The silence stretched like a blade drawn across the room. Everyone stared—dancers froze mid-step, bartenders held bottles in mid-air, even the waitresses stood still with trays balanced on their palms.
Xavier's eyes swept the floor, then lifted back to the balcony where Victor sat. He didn't shout, didn't move, didn't even blink. His voice came again, low and cutting, amplified by the mic.
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
The weight of the words pressed on the crowd. Conversations that had started up again died instantly. The tension thickened, every second dragging like an hour.
Victor shifted in his chair, the gold chain clinking as he leaned forward. He forced a chuckle, waving his fat hand as though to brush it all away. "Now, now… let's not spoil the mood. Nobody meant any harm. My men are overzealous, maybe." His eyes darted at Angel briefly before snapping back to Xavier. "But no disrespect intended."
