Page 40 of In Another Time

Anya smiled, hand brushing my arm. “He’s being modest. Omir’s businesses are thriving.”

Jason smirked. “Wasn’t your brother just shot at that club of yours, though?”

The whole table froze.

Anya sucked in a breath. “Jason?—”

I stared at him, dead in the eye. Did he just?—

My jaw clenched, chest tight. That comment didn’t just cross a line. It spit on it. I leaned forward slowly, every movement controlled. Calculated. But the fire in my chest? Livid. “You think that’s funny?” I asked, voice low. “You think my brother dying is a punchline or something?”

Jason shrugged, smug. “Didn’t say it was funny. Just seems like a liability. One minute it’s jazz and cocktails, next it’s a crime scene. Not exactly wedding-invite material.”

Without thinking twice, I reached across the table and grabbed the front of his collar with one hand, yanking him forward so fast his wine glass tipped. His eyes went wide, hands flailing.

“You ever fix your mouth to speak on my brother again,” I growled, “I’ll forget who the fuck you are to my woman and knock your ass the hell out.”

“Omir!” Anya shouted, standing.

Her father rose. “Let go of him.”

Jason’s face had lost all that fake cockiness. He was shook, and he should’ve been. I stared him down, then slowly released my grip, pushing him back into his seat with a sneer. Silence fell over the table. Even the damn waiter froze mid-step.

I stood, straightened my jacket, grabbed my keys off the table, and looked around at the faces that couldn’t hide their judgment if they tried. “You sit up here talking about market trends and yacht clubs like that makes you better than people who built something from scratch with their bare hands.” I glanced at Anya. Her eyes were filled with panic. Embarrassment. Not once had she spoken up. Not for real. I shook my head. “I’m out.”

I turned and walked out of that restaurant like the damn place was on fire. I was just about to open my car door when I heard the quick, frantic tap of heels behind me.

“Omir—wait,” Anya called out.

I didn’t turn. Not at first.

“You really gonna chase me now?” I muttered under my breath, jaw tight. But still, I stayed where I was, breathing hard, gripping the door handle like it was the only thing grounding me.

She caught up, eyes wide, cheeks flushed from embarrassment or the cold—maybe both. “You can’t just walk out like that.”

I turned, slow. “Can’t?Anya, your brother disrespected mydeadbrother to my face. And nobody said shit. Not you, not your father. Y’all just sat there like I was the one outta line.”

“Iwasgoing to say something?—”

“Then why didn’t you?” My voice boomed louder than I meant it to, chest heaving. “You had the chance. The moment was right there, and you sat frozen. Like defending me would’ve cost you too much.”

Her mouth opened, but she didn’t respond right away. That hesitation? It said enough.

I shook my head. “You think I don’t see it? You love the idea of me, Anya. The jazz club owner with ambition. The guy who makes your life feel exciting and ‘different.’ But when it comes to standing in front of your family and saying, ‘That’s my man,’ you go quiet.”

“That’s not fair,” she snapped, stepping closer. “Youaremy man. I’ve never once treated you like anything less.”

“But you letthemdo it.”

Her lips trembled as she crossed her arms. “You embarrassed me in there, Omir. You put your hands on mybrother.”

“You fucking right.” I stepped closer, eyes locked on hers. “He weaponized my grief. My family. I don’t play when it comes to O’Shea. You think I’m gonna just sit there and let him run his mouth like that?”

“I’m not asking you to sit there,” she said, voice breaking. “I’m asking you to think before you react. To trust me.”

“That’s the thing, Anya. I don’t know if I can.”

That hit her. I saw it in the way her body went still, her eyes blinking fast, her mouth parted like the words got stuck in her throat. She took a shaky breath. “I know my family isn’t warm. They’re not like. . . whatever image you have in your head of what love’s supposed to feel like.”

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