Page 119 of The Owner's Temptation

Muscle memory takes over as I pull the shirt on and start buttoning—fast, efficient. No tie. I leave the top two undone and roll the sleeves up my forearms.

My fingers are still twitching with residual tension. The only thing I need now is?—

“Gun,” I say simply.

The manager places the Glock in my open palm without hesitation. I slide it into the back of my slacks, letting the cool metal ground me as I inhale through my nose and center myself.

“Talk,” I order, my voice low.

“Surprise inspection,” he says quickly. “Fire Marshal. City Health. Maybe twenty inspectors total. They’re downstairs now. Flashing badges, asking for paperwork, threatening to shut us down.”

Perfect.

My nostrils flare, but I say nothing else as the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

The main floor is chaos wrapped in forced calm. Lights turned up. Music silenced. Security stationed at all exits. Guests being turned away at the door. A full sweep in motion.

And right at the center of it all stands one of the city commissioners. A man I’ve done business with. A man who’s taken his pick of Ledger contracts over the years and enjoyed every luxury I’ve afforded him.

Tonight, he’s not smiling.

He steps forward slowly, extending a familiar object in his hand—a bottle of whiskey.

Not just any bottle.

My bottle.

The seal is broken. A rag shoved down the neck and into the amber liquid like a makeshift Molotov.

A threat.

A warning.

A declaration of war.

I take it from him, rotating the bottle in my hand as I examine it.

The weight of it is familiar. The message even more so.

This is Lorenzo’s way of making sure I know: he’s ready to burn everything down. EvenThe Masquerade.

“Looks like you’ve got some problems, Vale,” the commissioner says, too calm.

I don’t blink. Don’t even let my smile falter.

“I’ll handle it.”

With deliberate ease, I walk past him to the bar. Then—without ceremony—I throw the bottle into the nearby steel trash can.

Glass shatters. The rag flutters like a white flag scorched in gasoline.

The commissioner flinches.

“Getting a little jumpy, aren’t we?” I murmur.

He goes stiff, jaw tightening. Then his hand dips toward the inside of his jacket.

My gun is drawn in a blink.

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