Page 107 of The Owner's Temptation

Across the room, Sienna’s perched at my desk like she’s always belonged there—phone in one hand, notes in the other, her brow furrowed in that determined way that makes her look equal parts dangerous and divine.

Whatever magic she’s working…it’s effective.

She doesn’t use my name. Doesn’t mention The Ledger. Just plays it smart—saying the right things, pitching new angles, turning vendors who had already said no into eager saviors desperate to be part of the story she’s spinning.

It’s impressive as hell.

In one hour, she’s done what took me three days and a half bottle of whiskey.

By the time she hangs up the last call, my network of clubs and restaurants is back on its feet. Product en route. Deliveries secured. Inventory stocked for at least another week.

I didn’t give her The Masquerade.

That bubble still needs to hold.

She hasn’t connected me to the Devil who stalks the top floors of that club yet—and I want to keep it that way. I want to see how long she’ll look into his eyes and still not realize they’re mine.

For now, the other locations will over-order and funnel stock to The Masq quietly.

Let Lorenzo think the cracks are elsewhere.

Let him think I’m bleeding out from a dozen little wounds, not realizing where I’m actually holding the line.

As she works, so do I.

I tap open my phone and send a quick message to Killian.

LUCIAN: How’s Sera?

The reply is fast.

KILLIAN: Healing. Pissed. Ready to start killing people.

KILLIAN: Same as the rest of us. When do we hit back?

I stare at the message for a moment. Then type:

LUCIAN: Tonight.

My thumb hovers over the screen for just a moment before I hit send.

Because I know Lorenzo.

I know what makes him tick. What makes him reckless. And what makes himvulnerable.

Loyalty.

Not just the kind his men have for him—the kind he demands from everyone else. Absolute. Blind. Unquestioning. It's his pride and his flaw, wrapped in one. The very thing he leans on... and the very thing I can use to break him.

Because loyalty makes a man predictable.

And predictability? That’s leverage.

Most of his biggest shipments still run through the waterfront—guns, drugs, cash—moved in silence through rotting docks and dark corners. Guarded by men who are well-paid and well-armed but not half as careful as they should be.

I forward Killian everything.

The location.

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