"Lord Yates?" Julian Easton's eyes widened. He wiped at a bloody scratch on his face from the debris, his bravado instantly deflating. There was only one Lord Yates in the underworld, a man who had once fought ten master fighters and walked away unscathed.
His father had shown him a photo of Lord Yates before. In it, the man's face was covered in a short beard, making him look like a brutish, muscle-bound lout. But the man before him was clean-shaven, with sharp, handsome features, looking more like a corporate elite.
Julian Easton had a terrible memory for faces, so naturally, he didn't connect the two.
"Easton really doesn't know how to raise a son… Mr. Easton, of all the places to pick a fight, you chose Mr. Quinn's turf? Are you trying to embarrass the Easton Family, or are you trying to put Mr. Quinn in an awkward position? Look at this. A perfectly good meal, and you've smashed the place to bits… You tell me, how should we settle this score?"
