almost makes me wonder if he has a weapon. He’scertainly staring at Capelli with an intensity that makes the way he was staring at me look like affection. He’s pissed. They’re not friends.

And yet, they clearly know each other.

I pour bourbon, leave it neat, and slip out from behind the bar. I dig deep for all my practiced flair, determined to make the most of this performance.

When I arrive at Dante’s table, he glares at me as I deliver the drink with studied poise. From Capelli, I catch the words, “so you might think about that, Adesso.”

I turn to the man who is likely responsible for my brother’s disappearance. He looks dirty. He feels dirty.

“Sir?” I prompt. “Can I get you something?”

I can practically feel Dante’s eyes boring into me.

Capelli smirks. “Nah, kid. I’m not staying.”

I dip my chin and have no choice but to leave. I make a circuit of the room, collecting empties and a fresh gin and tonic order.

Though he’s still making the piano sing, Rafael is watching Dante and Capelli with something like steel in his eyes.

My heart is pounding with fear even though I’m thrilled. It was a good move getting a job here. I was right about this place. Of course, catching a few words of conversation is a far cry from learning anything about my brother, but still.

By the time I’m starting on the gin and tonic, Capelli’s leaving. I glance at Dante and find his eyes locked on me. I shiver.

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