I looked at the two large Dobermans that Marcus had brought with him.

They were his personal guard dogs, usually fierce and aggressive.

But as I stepped forward, their ears flattened against their heads.

They looked at me, then at Bishop, who stood quietly at my side.

I took a slow, deep breath, letting my heart rate slow down, projecting the calm I had learned in the woods of my youth.

The Dobermans whined, their tails tucking between their hind legs.

They took three steps back, ignoring Marcus’s sharp commands to stay.

“What are you doing?” Marcus hissed at the dogs. “Attack!”

The dogs refused to move, their eyes locked on mine.

“They know who the real authority is,” I said.

One of Marcus’s men looked nervous, his eyes darting from the dogs to the shadows of the hallway.

Suddenly, three of Lucian’s loyal guards appeared on the upper balcony, their rifles trained on the group below.

Alina was among them, holding a small pistol she had likely taken from the restaurant office.

“Drop your weapons,” Lucian said.