Sam shook his head but wasn’t done yet. He let out a slow, heavy breath, like a man confessing something awful.
“It’s not about love. It’s about money.”
The agents leaned in slightly.
Sam rubbed his fingers together, resisting the urge to reach for a cigarette he wasn’t allowed to have. “Jazz’s sister, Poppy—her inheritance. Millions of dollars. But if she doesn’t get pregnant in the first year of marriage, it passes to Jazz.”
Reed tilted his head slightly. “And you think Dante’s after the money?”
Sam let out a hollow laugh. “I know he is.”
“And what’s that money going to?” the younger agent asked. “His businesses? To bribes? To his family?”
Samhesitated.
His fingers twitched on the table.
Then, finally, he muttered, “Me.”
The agents stilled.
Sam’s shoulders dropped slightly, as if the weight of it had finally settled. “That money isn’t for him. It’s for me.”
Reed’s gaze darkened. “Explain.”
Sam ran a hand over his face, the bruises throbbing beneath his touch. “I owe Dante. More than I can ever pay back. And he’s done waiting. If I don’t make things right—”
“You’re dead,” Reed finished flatly.
Sam’s silence was all the confirmation they needed. Then, “He’ll marry Jazz to get his hands on the money she has coming. Marrying her pays off my debt.”
The agents exchanged another look before Reed finally reached for the folder.
He flipped it open, rifling through the contents.
Inside: financial records, witness statements—some real,some coerced—and a few names. Enough to make the feds interested.
But not enough to bury The Dante.
Reed shut the folder. “This is a start, but it’s not enough.”
Sam clenched his jaw.
“It’s all I got—for now.”
Reed stood. His partner followed.
“Then we don’t have a deal.”
Sam’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t walk out of here empty-handed.
“Wait.”
The agents paused.
Sam gestured toward the chairs.
They sat back down. “Talk.”
