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I WANT WHAT’S YOURS
CHARLES FOX. “Hello, brother,” Bruno said, strolling into my office with a smug grin plastered across his face. “Glad to see you are back in one piece.” I leaned back in my chair, tapping my pen against the desk, my eyes fixed on him. I had been buried under a mountain of work, trying to catch up after being out sick, but his arrival made everything else feel like a distant task. “What do you want, Bruno?” My voice was tight, my gaze cold as I watched him make himself at home. He sank into one of the chairs like he owned the place, his posture lazy as if daring me to lose my temper. Slowly, he unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. He was too relaxed for a man about to be torn apart by me. “You don’t look thrilled to see me, Charles,” he mocked, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I
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