Claire leaned forward to speak, placing both hands firmly on the table, the light catching the yellow ring on her finger.
"We'll set up a meeting, leak the meeting's location, let the masked fuckers think they're smart enough to ambush us," she said simply, her voice steady. "Then we'll be ready for them."
The room was silent, except for the occasional creak of a chair. Lucas leaned back in his seat, expressionless. Elena sat beside him, sipping her wine casually.
"Details?" one of the older dons barked from across the table.
Claire met his eyes, unfazed. "We make it look real. A casual meet to talk alliances, but every single guard we have will be hidden and ready. Snipers, mounted shooters, inside men—every angle covered. When they come, we box them in. No one gets out alive."
Another don shifted uncomfortably, his chair scraping against the floor. "That's risky," he muttered. "Any misstep, and we're dead."
