BURY

THE DEVIL'S CONTRACT

The Bentley smelled like him. Leather and smoke and money that had blood on it.

I didn't buckle my seatbelt. If he crashed, I wanted the option to fly through the windshield.

Damon didn't start the car right away. He stared at the funeral home where they were throwing dirt on Maya's casket. On the wrong body.

"They're burying her fast," I said.

"Guilty people always bury fast," he replied. He finally looked at me. Really looked at me. In the dark car, his eyes were almost black. "You have a gun in that bag."

My hand froze on the strap.

"Don't be scared. I like girls who come armed to funerals."

"I'm not one of your girls."

"No. You're Maya's girl. That's why you're still alive."

He started the car. The engine purred, expensive and quiet. We pulled away from the graveyard, rain starting to hit the windows. He drove with one hand, the other resting on his thigh. Close to me. Too close.

"Where are we going?"

"Home. You said ninety days. Day one starts now."

"I need to pack. I need—"

"You need nothing. Everything you need is already there."

The way he said it made my skin prickle. Everything you need is already there. Like he'd planned this before Maya died.

"How did you know my name?"

"Maya talked about you. Constantly. Lena this. Lena that. My foster sister who got out. My sister who made it to college. My sister who doesn't take s**t from anyone." His mouth twitched. "She was right about the last part."

The mention of Maya's voice - her real voice, not the funeral version - hit me in the chest. I swallowed hard and looked out the window.

We left the city. The houses got bigger, then disappeared behind gates, then behind trees. Then there was only one house. Or not a house. A compound.

Black iron gates opened without him touching anything. Cameras everywhere. Men in black with guns that didn't look legal stood in the rain like statues. Not one of them looked at the car. Like they were trained not to look at what was inside his car.

The mansion was white. Too white. Modern, sharp, like it was cut from ice. Every light was on.

He parked and got out, not waiting to open my door. Test one. See if I would follow.

I followed, because I wanted that file.

Inside, the air was cold. Marble floors, no rugs. Art that probably cost more than my entire life on the walls. No photos. No family. Nothing personal except the smell of his cigarettes.

A woman in a black uniform appeared. Mid-fifties, tight bun, no smile.

"This is Agatha. She runs the house. Agatha, this is Lena Cruz. She will be staying ninety days. She needs a room. Not near mine."

Agatha looked me up and down. My cheap black dress, wet from rain, my thrift-store heels, my bag with the pistol. Her face didn't change.

"Yes, Mr. Valentino."

"And bring the file. The Ruiz file."

That made Agatha pause. Just for a second. "Sir, are you sure?"

"Now, Agatha."

She disappeared.

Damon walked to a glass bar and poured two drinks. Amber liquid. Whiskey. He slid one toward me across the marble counter.

"I don't drink."

"You will. After you read that file, you will."

I didn't touch it. "Where's my room?"

He leaned against the counter, studying me. Shirt open at the neck, I could see a tattoo peeking out. Something dark, wings maybe.

"You know what Maya's last job was, right? For me?"

"She was a waitress at your club. That's what she told me."

He laughed, short and dark. "Maya was a terrible waitress. She spilled everything. No, Lena. Maya was my accountant's assistant. She was smart with numbers. Smarter than my accountant. She found something. Something that was burying me. And someone strangled her for it."

My knees went weak. I grabbed the counter.

"Who?"

"That's what's in the file. But I'm going to warn you, Lena. Once you read it, you can't unread it. And the man who killed her - he doesn't just kill. He erases. Girlfriends, family, foster sisters included."

My hand went to my bag again. The pistol.

Damon's eyes dropped to it. "You think that little thing will protect you?"

"I think it's done a better job than anyone else in my life."

For a second, his expression softened. Not much. Just enough to make him look human.

"Maya said you protected her in foster care. When the family -" He stopped. "She said you took the beating for her once."

"I don't want to talk about foster care."

"Good. I don't want to talk about feelings."

Agatha came back with a thin black folder. No label. She placed it on the counter between us like it was a bomb.

Damon pushed it toward me.

I opened it.

First page: AUTOPSY REPORT. Official. Not the fake one they gave her mother. Real cause of death: Asphyxiation. Manual strangulation. Time of death: 2:14 AM.

Second page: Still from security footage. Maya at the club, laughing, carrying files. Behind her, a man in a hoodie, face blurred, hand reaching.

Third page: Bank transfers. Millions. From Valentino Holdings to an offshore account. And Maya's handwriting in red pen: HE IS STEALING FROM YOU. IT'S M - The M cut off, like she was interrupted.

My hands were shaking so hard the pages rattled.

"The M is Marco," Damon said quietly. "My cousin. My second. The man you saw at the funeral standing by her mother, pretending to cry."

I remembered him. Tall, red tie, arm around Maya's mother.

"Your cousin killed her."

"My cousin kills anyone who touches his money. And Maya touched it."

I looked up at him, tears finally coming, burning. "And you let him? You let him come to her funeral?"

"No," he said, his voice turning to ice. "I invited him. Because I wanted to see if he would look at you. And he did, Lena. He looked at you for six seconds too long."

A chill went down my spine.

"What?"

"He thinks you're the other accountant. He thinks Maya sent you copies."

"I don't have copies!"

"I know. But he doesn't. And now you're in my house. Under my protection. For ninety days."

I slammed the folder shut. "This is not protection. This is bait. You're using me as bait!"

"I'm using you as what you are - the only person who loved her enough to open the casket." He stepped around the counter, close again. Too close. I could feel the heat off his body now. "Ninety days, Lena. You work for me. You stay where I can see you. You let me handle Marco. And in return, I let you put the gun to his head when it's done."

My breath hitched. "You promise?"

"I don't promise. I contract. Agatha!"

Agatha appeared with another folder. Thicker.

He opened it. Inside was a contract. Ninety days. Personal assistant to Damon Valentino. Confidentiality. Non-disclosure. And a handwritten clause at the bottom in his own writing:

_On Day 90, the employer will deliver Marco Valentino to the employee, alive, for the purpose of justice._

My heart stopped.

He held out a gold pen.

"Sign it, Lena Cruz. And we bury the right body this time."

Outside, thunder cracked. The lights in the mansion flickered.

And from the window, I swear I saw that man in the red tie - Marco - standing at the gates in the rain, looking up at my window.

He knew I was here.

I grabbed the pen.