“I need a favor.” “Of what kind?” His voice sobers up. I’m never the type who asks for a favor. Never. “I need you to hook me up with a member of Anastasia’s family.” “The fuck you need the mafia for when you’re an attorney?” “I need them to tie up some loose ends the law couldn’t.” When I’m done with Christopher Vans, he’ll wish for the fucking Grim Reaper. He’ll wish he’d never touched what’s fucking mine.
