Westenmar.

The moment Stewart and Carl stepped out of the airport, they were greeted by Larson and a handful of men in black suits.

"Mr. Wentworth, Mr. Ferguson would like to see you," Larson announced.

Everyone who had ever dealt with Garry Ferguson knew that Larson was his right- hand man.

Once involved in the underworld, Larson owed Garry his life—a debt that made his loyalty absolute.

Stewart fixed Larson with a cold stare. "Where's Rosita?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wentworth, I can't disclose that." Larson gestured politely toward the waiting car, his tone respectful. "If you have questions, perhaps you could ask Mr. Ferguson in person."

In Westenmar, Garry Ferguson could protect anyone he wished-effortlessly.

Without another word, Stewart climbed into the car.

Half an hour later, the car pulled up in front of a towering office building.

Larson got out, motioning for Stewart to follow him inside.

Carl moved to go with them, but the men in black blocked his path.

"You'll wait here," one of them said.

the group. Muscle, plain

were hopelessly

knew better than to argue. He

belonged to Garry-one of his

Stewart up to the

was a

through a long corridor,

Garry was inside.

a beat, then opened

Ferguson, Mr. Wentworth is here," Larson said,

"Let him in."

to enter. "Mr. Wentworth, please." Stone-faced, Stewart brushed past Larson and

the other holding a cigar. He looked up with

icy as he crossed the

Stewart took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and exhaled a slow, steady stream of smoke. "Cut to the chase, Garry. What will it take for you

question to start with, don't you think? Drink? Whiskey,

the patience for small

like ice. "Keeping

revenge? For your wife and kid?"

Garry released the blonde from his arm. "Give us

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