“Living the good life, huh?”


    Alessia’s smile threw Quentin off for a moment. Beside him, his date shook his arm, trying to pull his attention back, but Quentin shoved her away without a second thought. She shot Alessia a venomous re, but there was nothing she could do except watch the scene unfold.


    “Of course! Look at me–I’m good–looking, loaded. Why waste your time with some old man? You’d be better off with me. Though, don’t get your hopes up–I’d never marry you. But if you want to be my little side piece, I could make that happen.”


    Quentin’s voice echoed through the nearly empty restaurant as if he’d picked up a megaphone, making sure everyone could hear every word.


    Alessia let out a softugh. “Loaded and good–looking, huh?”


    She gave Quentin a slow, deliberate once–over, making no effort to hide her skepticism. But Quentin, oblivious to her meaning, ran his fingers through the few greasy strands of hair clinging to his scalp and grinned like he was God’s gift.


    “Waiter!” Quentin suddenly barked.


    No one moved. Just as his expression darkened, Alessia pped her hands.


    “Yes, ma’am?”


    “A bottle of your best wine, please–the most expensive you have.”


    Ignoring Quentin’s demands, the waiter nced at Alessia, who gave a barely perceptible nod, just enough for him to catch. He didn’t dare dy. Within moments, he returned with a 1945 Romanée–Conti, worth nearly half a million dors. Alessia was quietly pleased at his discernment.


    The waiter uncorked the wine, let it breathe, and poured it into crystal sses. Quentin snatched his up and downed it in one gulp, then mmed the bottle down. in front of Alessia with a loud thud.


    “Finish this bottle and I’ll forget the past. Say something nice to me, and maybe I’ll even throw you a little cash, help you out.”


    He slid into Max’s chair, propping his feet up on the table, ruining an entire spread of untouched dishes. Alessia frowned at the waste.


    “Well? Is a hundred grand enough for you? Not enough? How about two hundred?”


    14.45


    Completely unaware of the danger creeping up on him, Quentin fumbled with his wallet before tossing it onto the table, swaggering as if he owned the ce.


    “Quentin.” Alessia crossed her arms. “You do realize I’m not even eighteen yet, don’t you?”


    “So what? If anything, that’s better. I’ll show you what being an adult is all about.”


    His words were crude, his face disgusting enough that even Alessia, who’d seen plenty, felt her stomach turn.


    But before she could respond, a shadow appeared behind Quentin.


    Without hesitation, the neer grabbed what little hair Quentin had and yanked his head back hard.


    Quentin’s short, stubby legs flew off the table, and his hands shot up, trying to pry off the grip on his scalp. But Max gave him no chance. Still holding onto Quentin’s hair, he mmed his head straight into the tabletop.


    The crack echoed through the room, followed by his date’s shriek and the tter of tes crashing to the floor. The wine bottle rolled to the edge, spilling deep red wine across the pristine tablecloth.


    “AAAH!” Quentin howled, his pudgy face twisting in agony, features scrunched together, streaks of blood and wine running down his cheeks–a truly nauseating sight.


    “Who–who the hell hit me? I swear, you’re dead! I’ll have my dad put you behind bars for this!”


    Max looked down at him with utter disgust, but didn’t loosen his grip. “Then you’d better get a good look at me–wouldn’t want you going after the wrong guy.”


    For all his violence, Max’s tone was calm, almost cheerful–there was even a hint of a smile, though something wild flickered in his eyes.


    “Max? Why the hell is it you?”