Prologue
THE FLORESCENTlight in the interrogation room flickered, casting a sickly yellow glow over the scarred metal table. Afaint buzz filled the silence, abroken fixture somewhere above buzzing like an insect trapped inside the walls. Sam Mirabella barely noticed. His focus stayed on the manila folder in front of him, his fingers twitching against its edges like they were itching for a cigarette he wasn’t allowed tohave.
His black eye throbbed. The cut on his lip burned every time he moved his mouth. That bastard—The Dante—had his men work him over when he’d tried to run. They hadn’t broken any teeth,but it had been close. The copper tang of blood clung to the back of his throat, bitter and metallic. Areminder of how close things had already come to turning south.
Didn’t matter. He had bigger problems, along with a huge truckload of revenge waiting to be offloaded.
Across from him, two federal agents sat motionless, studying him like a specimen under glass. They hadn’t touched the folder yet. They were waiting, letting the silence stretch, watching to see if he’d crack before they even had to open their mouths.
Sam wasn’t an amateur. He knew how this game was played.
Reed—the older one—leaned back in his chair and lifted a brow, amused. His gaze flicked lazily over Sam’s injuries.
“Rough night, Sam?”
Sam rolled his jaw, wincing as pain flared through his face. “Youcould say that.”
The younger agent, dark-eyed and square-jawed, spun a pen between his fingers. “Let me guess. The Dante?”
Sam let out a dry, humorless chuckle. Didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny. Just slid the folder across the table.
“I want out.”
Neither agent moved. Reed exchanged a glance with his partner before resting his elbows on the table.
“Out of what, exactly?”
Sam exhaled through his nose, voice low and steady. “I’ll give you The Dante—his businesses, his accounts, the people he pays off. But I want a deal.”
No reaction.
Reed let his chair drop back onto all four legs with a hard thunk. “And we’re supposed to believe this is out of the goodness of your heart?”
Sam forced out a smile, but it was weak. He was too wired, too onedge.
“Let’s just say I’ve got more to lose now.”
That got theirattention.
The pen stopped spinning. The younger agent’s dark eyes honed in on him. “Your daughter. Jazz.”
Sam nodded, forcing a sigh like this was pressing on him, though secretly he was shocked they knew which of his three daughters was in jeopardy. Or maybe they’d just guessed. “Dante’s got plans for her. Wants to marry her.”
That did it. The agents straightened slightly, subtle but telling.
“She agree to that?” Reed asked.
“Not yet. Thinks she’s got a choice.” Sam ran a hand down his bruised jaw, letting his voice roughen, like the whole thing hurt him. “But once he’s got that ring on her finger, she’s locked in. There’s no getting out.”
The younger agent’s brows furrowed. “You think he’d hurt her?”
Sam let the silence stretch just a little toolong.
Then, he gestured toward his face. “I think The Dante does whatever thehell he wants.”
The two men exchanged a look. He had them. He struggled to hide hisglee.
“You think this marriage is about love?”
