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“Nestor, my friend, how are you? Where is your wife? I heard you got married,” he says, grabbing my hand and shaking it firmly.

“She couldn’t make it tonight, but I am looking forward to you meeting her next time.”

“What a pity. I heard she was a beautiful woman, and I was so happy you finally found someone to steal your attention.”

I laugh. Viktor is an older man with an old-school view of the world. It’s why we get on so well. He respects good business and knows how to make money without screwing people over. And he believes in love. He’s often told me about how his wife was the love of his life and still is, even though he lost her a fewyears ago. They were together for fifty-nine years. He will tell the story proudly over and over again.

“What was the wedding like?” he asks, his brows raised.

“It was lovely, Viktor, but we are going to have another one eventually. That one was only for our closest family.” I don’t want him to be offended that he wasn’t invited. Or to be offended to find out that I practically kidnapped the girl.

“Ah, yes, the special moments are best not spread out for the world to see. They are more intimate that way. You be sure to keep her safe, though, young man,” he tells me sternly.

“I will.”

Someone grabs his attention, and he excuses himself.

I move on to the next person, a man with whom I have a long-term business relationship as well, but we’ve had our moments of not seeing eye to eye.

“I heard your mother was after the mosaic.”

“She has an eye for good art.”

“Well, there go my chances of getting it. I won’t even try and bid against you,” he laughs.

“I’m sorry, my friend. I can’t let my mother down.”

“Don’t worry, I understand.”

I’m going from group to group, making my rounds, saying hello, almost enjoying myself, when Miron arrives.

The instant he does, my body is tense, already prepared to deal with his bullshit that will inevitably happen.

That fucker sneers at me from across the room.

“Your brother is here,” someone says.

“Stepbrother,” I correct them as Miron walks towards us.

Fuck’s sake, can’t he just stay on the other side of the room.

“That deal you just pulled with the Red Caps—I think you could have done it totally differently,” Miron says without preamble, trying to belittle me in front of everyone standing around.

“I’m not entirely sure how you would know enough about the deal to make an informed decision or give any input at all. Unlike you, I don’t make bold statements without all of the information available to me. You might want to consider that next time.”

The crowd around us shifts awkwardly, aware of the tension.

“Some things are so obvious even a child could see it,” he huffs, provoking me further. I hate the fact that he has the power to piss me off instantaneously. I shouldn’t let it happen, but I have years of pent-up anger towards him and his father.

Miron is a constant source of contempt for me.

He lets his eyes wander slowly up and down my body, a look of disgust on his face, his mouth drawn back in annoyance.

“Where’s that wife-for-hire of yours?” he says, and my blood boils ten times hotter. My fists clench at my sides as I bite down to stop myself from punching him in the face.

“She won’t be joining us this evening.”

“She abandoned her husband? I would never allow my wife to behave that way. You should get a handle on your woman,” Miron sneers.