Page 42 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Fire and Desire

The fire had burned almost everything.

Racks of handmade Italian shoes were turned to nothing. The warehouse stocked with high-grade leather was turned to ashes. The offices where deals were made and money was laundered clean nothing but smoldering remains.

And worse, five lives were lost, a few more were injured.

Three of them watched the footage in frozen silence on the tablet on the table. Fire fighters searched through the wreckage as smoke poured into the night air. The news reporter spoke in brief, rushed sentences, describing the attack on a very prominent business magnate's factory in Greece.

Makros' shoe factory.

It was one of his biggest legitimate investments, a legacy, an empire he'd built from the ground up with clean money, a good reputation, an investment in something real.

And now it was destroyed.

Stefanos was standing next to Makros, arms folded. "They didn't even try to cover their tracks."

The Orel Bratva.

The arson was retaliation for the profitable shipment Makros had hijacked and refused to pay them for.

Don Matteo watched the report from his armchair with barely contained anger. "This is what happens when you offend powerful men," he sneered, his voice bitter and cold. "You should have handled their demands differently. And this is only the beginning."

Makros said nothing. He did not regret that he had refused the demands of the Bratva. If you let them get their hand into your pocket, they'd grab everything.

His father was not wrong, though.

This was just the beginning.

"They want to provoke me to war," Makros said finally.

His father leaned forward. "Or maybe they want you to take them seriously. War is expensive. We're going to Moscow."

Makros exhaled slowly. He hated being summoned, like some servant answering a master's call. But this was not a fight he could evade. The Bratva was not letting him walk away.

Makros never backed down from a fight.

He looked at Stefanos. "You'll be in charge while we're away."

Stefanos nodded slowly, but his thoughts were already elsewhere.

"And Leila?" he wanted to know.

Makros hesitated. He didn't like leaving her, but he couldn't take her to Moscow.

"Nicolai will take care of her."

Stefanos smiled to himself.

That left him with complete control over Leila.

Makros and his father set out the next morning.

Leila accompanied them to the airport, standing and observing as the private aircraft took off. She had not said a word, her expression stoic, while Nicolai stayed near, his looming presence beside her as always.

Upon their return home, Nicolai escorted her in. Stefanos stood up from his chair upon seeing them.

He stepped forward, slapping Nicolai on the back. "Nicolai, you can give the young lady some room to breathe. I'll keep an eye on her for now since Makros isn't here. You can take the time off to relax. You can use the break."

But Nicolai did not appreciate the time off.

He grumbled. "You know Makros wouldn't want that."

Stefanos gave him a slow, soft smile. "Take it easy, I got her for now."

Leila observed them in silence.

Then reluctantly Nicolai moved back with his jaw clenched, but he didn't protest. She felt a little surge of relief. This was precisely what she needed.

Nicolai gave Leila a warning before turning away. He didn't trust Stefanos near her, but he knew better than to confront him directly. And just like that, Leila was no longer being constantly watched.

She let Stefanos lead her away, her movements languid, her expression impassive. But inside, she was already plotting on how to make use of the sudden opportunity.

For the first time in a while, she had the entire day to herself. No Makros. No Nicolai breathing down her neck.

Freedom.

She tried going into Makros' study and even his father's office, but the doors were locked. She could pick them, but that would take time and raise suspicion if she got caught.

No, she didn't need to go through those. Not anymore.

Everything she wanted was in the communications room.

She just needed a way of getting back in.

Leila was still turning over possible plans when a maid appeared at her door, her head slightly bowed.

"Miss, Stefanos has asked to see you."

Leila's lips curved.

The opportunity had arrived sooner than expected.

"Tell him I'll be right there."

The last time they had been alone, she had kissed him. But now? Now, she knew he wanted more than just a kiss.

Stefanos leaned against his desk, watching her approach. His eyes were heavy-lidded, hungry, dark with lust.

She wore a silk robe—one of Makros' gifts, but tonight, she had chosen to wear it for him. The fabric clung to her, whispering over her skin with every step she took.

He reached for her wrist, fingers sliding around it in a slow, possessive grip. He pulled her closer until she stood between his knees.

"Wow," he murmured, eyes drinking her in. "You look lovely."

Leila smiled—a slow, knowing curve of her lips.

"I dressed for you," she said, tilting her head slightly.

His grip tightened. "You feel it, don't you?" His voice was lower now, huskier. "The way we belong together."

Her lashes lowered, gaze flicking to his lips before returning to his eyes. "Yes, I feel something."

It was a pure lie.

His fingers traced the curve of her waist, slow, teasing. "Then stop fighting it."

Stefanos leaned in, lips brushing against her ear.

She didn't pull away. She let him, just enough to keep him wanting.

"Baby steps," she whispered.

His jaw clenched, tension rippling through his body. But he let her go.

He still had another day with her.

She had told him the way to get her was slowly.

Leila had a different plan for Stefanos today. The man had so many poisons to pick from.

She poured him a drink. A smooth, rich brandy. The kind that burned going down. He hadn't noticed the small flicker of her wrist as she slipped something inside.

She held out the glass, meeting his gaze. "Drink with me."

Stefanos took it but didn't sip right away. He studied her carefully, his fingers drumming against the rim. "Trying to get me drunk?"

She let out a soft laugh, lifting her own glass. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

He smirked and took a sip. "You know, Makros doesn't like me drinking too much. He says it dulls my edge."

Leila swirled the liquid in her glass, her eyes gleaming under the dim light. "You work hard for him. You deserve a moment to relax."

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders, taking another slow sip. "You're dangerous, Leila."

She tilted her head, lips parting in mock surprise. "And yet, you want me."

The alcohol was already warming his veins. He reached for her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her onto his lap.

"I've always wanted you."

Leila let him hold her, let him press his face into her neck, inhaling her scent. His hands roamed down her back, fingers brushing over the silk.

She hummed softly, running her fingers through his hair. "Relax, Stefanos."

His body responded instantly, his grip loosening, his breath deepening.

"You smell so good," he mumbled against her skin, voice thick with lust and liquor.

She stroked his hair, her touch soothing, lulling. "Mmm. Just rest a little."

His body melted against her, heavy, trusting. His head dipped against her shoulder, his breathing slowing.

The glass slipped from his fingers onto the table.

Leila exhaled softly.

Then, with featherlight movements, she reached into his pocket.

Her fingers brushed against fabric, then found what she was looking for.

The key card.

Victory.

It was well past midnight when Leila made her move.

Stefanos had fallen into a deep, alcohol-laced sleep, his arms slack around her. She had waited, patient as ever, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.

Then, carefully, she had untangled herself from his grasp and slipped from his chambers.

The moment she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, everything about her changed. No more teasing. No more games.

She had what she needed.

The key card.

The estate was eerily silent at this hour. Even the usual guards were fewer, stationed only at the main exits, their routines predictable. Leila moved quickly, staying in the shadows, heart pounding with controlled adrenaline.

She got to the communication room and glanced around cautiously. With steady hands, she slid the key card through the scanner.

A tense second passed.

Then a sharp beep sound.

The red light flickered green.

She exhaled. She was in.

The room smelled of stale cigarettes. It was dimly illuminated by the glow of monitors and blinking red indicators.

Leila ignored the distractions of the other machines.

She went straight to the secure line on the control panel dialing the number Dimitri had given her from memory.

It rang once.

Then it connected with a click. A voice, low, cautious answered. "Who is this?"

She closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. "Leila. I'm sure Dimitri must've told you about me."

There was a brief pause.

Vincenzo's voice came out easily. "Talk."

She didn't waste time.

"You want Makros out of the way," she said. "I want revenge."

There was a shift on the other end, the faint rustle of movement. Then, a quiet chuckle. "And what exactly are you offering?"

Leila's fingers curled around the mic.

"I can give you information. Access. Everything you need to bring him down."

A long silence. Then a thoughtful hum. "And in return?"

She took a deep breath, steady, unwavering.

"I want you to destroy him."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Now we're getting somewhere."