Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

”Find them,” Dimitri said, his voice so cold that ice formed on the words. ”I want them alive. I want them talking. I want to know every piece of information they passed to Dante, every detail they observed, everything.”

He entered the penthouse and went directly to the bedroom.

Eve was asleep, her breathing even, her body completely relaxed. She had no idea what had just happened. No idea that Dante had been inside this space, had been watching her, had been close enough to hurt her.

That knowledge alone would have driven Dimitri to do something catastrophic.

Instead, he took a breath. Centered himself. Did what he’d been trained to do: compartmentalize the rage, contain the fury, channel it into focused, methodical action.

”Two men stay here,” he told his security team. ”Rotation every hour. I want her watched at all times. The moment she wakes up, I’m to be informed. The moment anything changes, I’m to be informed.”

”Understood,” the security officer said.

Dimitri turned and left the bedroom, leaving Eve undisturbed. Leaving her in the place where she was safe.

And then he went down to the study and began making phone calls.

The first was to Marco.

”I want every person who accessed this building in the past two weeks,” he said. ”I want their identities verified, their backgrounds screened, their current locations confirmed. If anyone is missing, I want to know.”

”On it,” Marco said.

The second call was to Mike.

”The operation is compromised,” he said. ”Phase two stands down. I want all teams pulled to secondary locations. No one moves, no one communicates, nothing. We’re going silent until I give the word.”

”What happened?” Mike asked.

”Dante knows about the trap,” Dimitri said. ”And he just made a mistake. He moved too early. He tipped his hand. He showed me that he’s willing to come directly at me.”

”And?” Mike asked.

”And now I’m going to kill him,” Dimitri said.

He hung up and poured himself a whiskey. A good one. A Macallan that had cost more than most people made in a month. And he sat in the darkness of his study and thought about Dante.

About the man who’d sent seven soldiers to kill him and then tried to hit his warehouse operations. About the man who’d compromised his people. About the man who’d come into his home and tried to gather intelligence on his woman.

That man was going to die. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon. So very soon.

And Dimitri was going to be the one who killed him.

The only question was how much pain he was willing to inflict before the final shot.

And Dimitri already knew the answer to that.

All of it. He would inflict all of it.

Because that was the price of touching what was his.

And no one touched what was his and lived to regret it.

***

When Eve woke at six in the morning, Dimitri was sitting in the chair across from the bed, waiting.

She opened her eyes, saw him there, and a expression of confusion crossed her face.

”Dimitri?” she said, her voice sleepy. ”What’s wrong? You look...”

”Nothing’s wrong,” he said, and he made his voice gentle. Made it soft. Made it the voice of the man she loved, not the man who was sitting in cold fury, planning a man’s death with meticulous precision.

”Everything’s fine, piccola. I just wanted to be here when you woke up.”

Eve sat up, her hair tousled from sleep, and studied his face. She was trying to read him. Trying to figure out what wasn’t being said.

”Tell me,” she said.

And because he couldn’t lie to her, because she was the one thing in his world that was truly sacred, he did.

He told her about the operation. About the ambush. About Dante’s counter-trap. About the phone hidden in the air vent. About the fact that someone had been in their home, watching them, preparing to move against them.

Eve’s face went very still as he talked.

When he finished, she didn’t say anything for a long time. She just sat there, processing.

”He came into our home,” she said finally. Her voice was quiet. Deadly.

”Yes,” Dimitri said.

”He watched us,” she continued.

”Yes,” Dimitri said.

”And you’re going to kill him,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

”I’m going to kill him,” Dimitri confirmed.

Eve nodded slowly. And then she held out her hand.

Dimitri took it, holding her delicate fingers in his much larger palm.

”Good,” Eve said. ”Because if you don’t, I will.”

Dimitri felt something shift in his chest. Some piece of his heart that had been fractured by the knowledge that Dante had gotten close to her suddenly knitted back together.

”I know you would,” he said, and he meant it completely.

”After you shower,” she said, already moving to get out of bed, ”we’re going to talk about what comes next. Because I’m not staying in this building like a caged bird while you play dangerous games with people who want us dead.”

Dimitri raised an eyebrow.

”I’m serious, Dimitri,” she said, pulling on a robe. ”I came to you because I wanted a partner, not a keeper. And partners protect each other. Which means you’re going to tell me everything. And I’m going to help you end this.”

It was a terrible idea. Every instinct screamed that he should refuse. That he should keep her separate from the darkness of his world, protected in the light she brought to his life.

But Eve was right.

She was a partner. And partners didn’t sit safely on the sidelines while their person fought alone.

”Alright,” Dimitri said. ”We’ll talk. But first.....”

He pulled her close, into his arms, and held her like she might disappear if he let go.

”I need this,” he said against her hair.

And Eve held him back, understanding without needing it explained that this wasn’t about sex or conquest or possession. It was about the simple, desperate need to know that she was here. That she was alive. That Dante’s move had failed, and she was still in his arms.

They held each other as the sun rose over Manhattan, painting the windows of the penthouse in gold and amber.

And somewhere in the city, Dante was planning his next move, thinking he’d rattled Dimitri, thinking he’d gained an advantage.

He had no idea what was coming.

He had no idea that Dimitri was now operating without constraints, without the need to be careful or calculated or strategic.

He had no idea that everything he’d done had just put him on a clock.

A clock that was counting down to his death.