Chapter 18
LYRA
I glance down at my iPad, taking another look at the venue floor plan.
“And the bar placement on the east wall needs to change; it doesn’t look good as is. On top of that, it’s nearly blocking the secondary exit. If people need to evacuate, they’ll be smushed against the bar on one side.”
Anya nods, tapping away on her tablet.
“Got it,” she says. “I’ll let the owners know asap.”
The venue is a converted warehouse in Red Hook, with exposed brick, iron beams, and thirty-foot ceilings.
It’s the kind of space that photographs beautifully but costs a fortune to heat.
Red Hook, with its up-and-coming vibe and location near the water, is full of these converted buildings, all of them with tons of venue potential.
The problem with this venue is that it hasn’t held an event before, which means I have to put in the extra legwork of making sure everything’s up to code, that all inspections have been done, and that every sightline from the stage works for both the guests and the cameras—of which there will be many.
Anya’s good at this, better than I expected, and for that, I’m grateful. She’s got her tablet, a checklist, and a stubborn thoroughness that reminds me so much of Julian’s that it’s almost comical. It’s amusing to see similar traits of his in the form of a cute, college-aged girl.
Anya takes another note, an expression of curiosity on her face.
“Lyra, can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”
She purses her lips for a moment, then shifts her weight from one foot to the other. I can tell she’s not looking forward to saying what she has on her mind.
“It’s… my mom. She called this morning, said she wanted to attend the fundraiser.” Her tone is careful, like she’s tiptoeing through a minefield with her words. “She said she wants to support the foundation, that it’s what Dmitri would’ve wanted.”
Great. As if this event wasn’t complicated enough already, now Laura Volkova wants to get involved.
“And what do you think?” I ask.
She nods slowly. “I think she wants to show that she can play nice. Not to mention, she doesn’t like the idea of people talking about potential Volkov family drama behind her back.”
“So, you think her motivation to attend is a bit shady?”
“Kind of. But not totally. She genuinely does care about these events and the causes, even if she has a funny way of showing it. And keeping Dmitri’s wishes alive is important to her.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not choosing sides or anything like that.
She’s my mom, but I also know how she can be.
And I’m not OKAY with how she’s treated you over the years—I’ve told her that myself.
And then there’s the whole Alex thing. He’s my brother, and I love him, but he’s also being an idiot.
Not just an idiot, but a dangerous idiot. I’m scared for him, honestly.”
Everything’s coming out in a worried ramble, and I can tell right away that she’s had all of this on her mind for a while. I set down my clipboard on the nearest table and move over to her, putting my hands on her shoulders. I can feel the tension ease the second I do.
“Listen,” I say. “I know this is all crazy. But the fact of the matter is that you don’t need to put yourself right in the middle of it. And you don’t have to take sides.”
She nods; her gaze locked on the floor.
“I know. But this is my family. I’m probably going to have to take sides sooner or later.”
“Later, and maybe. For now, do what I do whenever I feel stressed or overwhelmed—focus on the work.” I sweep my hand toward the open space in front of us. “It’s the one thing we have control over, for the most part.”
She smiles. “Thanks, Lyra.”
“Anytime.”
Just then, the warehouse doors open and the conversation evaporates. Julian strides in with Ethan flanking him, both in dark suits, both carrying the confident energy of men on a mission.
Julian scans the space, looking for exits, sight lines, structural cover. I recognize it as the same kind of sweep he did back at my apartment, though without a gun in his hands this time, thankfully.
When his eyes meet mine, he grins.
“The east wall is a better placement for the bar,” he announces, his voice echoing in the vast space.
“I know. I just moved it.”
“Good.” He approaches, Ethan still at his side. His attention goes to Anya. “How are you?”
“Fine. Busy. Mom called.”
Julian winces at that, and something wordless passes between them—an entire sibling conversation condensed into a few looks.
“We’ll talk about that later,” he says.
Ethan steps over to the south wall, looking out the floor-to-ceiling industrial glass to the front stretch of lawn and the street beyond.
“Those are original to the building,” I say. “Same glass and everything. Nice, huh?”
“They’re also completely indefensible,” Julian says. “The offer a full view of the venue.”
I watch the street, noticing as two black SUVs come to a stop in front of the building, about 200 feet away. The windows roll down slowly, and—
Ethan, having seemingly come to the same conclusion, turns back toward us.
“Julian, these windows—”
Flashes illuminate from the SUV. The first bullet shatters the glass before Ethan can even finish his sentence, the sound filling the warehouse like a bomb going off. The window disintegrates into a thousand glittering fragments, as the world explodes into total chaos.
Julian moves faster than I can even process. He slams into me—a full-body collision that drives me into the concrete floor, shoulder first, causing pain to shoot through me. His weight pins me flat, his arms caging my head and his chest against my back.
I hear more gunfire. It’s rapid, and it tears through the remaining windows, glass and plaster raining down onto the floor.
“Stay down!” Julian shouts. “Don’t move!”
To my left, I hear Anya scream. Ethan shouts something that I can’t make out. Gunshots sound out from inside the building. It’s Ethan returning fire, followed by a sharp grunt of pain that turns my blood to ice.
“Ethan’s hit!” Anya calls, her voice high and tight but surprisingly not panicked.
The gunfire from outside continues. I'm still pressed flat against the floor, Julian's body over mine like a human shield. I can feel his heartbeat against my back. It’s slow and steady, even in the middle of the chaos.
Then he moves. He rolls off me and pulls a gun I didn't even know he was carrying from a holster beneath his jacket.
He rises into a crouch. I see it all happen in fragments—he pivots toward the shattered windows, the muzzle of the gun flashing.
I watch as a huge spiderweb crack forms on the windshield of the SUV.
The windows go up before the vehicle speeds off, fishtailing around the corner.
Silence returns to the warehouse, accompanied by the scent of gunpowder. My eyes are wide open with shock and disbelief about what just happened.
I look down at my body, half expecting to see blood, even though I don’t think I’ve been hit. But there’s nothing. I’m fine.
The others.
I push myself up on shaking arms. There’s glass and plaster everywhere — in my hair, on my clothes, glittering across the concrete like scattered diamonds. My ears are ringing, making everything sound like it’s underwater. Anya yells out something, her voice sounding miles away.
Julian is standing by the shattered windows. His gun is lowered and he’s breathing hard. I notice there's a line of red across the left side of his shirt—a diagonal slash below the ribs, the fabric torn and darkening fast. I stop cold at the sight of him.
Adrenaline courses through me. I should take a second to breathe, to process. But in that moment, I don’t care about myself. I need to make sure he’s OKAY.
“Julian—”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing. Just a graze.”
“It’s nothing? You’re bleeding!”
“I’m fine,” he repeats. “Where’s Anya?”
I turn. Anya’s about thirty feet away, crouched on the floor next to Ethan, who’s propped against the wall with his hand clamped over his right shoulder.
“Shit,” I hear Anya say. “Shit, shit!”
Blood is seeping between Ethan’s fingers. Julian rushes over and I follow him, panic racing through me. Ethan’s face is gray, and his jaw is clenched tight. I can tell that he’s in a lot of pain but is keeping it together as best he can.
“How bad is it?” Anya asks Julian as he approaches, worry in her eyes.
“It’s fine,” Ethan says.
“Fine,” I echo. “We just got shot at and that’s all anyone can say.”
Julian squats down next to Ethan, gently moving his hand away. Seconds tick by as he assesses the wound.
“Through and through, no major bleed,” Julian says. “He’ll be fine.”
“That’s what I said,” Ethan reiterates.
Julian turns to Anya. “Grab those linens over there and press them against the wound. Lots of pressure.”
“Got it.” She does as he commands, returning with the white linens and placing them over Ethan’s wound. He winces a bit as she applies the pressure, the white cloth slowly turning red.
Anya’s panic is fading, replaced by an intense focus to keep pressure on Ethan’s wound. She leans in and says something to him, and Ethan looks back at her with an expression of gratitude.
I can see a spark between them, but I’m willing to bet that neither of them would admit it.
It’s a major relief that Ethan is fine. Julian, on the other hand, is still moving around like he doesn’t have a gunshot wound of his own to worry about.
I cross the room to where he stands at one of the shattered windows, his gun still in his hand, as he scans the street. He’s still tense and coiled, ready for whatever threat might still be lurking out there.
I pull up the hem of his shirt before he can stop me.
The graze is ugly. It’s a raw, red line across his lower ribs. The wound is shallow but still bleeding. I’m no medical expert, but I can see that had the bullet grazed an inch deeper, it would’ve been much, much worse.
“You need a doctor,” I tell him. My hands are shaking as I press them against the wound. His blood is warm and slick against my palms.
“Lyra, it’s fi—”
I cut him off. “If you or Ethan says one more time that you’re fine, I swear I’ll scream.”
My words cause a little smile to appear on his lips, which makes me even madder. He needs to be taking this seriously, but instead he’s treating it like he stubbed his damn toe.
“We’re both fine, really. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot. You and Anya are unharmed—that’s all I was worried about.”
So that’s why he’s so calm. His words do something to me, but I push it out of my mind.
“You need medical care, Julian. You and Ethan.”
The smile fades. “Not until you’re safe.” He places his hand over both of mine, still pressed against his wound. Our eyes meet with a ferocity that has nothing to do with his wound but everything to do with the fact that someone just tried to hurt me and his sister.
He turns. “Ethan, are you good to make a call?”
“Good enough.”
“Call Kozlov. We’re going to my place. I want a medical team here, and another there waiting for us.”
“Got it.” He slips out his phone, wincing as he angles it in his hand and makes the call.
Julian turns his attention back to me. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m sure. You covered me.”
“Then I did my job.”
“Your job?” My voice cracks a little but I’m too mad to care. “Julian, you threw yourself on top of me. You took a bullet—”
“A graze. This is nothing.”
“You took a bullet that would’ve hit me, then emptied your gun into a moving car, and now you’re telling me you’re fine while blood is pouring from you—”
He pulls me in and crushes me against his chest, away from the wound. I can feel his heartbeat again, still maddeningly calm and steady. I press my face into his neck and breathe him in. It is in that moment that I realize with total clarity what just happened; what almost happened.
Someone tried to kill us. And they might’ve succeeded if they’d been just a little more accurate—or if Julian hadn’t moved as quickly as he did.
This is the world I now live in. This is what happens when you fall for a man for whom dodging bullets is just another Tuesday.
I pull back.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
His expression doesn’t change but his eyes do. They soften a little, as if I’d said something that he’d been half expecting to hear for days.
“I know,” he whispers back.
The medical team arrives. Ethan is carefully loaded into a black sedan. Anya goes with him, his blood still on her hands.
Julian doesn’t let go of me until we get into the other car.
Then his hand finds mine and he holds on tight, as if it’s the last time.