I reach for my gun. Matei reaches for his. Adrian's hand flies to his waistband.
But before any of us can even clear our holsters, Lucian moves.
He's faster than any man that size should be. Faster than I've ever seen him.
One moment, he's seated. The next, he's up, his chair toppling backward, his body a blur of controlled violence.
He intercepts Lev mid-lunge.
Lucian's hand clamps around Lev's wrist, twisting it inward. The gun clatters to the table as Lev's arm bends at an unnatural angle.
Lev tries to resist, his muscles straining, but Lucian doesn’t let him move.
I draw my gun and aim, and when I glance back, Lucian is pressing the barrel of Lev's own gun to the back of Lev's skull.
The room freezes as everyone has their weapons out.
Danika sits, her hands gripping the edge of the table. Her eyes are wide, darting between the men she's known most of her life and the man she's chosen to stand beside.
And she doesn't know what to do.
I glance back at Lucian, whose demeanor is calm. He isn't even breathing heavily. His hand is steady, the gun pressed firmly to Lev's skull. His gaze is locked on Ivan, with no flicker of emotion anywhere on his face.
Ivan, for his part, looks almost relaxed as he leans back in his chair, but I see the calculation in his eyes. The way he's assessing the room, weighing his options, deciding whether this is the hill he wants to die on.
Lev struggles beneath Lucian's grip as he curses, but Lucian doesn't flinch.
"My brother's life is not on this table, Ivan," Lucian says, his voice low. "But your son's is. If you want a war, we start it right now. If you want an empire, tell them to stand down."
The words hang in the air, and I keep my gun on Nikolai, my heartbeat rising slightly now.
Ivan studies Lucian for a long, agonizing moment, and then, strangely, Ivan starts laughing.
It's a low, rough sound. He then stops and raises one hand.
"Enough," he says, his voice carrying the command.
Nikolai lowers his weapon, and I follow, dropping my gun to the table but keeping it within reach.
Matei does the same.
Lucian releases Lev, stepping back.
Lev pushes himself upright, his face flushed, his breath coming in sharp bursts.
He glares at Lucian, then at all of us, before snatching his gun off the table, shoving it back into his holster, and sitting down.
Ivan smiles and leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming once on the mahogany.
"You've got balls, Lucian," he says again, his accent thick. "I'll give you that."
Lucian doesn't respond.
I glance at Danika. Her knuckles are white where they grip the edge of the table. Her gaze flicks between Ivan and Lucian, her jaw tight.
Lucian moves back to his seat at the head of the table, lowering himself slowly, reclaiming control of the room without a word.
"Here's what we want," Lucian says. "The Volkovs pull out of Los Angeles completely. Whether that was Dimitri's work or yours, it doesn't matter. It ends. You give it to Matei."
