Page 67 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Push and Pull.

As the gates of the estate opened, Nicolai eased the car down the long driveway.

Leila was just starting to exhale when she saw her.

A familiar face.

Strolling toward them like she owned the damn place in those four inch heels, silk dress hugging her body, and flashy purse slung over her shoulder.

Her hair was pinned back in that effortless way rich girls mastered.

She looked like she belonged on a runway, not anywhere around the underground world which was of course Makros houses.

Leila blinked, stunned for half a second, before the memory slammed into her.

Caterina.

At Makros' club in Greece.

She recalled the exact moment she had poured champagne soaking Makros' suit after that smug little kiss Caterina had planted on his lips.

She remembered Caterina's mockery behaviour. The way she'd called her irrelevant. Decorative. Temporary.

The car hadn't even stopped before Leila opened the door and stepped out.

Caterina didn't flinch.

"Leila," she drawled, smiling like a snake in silk. "You're still feeling important aren't you?"

Leila's lips curled. "What are you doing in my house?"

Caterina gave a short, amused laugh. "Your house?"

"Yes. My house. Are you lost?"

Caterina's smirk sharpened and her gaze swept past her to Makros who'd just been alighting from the car himself. "Makros, why don't you tell her whose house it is? Tell her who's been keeping things running while you've been off playing husband."

Makros stepped out behind Leila, eyes hard. He looked straight into Caterina's eyes.

"What do you want, Caterina?"

She pouted softly and theatrically. "I saw you on TV. That little speech? Dedicating the award to her?" Her eyes flicked to Leila, full of scorn. "I've managed your shoe empire for years. And this is how you repay me?"

Makros leaned into her ear, breath hot against her skin.

"Whatever history we had," he said in a low voice, "was just that. History."

Caterina's expression barely shifted, but her eyes hardened. "Are you sure you want it to stay that way? Because I'm pulling my investment. And the Galanis partnership goes with it."

Makros didn't blink. "Then I suggest you get out, before I burn the bridge myself."

Caterina stared at him incredulously, waiting, hoping for a flinch.

There was none.

But the Gallanis! Damn him. How could he be so damn cool about such a threat? Her father owned and produced the best leathers which his company used for making shoes.

She turned to leave hoping for a fraction of a second that he would call her back or come to his senses. A few more steps forward and she told herself maybe by morning he would have a change of heart.

As she passed Leila, she kept her chin high, and her posture perfect.

Leila smiled sweetly at her. "See you never. Yeah, guess I'm actually important."

Caterina didn't look back. She couldn't speak either, because even though she had not shed those tears they were forming and any word from her it would burst like a dam.

Leila threw one last glance at Caterina, her lips curling into a twisted grin. She turned away, following Makros inside.

Caterina had been dismissed just like that, as if she were nothing more than an afterthought. Leila should've felt only the satisfaction of that, but instead, she found herself wondering if that same cold indifference with which Makros had sent the girl away could close in on her someday.

Could he dismiss her too? Just like that. Without hesitation. Without a second glance.

Leila shook the thought off as soon as it surfaced. It didn't matter. She wasn't Caterina. And she'd walk away before he even dreamed of kicking her out. He was only ever a means to an end.

"Yeah, keep lying to yourself." Her inner voice told her.

As they stepped into the living room, Sofia looked up from the corner where she was arranging flowers in a vase. Her gaze flicked from Leila's face down to the bandaged arm.

"Lady Leila," Sofia said, her voice soft with concern, "What happened to your arm?"

Leila forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a small accident."

Sofia's brows furrowed, but she didn't press further. She quickly turned her attention to Makros.

"Welcome back signor Makros, is there anything you need?" Sofia asked, her voice shifting to a more formal tone.

Makros barely acknowledged her, his eyes still on Leila, who couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. "No, Sofia. Thank you," he replied in a clipped tone, then motioned toward the stairs. "Come on."

As Makros started up the stairs, Leila hesitated, her eyes flicking back to Sofia. The maid gave her a fleeting, sympathetic look before turning back to her task. Leila then turned away and followed Makros up the stairs in silence.

They reached the top of the stairs, and the silence continued to stretch between them. The tension was almost suffocating, and Leila wondered if she should address it, if she should question what happened in front of Caterina, what Makros had been thinking. But something held her back.

Maybe it was because part of her didn't want to face the possibility of an answer she's not ready to hear.

She followed him down the corridor in the same tense silence that had settled upon them

until he stopped at a door and pushed it open.

Inside, the room was minimalistically elegant with dark furniture, a king-sized bed was covered in black sheets, and the floor-to-ceiling windows were covered by heavy black curtains.

A dragon sculpted fireplace sat against one wall, unlit, while a laptop sat open atop a polished glass table near a leather armchair.

The air carried the faint trace of whiskey smell.

Leila lowered herself onto the bed, watching as Makros strode to the TV stand. He grabbed a half-empty bottle of whiskey, popped the cap, and pulled open a drawer fetching two shot glasses. The whiskey trickled smoothly into the glasses, the sound momentarily breaking the tense silence.

He handed one to her without asking, assuming she needed it. Her fingers brushed his as she took the glass. It was only a fleeting touch still it made her pulse spike.

Leila took a slow sip, feeling the burn spreading down her throat. She exhaled, rolling the glass between her fingers.

Makros watched her, offering a low dark chuckle. "Not your usual?"

She lifted a brow. "What is this?"

"Mecedora. Thirty years old."

She made a face. "Tastes like fire."

His face relaxed with a smirk. "That's the point." He tossed back his own shot, barely flinching. "You get used to it."

Leila set her glass down beside her on the bed. "Not sure I want to."

Makros leaned back against the TV stand, watching her. "So, how's your arm?"

She shrugged. "Still attached."

A sudden, rich laugh burst from him, catching her off guard. It wasn't amused—it was something else.

"What's so funny?" she asked, frowning.

He shook his head, still chuckling. "I get shot at a hotel, and you follow suit. At this rate, you might as well follow me straight to hell."

Leila exhaled through her nose. "Honestly? Hell would probably be easier than watching over our shoulders every damn second."

Makros' grinned sharply. "The only time you should be looking over your shoulder is when I've got you bent over."

Leila tilted her head, lips curling with a smile. "Funny. I was just thinking I'd like to look over my shoulder right now."

Makros stepped closer, voice coming out in a husky tone. "But you're hurt."

Leila pointed at her bandaged arm. "Oh, this?" She leaned in, voice dropping. "This is just foreplay for us."