No One Sleeps Here
He came straight at me.
No wandering. No stopping at the bar. Silver hair, glasses in his hand, a black suit that fit him better than anything else in that room fit the men wearing it.
He knew exactly where I was standing.
"Elena," Damian said, low, close to my ear. "Walk to the exit. Now."
"No—"
"Now." He stepped past me before I could finish and put himself between me and the room, and by the time I turned my head he was already ten feet ahead, walking toward his uncle with his hand out like a man greeting family at a wedding.
I didn't move.
I stood at the bar and watched them meet.
The old man stopped. He looked at Damian first, then over Damian's shoulder, straight at me. He smiled. Then he shook Damian's hand with both of his and leaned in and said somethin
