10. Dima.

**I own New York.***

As Benson stand-up in front of me, I hear my men and his click their triggers. The sounds making me seethe. I don’t know his agenda. I don’t even wish to know at this moment because my men and I are still recuperating from the attack meted against us at his club.

So if he’s here for his own crossfire because of the chaos, I’ll say we ain’t ready, and besides, his men outnumbers mine.

Yes, I promised to lie low and cause no pandemonium, but whatever happened at that club wasn’t my fault.

But…wait a minute.

Is Benson here with the FBI who must be scouring everywhere for me?

Shit!

I hope not.

As that dizzying thought flashes through my mind I swivel my head back and study the men I regarded as Benson’s lackeys, initially. I failed to glimpse at them more accurately before, but now I do.

The six hulk, muscled men are in dark sunnies, dark suits and earpieces.

I don’t see anything that hints about the FBI on them. At that thought, my racing heart cools, but the curiosi