Page 78 of The Contract

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Tristan doesn’t answer his phone, of course. And he’s not at the apartment I rented for him. Rafael hasn’t seen him. No one has because no one usually does. He’s such a loner. I don’t even know where he was for the past two days. He doesn’t have anyone.

I’m back at the warehouse checking my camera feeds for some idea of which direction he headed. I should’ve checked that before, but my head is so fucked up I can barely think.

I’m watching the footage of Tristan running—fuck, I hate that—when I notice the black SUV that pulls away from the curb and follows him.

What the fuck?

I zoom in and try to clarify the image. A horrible premonition overtakes me right as my phone vibrates. I know the number and I almost know what I’m about to hear, but it still doesn’t prepare me for Lorenzo Capelli saying, “If you want your fuck toy in one piece, come and get him. He’s in my dining room.”

Rage and terror burst through me. “If you fucking—”

The call cuts off. Fuck!

Hands shaking, I call Noah for the second time tonight. When he answers, I say, “Please tell me you haven’t sent Fiero after Capelli yet.”

“He just called up his men. Capelli sold him some story about Evan reneging on the deal and vanishing. He’s pissed as hell about the truth. I think his connection to Evan was … personal.”

Sexual, he means. He’d abused Evan, groomed him, kept him for years.

“Then we have a big fucking problem,” I tell Noah, “because Capelli has Tristan.”

“Fuck.”

“I’m calling Rafael. We end this tonight.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Tristan

The first thing I register is that I’m tied to a chair. I have an initial, hazy thought about Dante. This isn’t the first time he’s done something like this, and before everything comes back to me, my body prickles with anticipation of what he’s planning. But my head hurts, and Dante has never actually hurt me before.

That realization stays with me as I blink the room into focus. I’m in some kind of formal dining room. What the fuck?

It comes back to me. Running from Dante, then running from Dominic.

I look down at my wrists. They’re zip tied to the chair arms. I try to move my feet, but my ankles are bound to the chair legs.

“You’re the brother,” remarks a smooth voice.

My head whips up, making the room spin. Lorenzo Capelli pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the head of the table. I’m at the opposite end, staring down the stretch of glossy dark wood at the man who killed my brother. At least, that’s what Dante claimed. I didn’t quite believe him, even though it was my original suspicion.

I ask, dreading the answer, dreading that I was wrong to doubt Dante, “Did you kill Evan?”

Capelli shrugs. “He had it coming. I hired him to put a bullet in Dante’s head. Not only did he not do that, he came after me. Sohegot the bullet in the head. That’s how it works, kid.”

“You fucking—”

“Let’s stay civilized, hmm? We have some time to kill before your faggot boyfriend arrives. It really does shock me that twoyears of getting fucked by dirty old men didn’t cure him. But I guess some faggots can’t be fixed.”

In the doorway, a dark figure shifts, but I only have attention for Capelli. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He smiles. Smug. Evil. “Oh, he didn’t tell you? I guess Evan probably didn’t either. But I’m not the one who sold Evan to the Society. I don’t know who did that. But I did sell Dante.”

I’m so numb with horror that I can’t process what he’s saying. Part of me knows what he means—the truth is in the awful churning in my gut—but my brain can’t compute it.

The dark figure shifts again in the doorway. In a sort of haze, I look past Lorenzo to Dominic. His jaw is bunching. Hatred is burning in his eyes. He’s staring at the back of his father’s head.

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