Page 24 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)

ZVER

I crack my neck and step into the sunlight. I told Andre I’d deliver Riley to his doorstep in four weeks, after I’d had my fill.

Like the moron he is, he played hardball. He countered with three weeks and he’d throw in the rug.

We settled on two.

Offering up Riley wasn’t on my agenda, but I had no choice. He already knows she’s alive, and has a hard-on for her the size of an RPG.

The thought of him even touching her shreds every ounce of control.

Because when it comes to Pom, I don’t think. I act.

Twice, impulse nearly had me drop the dead man’s switch.

And why the hell not?

Would losing the psychopath holding her hostage mean a damn thing to her?

Of course not. Why would it?

And torture I can take.

Mindfucks? Please, I’ve built empires on worse.

But this—him circling Riley. It’s acid in my veins, burning me alive from the inside out.

I’d trade my existence for his worthless one without hesitation.

Any. Fucking. Day.

I drag in a breath. Focus.

I don’t know Andre’s game. But I know this: whatever comes out of his mouth is either a trap, a lie, or the key I’ve been hunting for nearly six years.

The key to what happened to my father.

The same key that forced me to torch my life, sever all ties to my family, and live in exile.

Unrecognizable. Even to myself.

But two things are certain.

One, I will find out what happened to my father. No matter how high the bodies stack.

And two?

Riley Mullvain will never be part of the equation.

Not until the blood in my veins runs goddamned dry.

I just have to string Andre along for two weeks—long enough to see if he really knows what happened to my father.

Or if he’s just fucking with me.

Antonio D’Angelo drilled two truths into me.

Power builds alliances.

Patience gets answers.

So for now, I lead with power and bide my time.

But if Uncle Andre knows whether my father is alive, rotting in a cell, or buried in the ground, he will give it to me.

And then he’ll pay. In blood.

“Are you ready to go, sir?” my driver asks cautiously, cigarette dangling between his fingers.

“Another minute.” By their faces, they don’t like it—me insisting we hold position.

But they’ll obey.

They always do.

My men shift, restless and uneasy. A small, lethal army reduced to sitting ducks outside Casa del Asshole.

And they’re not wrong. We should’ve been on the road by now.

But in exchange for my so-called benevolence of not taking a dime upfront from Uncle Andre, I demanded one show of good faith.

Elena.

What the hell is taking him so long to deliver her? My mind spins through a dozen sick possibilities—what he might be doing to her now.

It's just like that fucker to slobber all over a cookie before handing it to me.

Or maybe he’s having second thoughts.

I told my uncle if he wanted Riley in two weeks, he’d have to give me something in return.

Let me wean myself off Riley’s pussy. As if that would ever fucking happen.

Andre needed to believe I’d hand her over willingly, and Elena was the bait. Swaps are currency in that sick fuck’s world.

Was it a risk? No question. Demanding her puts the entire goddamn operation on the line.

But I didn’t have a choice.

Before he’s done, she’ll beg for death. Hell, she’s thirty hours from it now. But Andre doesn’t do mercy.

He does cruel. Depraved. Painful. Sadistic. Death.

In that order.

The thing is, I’ve ripped hundreds of Elenas out of hell. So many, I stopped counting. And as much as I want to lean into Zver, there are parts of Dante I’ll never kill.

Rescuing women like Elena, for starters. They get new names. Fresh starts. All-expenses-paid lives.

So why the fuck can’t I give that to Riley?

I keep telling myself it’s to keep her safe.

But is it?

Fuck, no.

It’s that every goddamn piece of her, including the child blossoming in her belly, is mine.

And for the first time in half a decade, I want more.

I want it all. And I will have it.

Power. Protection. Retribution. Revenge.

And the mother of my heir.

Pom .