Page 25 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

The Foe of My Foe Is My Ally

LEILA'S POV

I awoke to the gentle, persistent, hum of the air conditioner. Its chill on my skin was appreciated because the heat of the sunlight was streaming in through the open balcony doors.

For a second, I stayed still, staring at the ceiling, bewildered. Then it all came rushing back–my family's massacre–but only for a fleeting moment before I shut it out. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in Makros's bed. Makros's world.

I expected to turn over and find him lying beside me. But to my disappointment, the bed was empty. I had been thinking of strangling him while he slept.

The night before, I had dared to tell him that submission was an illusion. My own words terrified me then. He had been shocked for a moment—before he threw his head back and laughed, challenging it.

There was a soft knock at the door and I started.

A maid with a tray in hand, stepped inside a second later.

She moved quietly, head ducked as she put it down on the bedside table.

I gazed at the plate. Scrambled eggs, bread toast, sliced fruits, coffee.

The fragrance of roasted beans hung in the air and my stomach rumbled faintly in anticipation. The scent of coffee enticed my senses.

" Signore instructed you to eat."

Instructed.

Not begged?

Not Makros begged?

Instructed.

As if he were a deity and his word was absolute.

Makros had instructed me to eat.

So, I wouldn't.

I pushed the tray aside, and the fork scraped against the porcelain. The maid flinched, but I ignored her reaction.

"Take it away," I snarled.

The woman hesitated. "But madam he instructed—"

"I don't care what he instructed."

She hesitated a fraction of a second too long, and then jerked her head into a swift nod and took flight, tray raised high.

I rolled out of bed, feeling the dulled dizziness that always accompanied hunger, but I reveled in it. I pushed off the sheets and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. They fell onto the hard marble, anchoring me.

A burst of air brought the scent of the sweet, creamy fragrance of gardenias from beyond the balcony. I went towards it, sunlight pouring down upon me.

The view of the estate dropped away below—neatly manicured gardens, walkways of stone, a pool so still that it reflected the sky like glass.

I leaned onto the floor, starting with a few push-ups. Then I stretched out.

Deep lunges, spine twists, the slow stretches that had been a fixture in my morning routine—all before my life was taken from me. Finally, I sat to meditate, having no sense of time or purpose.

When I finished, my breathing was consistent, my body relaxed.

I remained in the sitting room across from the library all day, gazing at the rows of books that I did not want to read. I spurned the lunch presented to me, then the dinner.

Nobody had come to visit me. Not even Makros.

By nightfall, my belly folded in outrage, but I didn't mind. Each meal I avoided was a small victory, a reminder that for all his work, there were some things Makros couldn't get me to do.

I stalked the halls, soaking up the luxury. Every square inch of this mansion was meant to impress. Marble floors and vaulted ceilings and chandeliers that cost more than most men's lives.

The Cretes were a family who had profited in blood for all the wealth that surged around them.

I heard voices as I passed by Makros’s study.

I slowed down.

"A mole within the Crete household." Makros's voice was deep, but biting.

A pause.

Then another voice—one I didn't recognize. "First the guns. Then the prisoner. Someone is interfering, and you won't believe it could be one of yours."

One of the muscles in my jaw tightened.

So there was a mole.

Someone in his own house had been working against him. Plotting against him.

I moved closer to the door, my heart pounding excitedly.

Makros sighed. "I admit. But I will not make a decision on suspicion."

Suspicion.

I breathed slowly, shaking.

Whoever the mole was, I needed to find them.

Night had fallen when I decided to return to my room. I was jammed in the doorway, unable to move as I saw Makros already waiting for me.

He rested against the window, his profile chiseled hard against the waning light. His jacket was open, his sleeves rolled up, showing the dragon tattoo curling up his forearms. He still had the same unreadable face he'd worn last night, but his eyes flashed over me with quiet assessment.

"You haven't eaten all day."

It wasn't a question.

I stood my ground, arms crossed. "Wasn't hungry."

Something dark moved over his eyes. Not anger—something iced. He came toward me, slow and deliberate, bridging the space between us.

"Starving yourself won't make me let you go." His voice was low, but it sent shivers down my spine.

I set my jaw. "Who said anything about letting me go?" I spat out a harsh laugh. "That's not what this is about."

Makros nodded, his head tilted as if considering my words. "Then what is this about?"

I said nothing.

He gazed at me for a second, then breathed out slowly. "I don't have time for this."

I expected him to stand up and leave. But he gestured toward the door.

A man came in.

My gut dropped.

I had seen him.

I don’t remember his name but he was part of the security assigned to the ambassador’s daughter.

My heart thudded in my ears. What in the name of the devil was he doing here?

"This is Nicolai," Makros said, his tone even, almost casual. "My late best friend's brother."

I swallowed hard. I recalled a different name for the man—Sam.

"He will be your new bodyguard," Makros went on.

What? Maybe I also needed a babysitter.