“That was your first and final warning,” I said, my words quiet enough to reach only his ears. “Touch, talk, or even think about Sloane again, and I’ll make what Richard McEntire did to that ball boy with his tennis racket look like a walk in the fucking park. That includes any indirect contact. If you make her life difficult in any way, you’ll be blacklisted from New York society so fast, it’ll make your head spin.”
