Page 165 of The Owner's Temptation

“Of course,” the man says smoothly, still holding my hand with a reverent touch. “Forgive me. My name isDominic Salvi.”

The name is unfamiliar.

But theenergy?

It prickles.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Salvi.”

His lips brush my knuckles, slow and deliberate before he finally releases me. “I do hope we’ll have the chance to speak again. Soon.”

“Perhaps.”

I turn with Langston, letting him guide me across the patio—but IfeelDominic’s eyes on me the entire time.

Burning.

Watching.

Something about his feels electric and I catalog it away to look at his file later. If I’m scouting out possible clients to ruffle the feathers of my brooding sponsor, that man would meet the mark.

The trip to the Capitol wasn’t for fucking permits.

That would’ve been a waste of time.

The judges were already bought. The summons tossed. The charges, buried. Every signature forged, every roadblock erased.

No—I came for something far more valuable.

A reminder.

Senator William Johnson has forgotten who he belongs to.

He doesn’t know about the war brewing between me and Lorenzo—and he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need to understand the inner mechanics of organized revenge. Or why the buildings Lorenzo spent decades constructing now lie in ash.

What Billdoesneed is a very sharp, very personal reminder of why he pledged loyalty to me in the first place.

He expected a Companion to meet him tonight.

Someone soft and pretty to indulge his particular... tastes.

Instead, he gets me.

I slide into the booth across from him, ignoring the confusion that crosses his face. It’s the panic he tries to swallow that gives him away.

“Lucian.” He tries to smooth it over, already reaching for that political charm.

I cut him off before he gets another syllable out. “Let’s skip the pleasantries. You betrayed me.”

His mouth opens, closing just as quickly. “That’s not?—”

“You don’t get to argue,” I interrupt again, calm as ice. “You don’t get to explain. You get to listen.”

I pull out my phone and press play on a short video. The screen lights up with footage of me—earlier today—seated across from a well-dressed woman at a rooftop café. Elegant. Blonde. Older.

Bill’s wife.

He stares at the screen, blinking.

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