–Damon–
I already felt that gnawing ache of homesickness, not for the walls of our house, but for her—for my wife—though the night was young. It was a ridiculous thing, really, to miss someone this much when the clock had barely passed midnight. But this is business, and business thrives in the dark, with alcohol dulling tongues and secrets dripping between glasses. They had their women draped on their arms, ornaments they could exchange like cufflinks. I let them have their little spectacle. I didn't bring mine, because she doesn't enjoy circuses like this. My Livana—she doesn't play pretend for men who think the world is theirs just because they can sign a deal over whiskey.
Still, I imagined her here—seated beside me, her cold elegance slicing through this stale smoke-filled room. Her hand resting on my thigh like a quiet leash. Her eyes, those blind yet unnervingly sharp eyes, would have cut Tyrona's smug little smile into ribbons. I would've liked that.
