“Call Cyrus Reed.”
“Cyrus?”
“Yeah, you know, he has that poker game? He told me if I ever needed any help with anything . . . ”
“Got it. And what help are we looking for?”
“I want everything on Danforth Enterprises. Financials. Current deals. Press leaks. Private holdings. If her name is on it, I want it. Tell him I’ll owe him one.”
Rafe nods slowly, expression sharpening. “You want a hit too?”
I consider it. Feel the weight of it in my blood. Then shake my head. “A takeover. But first, we make them bleed in places they won’t see coming.”
“Once you got everything on them, I want you to strip their leverage. Corner them. Then we make our move.”
Rafe smirks. “Going for the slow choke, huh?”
“Exactly.” My smile is razor-thin. “I want her to feel it. I want the family to beg.”
Rafe snorts. “Damn. Remind me never to break your heart.”
“You’re not my type.”
He claps the doorframe twice. “I’ll get started,” he shouts over his shoulder as he leaves.
Five years.
Five years of working for my uncle and building a name for myself within the organization. Five years turning myself into someone no one could crush. Five years of killing the man I was, the man I once thought I needed to be . . . for her.
He’s dead now.
All because she never looked back.
Soon, she’ll see how much she fucked up.
I sit down at the table that sits in the middle of the open space, fingers pressed to my temples, when my phone rings. Matteo.Of course.
“If this is about the fifty grand, I don’t need to hear your shit. I’m doing a damn fucking good job. If your dad has a problem with it . . .”
“Want to continue that sentence? Pretty sure Pops wouldn’t appreciate it.”
I sigh because he’s right. My uncle loves me in his own way, but he’d also not lose a minute of sleep if he killed me. At this point, the only reason he doesn’t is because of his son. Matteo considers me a brother, so for now . . . I’m safe.
“Get off my dick, cuz. I already know who I’m killing, so make it quick.”
“Jesus Christ.” Matteo laughs into the receiver. “You’ve become quite unhinged in your old age.”
“You called to compliment me?”
“I’m actually calling because I saw an interesting article in the paper.” His voice softens just a fraction.
I stare at a distant wall. “You mean the one about the Danforths? Yeah. I saw it.”
Matteo exhales sharply. “You good?”
“Oh yeah,” I say, sarcasm dripping like venom. “Fantastic. Thinking about sending her a fruit basket. Maybe with a note that says, ‘Congrats on the engagement, make sure to have a bomb squad at your wedding.’ Or maybe something like, ‘Can’t wait to make you a widow.’”
He laughs hard, and then the sound stops abruptly. “You’re kidding, right?”
