Page 111 of Lorenzo

The gate begins to close.

I look at Lorenzo.

“How many warehouses do you have handy for situations like this?”

“Enough.”

“Again with that answer.”

He brings the car to a stop near the center of the lot.

The crossover parks near the far wall. The SUV stops behind the sedan.

The third car blocks the gate completely.

The sedan sits twenty feet away from us, engine still running.

No one gets out.

Mocha stands in the back seat, eyes fixed on the other vehicle.

His body is rigid now, waiting for me.

I reach down and open my bag.

Lorenzo glances at the gun in my hand and lifts a brow.

“Your extra protection, I presume?”

I shrug.

He simply smiles and turns off the engine.

Outside, several men step from the other vehicles. They spread through the lot without rushing, leaving no opening toward the gate or the warehouse doors.

The sedan remains still.

Lorenzo opens his door.

I do the same.

Cold air sweeps through the car as I step out.

Mocha lets out a low sound from the back seat.

“Come,” I tell him.

He jumps out and takes his protective stance next to me.

Lorenzo comes around the hood and stops beside me.

His attention is fixed on the sedan.

The driver’s silhouette shifts behind the windshield.

I close my door and stand with him in the middle of the warehouse lot, waiting to see who has been following us.

For several seconds, nobody moves.