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“Why?”

“That answer is easy: money. Haven’t you heard? It makes the world go round.” Reaper probably shouldn’t push his luck by being a smartass.

“You have no personal vendetta against us?”

“Why would I? I only take assignments that pay well. I don’t care who the target is. They’re only a job to me. What matters more is how much the job is worth and how soon I can pick up the cash.”

“You’re basically saying you’re a greedy bastard.”

“Basically, yeah. No different than billionaires, corporations, and criminal organizations.”

“He isn’t lying about that,” Goon One said with a chuckle.

Sal ignored that. “What if we make you a better offer than what you’re getting on the dark web?”

Holy shit. They wanted to pull him over to their side instead of just eliminating him all together? He didn’t have that on his Mafia bingo card. “I make a shitload. Gonna be hard to beat.”

“And if we can?”

Reaper tipped his head to the side. He probably shouldn’t have since he was still a bit lightheaded. “I’d consider it.”

“Good thing you’re not in a spot to negotiate.”

“That’s good for you, not me.”

“Now you’re getting it.” Sal stared at him as he took another long draw on the cigar. “So, you have no loyalty to the Chens?”

“Can’t give loyalty to someone you didn’t know existed.”

“What were they going to pay you for tonight’s job?”

“My going rate is five grand a target.”

“And if we pay you six?” Sal countered.

“I’d prefer ten.”

“Seven is my final offer.”

“Seventy-five hundred a head and you have a deal.”

Sal frowned. “Again, you’re in no position to play hardball. That deal would also include not accepting any jobs that leave our people dead.”

He didn’t mention anything about injured. “If it’s the Chens ordering these hits, what will stop them from hiring someone else?”

“Nothing. But now we know their strategy and can counter it with one of our own.”

A strategy the Shadows, not the Chens, fed to them. It worked. “I’m sure you have your own hitmen in your organization.”

“None are as good of a sharpshooter as you.”

“You could hire one yourself,” Reaper suggested.

“Then we’d have no use for you.”

“That’s—” Did he just cut his own throat? Fuck.

“And we already know your expertise. My final offer is seven per head and our organization is off-limits. Or…” Sal let that threat hang.