Page 100 of The Owner's Temptation

It’sblood.

My men stand silent, solemn. They part when I approach.

I don’t need to get close to know he’s dead.

Bloated. Pale. Drifted in on the current, tangled in the ropes off the dock. He’s been in the water for days. Skin gray, swelling in strange places.

But I know it’s a man.

And I knowwhichman the moment I see the ring.

His wedding band.

Mateo.

Fuck.

The logo on his shirt confirms it—embroidered right over his heart. The crest of his produce empire. One of thequietclients. The loyal ones. The ones who never asked for more than discretion, and in return, got my protection.

Mateo never wanted to be caught in the middle of this war.

He asked to be released from his contract—quietly, respectfully.

And I told him to stay. Promised he’d be protected. That I had it under control.

I was wrong.

I step closer, my jaw clenched, my men falling silent behind me.

They don’t need to follow.

This is my mess.

Mateo didn’t go easy. His body tells the story.

The deep bruising. The defensive wounds etched along his arms. A long, vicious gash carved across his stomach—messy, painful, cruel.

He suffered.

But it’s his face that stops me cold.

Or what’s left of it.

A whiskey bottle—shattered.

The jagged handle driven straight into his eye socket.

And not just any whiskey.

Mine.

The same bottle I brought to Lorenzo’s warehouse. A gesture of peace. A final olive branch.

Now it’s been returned.

Louder. Bloodier. Impossible to misinterpret.

There will be no truce.

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