Perfection. It was what Vegas thrived on. Cause Vegas loved perfection. He demanded it. Controlled it. Ensured it...
A single mistake was unacceptable. A slight delay was unforgivable. And interruptions?
Well, that was a death wish.
Especially during a meeting.
If anyone dared to disrupt him, th
Every deal, every plan, every meeting—it had to be flawless. If someone disrupted his focus, they’d be lucky to walk out alive. His underlings knew it well. One wrong move, one moment of stupidity, and they’d end up in his basement, learning the cost of imperfection.
And yet.
Here he was.
Sitting at the head of a long, polished mahogany table, leading one of the most crucial meetings of the month—his expression cold, his tone sharp, his presence overwhelming. A dozen high-ranking men sat before him, waiting for his verdict on the next operation. Tension thickened in the air. No one dared to move unnecessarily.
Except for the one person who could defy all logic.
Pete.
His lover—his complete and utter weakness—was sitting on his lap.
Not beside him. Not across from him. Not even in a separate chair.
But on his lap.
In the middle of an important meeting.
Vegas’ perfectly styled hair, the one thing he never allowed anyone to touch, was currently under attack. Pete, with no regard for his life, was running his fingers through it, messing it up as if he were a bored child playing with a doll.
The entire room was holding its breath.
Everyone had seen Vegas snap for far less. A single word out of place could lead to bloodshed. A mere cough could result in a bullet to the head. And yet, here was Pete—who wasn’t just disturbing him but actively ruining his perfection.
And what did Vegas do about it?
Nothing.
Not a single word.
Instead, he leaned back, one arm wrapped possessively around Pete’s waist, while the other tapped lightly on the table, as if waiting.
Few moments ago:
If someone dared to disturb him in the middle of an important discussion, that person would not be walking out unharmed. That's what all the man in Vegas life knows....
So when the heavy doors to the conference room suddenly burst open, every man at the table knew—without a doubt—that whoever had just entered was about to die.
Vegas’ fingers stilled on the papers in front of him. His eyes, sharp and deadly, snapped up toward the intruder. The tension in the room thickened instantly.
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