Page 174 of Malicious Claim

Leila glanced at him. "Do they always get this tense when you're around?"

His mouth curved slightly. "They respect me."

She wasn't sure if respect was the term. Fear? Maybe. But as she watched, she noticed there was something beyond that. They weren't afraid of doing things wrong; there was pride in what they did.

Makros stopped beside a shelf filled with shoes. Unlike the groomed displays on the higher level, these were raw, unfinished pieces, left to be completed. He touched one, running his fingers across the leather.

This," he said, "is the only clean thing I own."

Leila's eyebrow went up. "What do you mean?"

His eyes stayed on the shoe, his voice gentler than usual. "All the other things, all the businesses I have, have blood on them. But this? It's legitimate. No fronts, no money laundering, no dirty work. Just shoes."

Leila gazed at him. He wasn't saying it to impress her. He meant it.

"I'm proud of you," she said softly.

Makros looked at her then, something enigmatic on his face. As if he did not know what to do with that declaration.

But he did not dismiss it.

He set the shoe down and went back in the direction of the factory floor. "Come," he told her. "You should see how a real shoe is made."

And for once, it was not an order. It was a request.

The next morning, Makros was invited to a ceremony where he would be given an award for late entry and best shoe design. The win had been unexpected, considering the company had just re-entered the competition, but Makros reacted with a confident attitude.

Leila watched as he prepared, his confidence unshaken, as if he had known this win was his all along.

Dressed in a suit that was tailored perfectly to his muscular frame, Makros looked like the successful businessman he presented himself to be. Makros caught Leila's hand before they stepped out of the foyer, finger interlacing with hers. "I didn't think what you picked would've won."

Leila smiled. "Why?"

"Because you're not a shoe connoisseur," he said brusquely. "But my company is winning today thanks to your musings."

She laughed, but something in what he said gave her an odd sensation of warmth.

The celebration was extravagant, held in one of Greece's finest hotels. The moment they entered, cameras crammed their faces, and whispers followed. Makros was known to many circles, and so was this party. When his name was called, he made his way to the podium with calculated decorum, taking the award from the host in a nod of gratitude.

"This award means a lot to me," Makros announced into the microphone. "But I'd be negligent if I didn't acknowledge the one person who actually perfected this design. My wife, Leila." His eyes met hers in the crowd. "She is my muse. This award goes to her as much as it goes to my company."

Leila remained still, every eye drifted in her direction. She couldn't decide whether to be upset or pleased at his compliment, but she played along, giving the faintest of smiles as the applause echoed around them.

After the ceremony, Makros took her aside. "I have a surprise for you," he said to her, and he led her out of the event hall. There was a black sedan out there, tied with a red ribbon around it.

Leila raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"Yours," he said, completely serious. "To drive wherever you please when you feel like it."

She folded her arms. "You bought me a car? Makros, you know you're making it easier for me to escape."

Makros chuckled. "Leila, you were never a prisoner to begin with."

His words unsettled her more than they should have. She glanced at the car, unsure whether to take this as just another one of his games of dominance or something else.

A man walked up to them and Makros' face split into recognition. "Dolcezza, I'll be right back."

For a moment Leila remained standing by herself admiring her new car under the gentle light of the streetlights before Nicolai approached her to stand alongside. "You and Makros seem to be getting along. "