Page 80 of Maksym

“Again, I’ll wait for you to meet Devon to hear their story if you choose to hear it. I guarantee she’s not what you’re imagining.”

“Okay.”

“The most recent matter concerns Nikolay.”

Her expression shifted again. More focused. Counsel returning to the room.

“As we’ve discussed, my brother’s fated mate is Maddie.”

“The Texas woman,” Grace said.

“An Alpha wolf from a local pack attempted to force a mate bond with her.”

Grace stilled.

There was no confusion on her face now. No adjustment to supernatural terms. Forced was a word she knew in any jurisdiction.

“He attempted to claim what was not his,” I said. “By a forced, unwanted magical ritual. By violence. Nikolay intervened. The Alpha died.”

“Good,” Grace was unapologetic.

The word came without hesitation.

“If someone attempted to force a bond with a woman who had not consented,” she said, “and your brother stopped him, then good. We can discuss proportionality later if the facts require it. But the moral category is not complicated.”

Something in my chest loosened with painful reluctance.

“You do not yet know all the facts.”

“No,” she replied. “But I know that one.”

For a moment, the office fell silent. She closed her laptop and folded her hands. I found that more intimate than the questions.

“You should understand something before we go. From the outside, it may appear that war follows the Kozlov family.”

Grace held my gaze.

“It does,” I said. “Too often. My father has ruled long enough to become a symbol men resent more than they understand. My brothers and sister carry his name. I carry his authority in the West. Power draws challengers, parasites, zealots, cowards with knives, visionaries with no regard for the cost of their visions.”

I looked toward the darkened window beyond the office, where Las Vegas glittered with human hunger and supernatural appetites layered beneath it.

“We have not sought these wars,” I said. “Not Lucia’s. Not Devon’s. Not Nikolay’s. Not yours. We do not wake craving bloodshed for sport, whatever Lucian believes about us. But when violence is brought to our doorstep, when someone reaches for those under our protection, we answer. Fully.”

The last word landed harder than I intended. Grace did not flinch.

Instead, she leaned back in her chair and studied me as if I had become a witness she had not yet decided whether to trust.

“I understand power,” she said.

I went still.

“I understand powerful men,” she continued. “Not all of them, maybe. But enough. Men who already hold everything have no real reason to reach for more unless reaching is the point. Unless appetite has replaced purpose.”

Grace kept looking at me.

“Lucian had money. Influence. status. Access. Protection. He did not need slaves. He wanted them. He wanted the proof that he could have them. That is different.”

“Yes,” I answered quietly.