Florin Salam stood on the elevated stage, adjusting his cuffs. He didn’t need to shout to get attention; his presence was a magnet. He caught the eye of Costel Biju across the VIP lounge. With a nod, the music shifted—the accordion began that unmistakable, high-octane trill.
In the center of the dance floor, a woman in a shimmering gold dress stopped mid-sentence. It was as if the song had been written specifically to track her movement. Every time the beat dropped, the stack of "leis" being showered over the band increased, fluttering through the air like confetti.
"Buna, buna, rau de tot," Florin murmured into the mic, his voice like velvet over gravel.