Page 45 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Leila's Power Play

LEILA'S POV

It was a new day in the Crete prison as I call it, and Makros and his father were still in Moscow.

And I might never have such an opportunity again.

I had been compliant for weeks, measuring each step I took quietly, choosing my words with care.

I played the role they wanted, bending when necessary, appearing to submit when it was convenient for me.

It was a delicate balance between deference and opposition, not too soft to be disrespected and not too hot headed to risk my goal.

But by far Stefanos had been the easiest to play.

I wore down his pride, stoked the embers of his ego, made him believe that I looked at him as something more than a Crete I wanted to kill. Every flirtatious glance, every well-placed compliment, every inch of my body I allowed him to lust over—it was all for one thing.

To destroy him. And now that my plan for revenge was beginning to take shape, it was time to risk even more.

A face-to-face meeting with one of Vincenzo's associates.

The plan for the meet up was simple to execute.

I asked Stefanos out on a date.

It had been so easy to get him to agree. His ego would not allow him to deny, least of all in light of the way I had been manipulating him. I let him think it was his charm that had at last broken my resolve.

He was unaware that the restaurant I chose was the same one where I had intended to meet Vincenzo's contact.

Halfway through the meal, I set down my fork and grabbed my handbag.

Stefanos arched an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," I said suavely.

He frowned slightly. "With your handbag?"

I offered him a slow, flirting smile. "For a professional womanizer, you're really lacking in general information about women." I leaned in closer, my voice low. "I have to retouch my makeup. Or do you want me to be flawless with no effort on my part?"

Stefanos smirked at this. He pushed me aside with laughter. "Hurry up."

I turned away, keeping my step even as I headed towards the bathroom.

The bathroom section was spacious, divided into male and female, with a corridor in between. Upon entering the faintly lit corridor, Vincenzo's contact was already waiting.

I recognized him immediately.

Not because I'd ever laid eyes on him, but because I'd been told exactly what to look for.

"He'll be in yellow," Vincenzo had said. "A loud choice, I realize. But that's the point. You'll see him the instant he walks in, and yet no one else will really even see him."

And Vincenzo was right.

When the man had first stepped into the restaurant, his yellow shirt had immediately caught my eye.

An off, deliberate choice among an ocean of dark business suits.

He stood out, and yet no one really noticed him.

That was what made him dangerous, not the color, but the audacity to do it and be ignored.

Now, here he was, waiting for me as though he had forever to spare.

He was broad-shouldered and tall, with piercing eyes that probed me as though I were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

"So," he murmured, leaning to one side, "you're the infamous Leila."

I crossed my arms. "And you're wasting time."

The man chuckled, clearly amused. "You've got nerves."

I didn't flinch. "And you have questions. So ask them.”

He eased back slightly. "We need to know if you are genuinely opposed to Makros. Or if you're playing a double game."

I reached into my handbag, pulled out a small flash drive, and held it suspended between us.

"Makros's finances. Upcoming shipments. Schedules. All that I could collect from his comms room without leaving behind any suspicion."

The man's smile thinned. He took the drive from me, studying it between his fingers. "Impressive."

I met him eye to eye. "You wanted proof that I'd betray Makros? Here it is."

He studied me for a minute, then nodded. "Okay. But your words and some stolen files aren't going to get you what you want."

"Do you know how much work I had to do in order to steal those files?"

"I don't," he said so simply, and pushed a small envelope into my hand. "Your first real task. Let's see if you're truly committed."

I tucked the envelope into my handbag, ignoring the itch of curiosity. Not now. Not here.

I exhaled slowly, steeling myself.

He left before me. I went into the restroom to retouch my lipstick, but my hand lingered in mid-sweep. A savage memory of the night my family was murdered overcame me, swift and vivid. I closed my eyes, shoving it away.

A moment later, I emerged again into the main restaurant just in time to see Vincenzo's contact heading towards Stefanos's table.

I kept moving, my face schooled to expressionlessness, as I observed the scene unfold.

The man sat down across from Stefanos, on the seat I had been occupying, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Relax," he breathed, picking up the half-empty glass of whiskey Stefanos had been nursing. He raised it to his lips, then drank a small amount. "Didn't think you were a bourbon man."

Stefanos bristled, his eyes snapping up in anger. "That's my chair, and you're drinking my drink."

The man sneered, setting the glass down on the table with care. "Yeah, my, my, my. You people act like you own the fucking world, but can't even help a fellow to a drink."

Stefanos snarled. "If you'd only asked me politely, maybe I'd have bought you a bottle you entitled piece of garbage."

The man chuckled, unfazed by Stefanos's hostility.

He tapped the rim of the glass with his finger.

"Entitled? That's rich coming from you," he said, his tone laced with humor.

"But maybe you are right. Maybe I should have asked nicely.

Maybe you would have been kind enough to give a drink to a man down on his luck. "

Stefanos snorted, eyes rolling. "You? Out of luck? You're in the wrong part of town if you're seeking a handout."

The man puffed out his chest and moved in closer, lowering his voice just enough so that the talk would sound intimate—like a conspiracy, even. "I don't know what's the matter with you rich people. Too selfish to part with your belongings. None of which you'd take with you when you die."

I slowed my pace slightly as I approached, keeping my expression stoic. The man looked up and grinned at me.

"Aha," he said, moving back from the table. "Guess I've overstayed my welcome." He stood, pushing back his sleeves. "Don't worry, I'll go find someone else to treat me to a drink."

Stefanos surged forward in his chair, his voice sharp. "Don't let me see your face again."

The man simply laughed and shook his head. "Thanks for the drink," he replied smoothly. "We will see each other again." He turned and departed.

To anyone watching, it would be a cordial, small tense meeting between two acquaintances. Nothing unusual. Nothing that would trigger alarms. But I was aware of what had truly happened, and it was well done.

"What's happening?" I asked, sitting. "Who was that man?"

"Just some wacko guy," Stefanos replied.

"Oh, okay."

He took a sip of his drink, his gaze flicking in my direction. The whole thing with Vincenzo's goon had shaken him up, but he was far from admitting it.

"You know, you never struck me as the type of individual who would be into fine dining," he said, twirling the stem of the wine glass between his fingers. "I always figured you were more... practical."

I grinned, tilting my head. "And I thought you were the type who loved women who appreciated the finer things in life."

He smirked. "Oh, I do. I just wasn't certain that included you."

I arched an eyebrow, feigning offense. "And what was it that led you to believe such?"

He leaned closer, his voice a little more than a breath on my face. "Well, let's see... You order whiskey straight, roll your eyes at luxury labels, and are far more interested in a dagger honed to perfection than you are a diamond necklace."

I ran a finger along my chin, pretending to consider the possibility. "So you're saying that my appreciation for the finer things in life is to be packaged in steel rather than silk?"

His smile increased in cynicism. "I'm saying you have a different definition of luxury. And that? That makes you a threat."

I reached for my fork, cutting into the dish in front of me, playing the role of a woman who was enjoying her evening. "You knew my family, didn't you?"

The effect was immediate. Stefanos's hand stilled for just a fraction of a second before he took another sip of wine. "Yes, a little."

I pretended not to notice the hesitation. "And?"

His smirk faltered. "And what?"

I shrugged. "Makros killed them all. I think I deserve to know why."

The table between us iced over.

Stefanos exhaled, reclining in his chair. "Leila—"

"I was happy and at peace," I interrupted, my tone low, even. "And then one day, my entire life was ripped from me. You don't think that's worth explaining?"

Stefanos drummed his fingers on the table, staring at me. He wasn't stupid. He knew how dangerous it was to talk about Makros's past actions, especially to me. But he was a man who wanted to get in my pants, he'd do anything to make me happy.

He glanced around, then leaned in. "Makros had motives. I'm surprised you don't even know."

That made my heart miss a beat. "What are you talking about?"

Stefanos sneered. "That's not the way it is. You don't learn all the answers at once."

I allowed a flicker of annoyance to show. "Not even if it makes me less miserable? Or that I will repay you."

Stefanos hesitated, then finally sighed. "It was revenge."

The word struck me like a blow to the heart.

Revenge?

What revenge could possibly be worth the killing of my whole family?

Before I could get him to tell me more, he shook his head. "That's all I'll say."

But it was already too late. He had fallen through. And I would discover the rest.

The rest of the evening was like trudging through wet cement, but I forced myself to smile, to laugh on cue. Stefanos wasn't terrible to spend time with—he was good at jokes, and a few of them were actually funny. But I had more pressing issues than being a good sport.

Half a bottle in, Stefanos was really getting quite tipsy and I suggested we go back to the estate.

Back at the estate, I closed my bedroom door behind me, locking it.

Immediately I brought out the envelope from Vincenzo's henchman. I exhaled, my fingers running over it before eventually tearing it open.

There was a single sheet of paper inside.

One name.

One direction.

My first real mission.

My head pounded, but the more annoying sound in my head was Stefanos's voice.

Revenge.

Why did Makros seek revenge against my family?

What did they do?

I clenched the paper clutched in my hand and read the name written there again.

Dario Conti.