Demetrio's POV
Dominic had been glaring at me since I sat down, with the specific quality of a man who had been managing a room full of difficult people for twenty-three minutes longer than agreed and was communicating his feelings about that through eye contact alone.
I ignored him.
I had my own grievances about the evening. Specifically, I had left somewhere I very much wanted to be to come and sit in a conference room with men who were going to ask questions I was not going to answer, at least one of whom had been selling my operational intelligence to a twenty-three-year-old pakhan, and I was required to present all of this with the composure of a man who had no idea any of it was happening.
I straightened my jacket and adjusted in my chair and looked at the assembled dons with the specific patience of a man who had decided patience was the correct instrument for this particular situation and was applying it with discipline.
