Page 2 of Titus

Spencer continued scrolling, one eyebrow lifting a little higher with every swipe. “Royal families. Sovereign wealth. Shipping. Energy. Tech.” He looked up. “There isn’t a weak name on this list.”

“There wasn’t supposed to be.”

A slow grin crossed Spencer's face. “If even half these people commit tonight, Hawk Crown Reserve becomes the most exclusive luxury development in the world.”

“That’s the plan,” I answered.

“Time to sell it to him, Hermano,” Wyatt said to me, leaning against the bar.

I glanced at Spencer. “Six private islands.”

Colton picked it up. “Thirty villas per island.”

Wyatt whistled.

“Only thirty?”

“Scarcity,” I held Spencer’s gaze. “People don’t compete for what’s easy to get.”

Spencer closed the tablet. “Jim’s going to like that answer.”

“I know.”

Colton lifted his glass. “And if everyone thinks we’re insane?"

Wyatt smirked. “Then Titus just hosted the most expensive yacht party in history.”

He poured another Old Fashioned, glanced around the crowded deck, then slid the glass across the bar to Spencer. “So...” he said. “Which one of these wealthy bastards starts the first fight?”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. “Petrov.”

Colton nodded. “My money's on him too.”

As if the man had heard his name...shouting erupted from the main deck.

I began moving toward the stairs with Wyatt following closely behind me, and Spencer and Colton casually walked toward the bar as Petrov’s voice carried across the deck like artillery.

“This arrangement is unacceptable!” he barked. “I was promised privacy.”

Several investors’ heads had turned while I slowly approached and studied the man having a billionaire meltdown.

A staff member stood frozen near the port railing while Petrov towered over him. “This is amateur management,” Petrov continued loudly. “If this is how Hawk handles negotiations, perhaps I should reconsider my involvement.”

Good. Let the room hear this bastard squeal like an injured pig. Nothing revealed a man faster than pressure.

As I stepped closer, I saw that Petrov was approached by someone else before I could say a word.

“Mr. Petrov,” her voice was calm, clear, and completely unimpressed.

I watched as Catalina Veléz stepped into this circle of attention like she had been invited there.

Petrov turned toward her, clearly irritated she’d dare to even address him. “And you are?” he spat out.

“I’m the person who solved your problem three minutes ago, Mr. Petrov.”

A ripple of curiosity moved through the guests.

Petrov’s eyes narrowed at her. “My problem?”