Page 61 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Dario Conti II

Leila's eyes drifted back to the envelope.

Nicolai handed her a short-handled pistol rolled up in cloth. "Make it tidy."

Leila took it, weighing it in her hand. Lightweight, compact, easy to conceal and most importantly silent. "And what if he fights?"

Nicolai laughed. "Then you fight back."

Leila stepped out of the car and smoothed her dress, steadying her breath.

She walked toward the largest caravan which has its paint peeling in thin strips. Nobody thought to glance her way or give her a second look.

She hesitated at the threshold, fingers tightening around the pistol wrapped in cloth.

Then she pushed it open.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of dust, old books, and something faintly medicinal. A single lamp cast just enough glow to illuminate the space.

Dario Conti sat hunched in a wooden chair, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket despite the summer heat. His skin was pale, almost translucent, stretched thin over sharp bones. Liver spots dotted his hands, which trembled slightly as he turned the page of a yellowed book. He didn't look up.

Leila swallowed. This wasn't what she had expected.

The man before her wasn't some ruthless threat. He was old and fucking weak to the bones.

Dario finally spoke, his voice dry, brittle. "Ah. You're here."

Leila tensed. He hadn't even glanced her way.

He turned another page, exhaling a quiet chuckle. "Took him long enough."

She unwrapped the pistol, her grip tightening around the handle. "You knew this was coming?"

Now, he looked up, his gaze sharp despite the frailty of his body. "Of course."

"I don't understand," Leila said. "Why would Vincenzo come after an old man?"

"Old, please?" Dario murmured, setting his book aside. "This old man shook all of Naples last year and took out half his empire."

Leila's grip tightened on the pistol. "You?"

Dario nodded slowly. "Yes, me."

Leila hesitated, her finger resting just outside the trigger guard. How could this old man take out the Vincenzo empire? He was barely clinging to life.

Dario sighed, as if reading her thoughts.

"Listen, we all own our various regions.

I'd die peacefully now, knowing that Vincent is no longer in charge of Naples.

I told my friend, Don Matteo, I guess your husband's father now, that Vincenzo wasn't fit to rule, but no he didn't listen to me.

I'm glad now that he has finally come to reason. "

Leila's stomach twisted.

"You know who I am." It wasn't a question but a statement of fact.

He chuckled weakly, running a trembling hand over the blanket draped over his shoulders. "Leila Crawford. I don't condone the violence done to your family. But Makros, he's a good man."

Leila scoffed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "A good man? You expect me to believe that after everything he's done?"

Dario sighed, his frail fingers tightening slightly on the fabric. "Set the records straight with him. Vincenzo is not who you should be siding with, though I can understand your reason."

Leila narrowed her eyes, her grip firm around the pistol. "You understand my reason? Enlighten me."

"Revenge has a way of blurring the lines. You start believing that the enemy of your enemy is your ally, but experience has taught me otherwise. Sometimes, enemies forge the strongest bonds or it's wiser to avoid the crossroads altogether."

"The devil you know still burns you in the end."

"Burns, yes. But sometimes, fire is the only way to cleanse."

Leila smiled bitterly. She wished she didn't have to take his life but what choice did she have. As she struggled to reconcile with what she must do, Dario spoke again.

"You're surviving the only way you know how," Dario said simply. "You don't want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. But if you don't, Vincenzo will know. He'll smell the hesitation on you like blood in the water. And hesitation gets you killed."

Leila flinched. She knew he was right. She had already made a mistake but it was too late for regret. If she left here without doing what she came for, she might as well dig her own grave.

Dario leaned forward slightly, wincing from the effort. "But let me ask you something—what do you fear?"

The question made her bristle. "Nothing."

"Liar," Dario murmured, shaking his head. "You fear walking down this path though you were born into it. You fear waking up one day and realizing you crossed the line so many times, you can't even see it anymore."

Leila's jaw clenched. She had blood on her hands but only when it was necessary. Self defence, protecting her loved ones. So, she truly feared becoming a monster.

Dario's lips curled into a knowing smile. "You're hesitating, which means you're still human. But that won't last. Kill me now, and the next one will be easier. And the next. And the next. Until one day, you wake up and realize you've turned into everything you hate."

Leila's grip tightened on the pistol.

A noise outside—gravel shifting beneath approaching footsteps.

Nicolai.

She had seconds to decide. She exhaled, steadying herself. "You talk too much."

Dario simply nodded. "I always have."

Leila pulled the trigger.

The gun whispered, the silencer muffling the shot. Dario jerked slightly, a small red bloom appearing on his chest. His lips parted in a quiet exhale, and he slumped back in his chair. His book slipped from his lap, pages fluttering as it hit the ground.

Leila stared at him for a long moment, her pulse hammering in her ears. There was no satisfaction, no rush of triumph. Just a hollow ache.

The door creaked open behind her. Nicolai stepped in, his gaze flicking from her to Dario's lifeless form. "Clean. Quick. No hesitation."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding. "It's done."

Nicolai smirked. "Good. Let's go."

Leila followed him out, the weight of the gun still heavy in her hand. As she stepped over the threshold, she glanced back one last time. Dario Conti sat motionless, eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his face, as if he had been waiting for this moment all along.

She turned away and shut the door behind her.

The night swallowed them whole.