Page 208 of The Owner's Temptation

Lorenzo is already turning. “This isn’t yours?”

We lock eyes.

Shit.

The convoy speeds into the lot like a storm—three matte-black SUVs, one bulletproof van, and a pair of souped-up bikes. They don’t stop gently. They grind into the gravel, dust and exhaust choking the air as doors slam and feet hit the ground.

Men pour out—a dozen of them. Armed. Smug fucking pricks like they’re walking into a party.

And at the front, stepping out with a fuckingswagger, is Shawn O’Mally.

“I’ll be damned,” I mutter.

Lorenzo’s face drains of color.

Because he knows exactly what this means.

His brother’s debt is catching up to him. The Irish have arrived—and they didn’t come to negotiate. They came to collect what’s owed to them.

Lorenzo’s little brother was in bad. Too much debt and he couldn’t settle it.

That’s why he bailed withmyCompanion. Took her hostage and ended up with my bullet between his eyes.

Seems like his debt transferred to Lorenzo. Maybe instead of fighting me, he should have been cleaning up his brothers’ mess.

Shawn adjusts the collar of his leather jacket, takes a long, dramatic breath like the afternoon air is made just for him, and smiles wide.

“Ahh,” he drawls. “Isn’t this a family reunion to remember?”

Behind him, a car door opens and I go on high alert.

One of Shawn’s men is dragging a terrified, struggling boy out by the roots of his hair.

You’d be able to spot Lorenzo’s son from a mile away. He looks just like his father.

He’s kicking, screaming, crying out in broken Italian.

Lorenzo moves like he’s going to bolt.

I raise a hand. “Don’t.”

He doesn’t listen.

“Give me my fucking son!” Lorenzo shouts, voice cracking.

Shawn laughs, stepping forward, calm as the devil at Sunday mass. “Funny how you answer me now, eh, Lorenzo? Where was this–enthusiasm when your brother fucked me out of three hundred grand and six kilos of product?”

“Hisproblem is notmyproblem!” Lorenzo yells, fists shaking.

“Oh, it is now,” Shawn smirks, reaching back to ruffle the boy’s hair mockingly. “But I’m a man of opportunity. Seeing thisfriendlygathering–I want more than just my money back.”

He gestures to me now, eyes bright. “I want leverage.”

Satan himself would be jealous of the grin on his face.

“Now,” Shawn says, stepping into the space between us like a maestro about to conduct his bloody orchestra, “who’s ready to make a fucking deal?”

I sure as hell didn’t come here to negotiate.

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