Glass tables bearing bottles of expensive whiskey beckon under the lights. There’s enough alcohol to kill an army of elephants.
My uncle slaps me on the back and grins. “Whiskey for the whiskey man,” he jokes, steering me towards a bottle. “My treat.”
I give Budimir a grateful nod for arranging the display, but I refrain from telling him that my desire for alcohol has dwindled significantly in the past few days.
The whole entourage moves forward, each group taking a table and helping themselves to a drink.
I stand back, feeling strangely removed from everything and everyone.
“Come on, brother,” Cillian says, coming up next to my shoulder. “Try and enjoy yourself tonight.”
I just nod and take a seat at a booth next to my uncle.
He’s already pouring himself a drink, his eyes trained o
