Page 62 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Greece.

Mario pulled into the Cretes' private hangar, the cavernous interior swallowing the roar of the car's engine. He stopped in front of a silver jet with its door flung open.

Susi, a female engineer, stood by the nose of the aircraft, clipboard tight in her grip, her face pinched and businesslike. She barely gave Mario a passing look as he approached.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

She flipped a page, scanning the checklist. "Yes, Captain."

Captain. It still seemed proper, the way it fit on his shoulders. There was something about that title that he preferred to chauffeur. He had worked so diligently to gain it. And it was part of the reason why he was one of the Cretes family's most prized possessions.

He gazed at the tinted windows of the car. Makros remained within.

Makros sat for another few seconds, drumming impatient fingers on his leg. He glanced at his watch again and it was 3:13 PM. Only three minutes had passed since the previous glance. It did not matter. Leila was not yet there.

With a resigned, soft breath, he opened the door and stepped out.

The wind hit him at once with a cold air that was almost as biting as the car's air-condition.

He shut his eyes tight for a moment, drawing in a deep breath.

The fresh air steadied him, grounded him, but did little to nothing to calm the anger knotting his chest.

The hangar was full of silent motion. Mario stood by the jet, discussing something with Susi, as the ground staff moved back and forth between the stacks of equipment and cargo.

He looked at his watch, and just as he registered the time, another car pulled in, its lights sweeping the area before it was killed with the engine.

Nicolai emerged first. He stretched, rolled his shoulders, then, slowly, deliberately, he put his hand around the back door handle and pulled it open.

Leila lingered for half a second before exiting the vehicle. The sun's rays brushed her cheeks, and she looked whiter than usual. She looked around the hangar in a measured rather than dreamy way, taking in the jet, the staff, Mario, Susi, Makros and of course Nicolai who'd been in step behind her.

Mario approached Makros, nodding toward the jet. "We're cleared for takeoff."

Makros didn't really hear him. His focus was on Leila, who approached with the slow, measured grace of a bride walking down the aisle.

"What was the holdup?" Makros growled.

"You gave me the day off and you didn't tell me we were flying today."

Makros scowled at Nicolai who just shrugged to say she's correct.

"Get in," Makros ordered.

The cabin surrounded them in an eerie quiet. Inside the jet was filled with the scent of new leather. Makros sat opposite her, leaning back as if he owned the property, which of course he did.

"How was your day off?" Makros asked, breaking the silence.

Leila couldn't quite claim to have spent it travelling to murder Dario Conti, who was one of Italy's most prominent crime lords.

She shrugged, adopting a careless tone. "I went out."

Makros gave her a suspicious glance. "Where?"

Leila had been prepared for the question. "Shopping," she answered nonchalantly. "I wandered around for a bit, ate lunch, and bought some things."

It was technically the truth and it was Nicolai's idea to go do it all. She entered a shop, fed her eyes just long enough to make actual purchases, and left a trail in case someone happened to be following her.

Makros studied her for a moment too long. "What did you buy?"

Leila snorted skeptically. "Clothes, shoes, handbags. Check your debits, Makros."

His mouth pursed into a tight smile, but she caught the glint of amusement in his eyes. He would not check it. He never did. He had told her she could spend his money anyhow she wanted.

"You're in a mood," Makros noted in a low, nearly teasing voice.

"I'm fine," Leila replied coolly. "Just tired."

Makros raised an eyebrow but did not continue to probe. "You'll get rest on the flight," he said.

Leila nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. Rest was the last thing she'd get on that flight, not with the death of Dario Conti hanging over her head.

The jet engines roared to life, the vibration of its hum thrumming beneath their feet.

Leila curled her fingers into fists, nails digging into her hand. It began slowly, a low ache at the base of her skull, and then grew out of control, sinking further into her being.

By the time they were in the air, it had fully seized her, circled around her ribcage, gripped her belly, and made her feel nauseous.

"Mak—"

Before she could speak, her body turned on her. She staggered forward, and before she knew it, she was throwing up at his feet.

Heat flooded her face. Her heart raced with instant fear and embarrassment. Her brain spun and she tried to catch up with what had just happened. She wanted to apologize, to vanish, but the nausea still lingered in her stomach.

Makros didn't flinch. His face relaxed as he reached for her, his hand gently resting on her back.

"Hey, it's alright," he whispered gently in a remarkably level tone. "You're okay. Didn't realize you got airsick."

He motioned to Susi, who retrieved a bag and handed it to him. He leaned back down to her level. "Here, use this. Can we get her some water?"

Leila was still struggling to catch her breath, her face flushed with humiliation. But Makros didn't seem bothered in the slightest. Instead, he focused entirely on her, his concern more evident than the mess she'd just made.

"Take a breath," he said softly. "You'll be alright."

For a moment, Leila couldn't bring herself to look at him, but when she did, she saw only patience. And something she couldn't define. It was unsettling.

She looked away, out the window, and watched the clouds stretch out endlessly outside the glass.

Throughout the flight, she was sick but Makros held her and tended to her with no trace of irritation.

The aircraft landed in Greece, and relief flooded Leila. As she stepped off the jet, she admired the city's beauty. The setting sun bathed everything in a warm, golden light.

She took a moment to take it all in before getting into the backseat with Makros. Nicolai drove them away from the runway, and Leila relaxed, happy to be in a car again.

The road wound up a hill, leading to Makros' estate. The house stood at the top, just as grand as she had imagined. Lush gardens lined the driveway, and marble steps led up to the massive front doors.

They arrived in a spacious courtyard, where several luxury cars were parked. Nicolai pulled up near the entrance, and a woman stepped forward to greet them.

"This is Sofia Georgiou," Makros said. "She'll take care of anything you need while we're here."

Leila studied Sofia. The woman smiled politely, but her eyes held a flicker of hesitation, as if she were sizing her up. Leila had seen that look before, whether it was fear, curiosity, or something else, she wasn't sure.

Makros motioned to two men standing behind Nicolai. "You'll also be seeing a lot of Konstantinos. Kostas for short. And Andreas. They're my top men here."

Konstantinos was a well-built man with a sharp, calculating gaze. He gave Leila a short nod. Andreas was leaner but just as intimidating, and he watched her in silence. Both had tanned complexions, likely from spending time in the sun.

"Sofia, show my wife her room," Makros ordered.

Sofia hesitated. "Sir, um..." She glanced at him, as if unsure how to say what was on her mind.

Makros frowned, waiting. She leaned in slightly and whispered, "Your dead wife's belongings are still there."

"Oh," Makros muttered, realization dawned on him. He paused for a moment, then shrugged. "Take her there anyway. We'll clear them out gradually."

Adjusting to her new surroundings was already difficult, but nothing prepared Leila for her bedroom.

The room still belonged to someone else. The wardrobe was packed with clothes, and the vanity was covered with personal items including but not limited to lotions, perfumes, and makeup that had clearly been used. It looked as if their owner might return at any moment.

Then her eyes landed on a framed photograph. Makros stood beside his wife, their boy child nestled between them. They looked happy. Whole. A sharp pang settled in Leila's chest.

"Damn him," she thought. "He's punishing me for their deaths by allowing me to see all this."

She barely managed to bathe, half-expecting the ghost of Makros' dead wife to drag her under the water.

As soon as she stepped out, the door creaked open. Her heart jumped, and she spun around in fear.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Sofia said quickly. "Makros asked me to get you. I didn't realize you were taking a bath."

"It's fine," Leila said. "I'll be out in a minute."

She must have spent half the time the way she hurriedly slipped into a green nightgown and joined Sofia in the hallway. When they reached the balcony, Sofia left her alone with Makros.

"We're going to my shoe company tomorrow," Makros said.

"The one the Orel Bratva burned down?" Leila asked.

"Yes. It's being rebuilt, but I need to oversee things."

Leila frowned. Why did that matter to her? Had he brought her just to keep him company, or did she have a role to play?

As if reading her thoughts, Makros looked at her and added, "Don't worry, there will be plenty of good times while we're here."

Leila wasn't sure how to respond to that. Good times didn't exactly match the description of what she was experiencing.