On the other side of the door, lounged across a plush velvet couch was Tyler Mooney.
The Prince of Los Alverez sat with a smug smile on his face like the royalty he was, expecting tribute.
The room he occupied had a dim lighting. Oozing out of every corner and every wall was sleaze and privilege. What gave the room light was only the pulsating red and violet glow of low-hung ceiling bulbs.
Coiling in the air was smoke from cigars and perfume candles. A crystal glass of cognac dangled lazily from his fingers.
Tyler let out a sigh. 'Mhmm. Where taking them so long, eh?'
He'd already unfastened his collar and loosened his tie, the arrogance of inherited power etched across his smug, half-lidded face.
Clearly, he was accustomed to this place and to this very act. They way he made himself comfortable in the private suite.
