In an instant, the entire VIP suite plummeted into a pressurized, suffocating silence. The socialites from the Harborview Penthouses, who moments ago had been practically salivating at the chance to mock a "loser," now looked on with eyes wide as saucers, their mouths agape in raw, unadulterated shock.
What the hell was happening? Victor Yates, the man who stood as the crown prince of Port Haven's underworld—the literal heir to the Proprietor's shadow empire—was addressing the Montgomery’s live-in embarrassment as "Uncle"?
To the young scions in the room, it felt as if the laws of physics had just been rewritten. They were watching the ultimate power broker of the city bow to a man they considered a social parasite.
"It’s fine," Liam Livingston said, his voice a smooth, clinical bariton
