Page 178 of Malicious Claim

Leila turned to him with her eyes sharp. "Of course, you don't. You just have rage. Retaliation. You always have something to destroy. But never time to feel."

Makros pounded a fist to his knee. His voice was colder this time around when he spoke.

"It's better to respond first and reflect later," he said. "There will always be something left to feel—and no shortage of time for emotions."

Leila let out a bitter laugh. "Makros, yes grief is an emotion, but so is the anger you're feeling. If you can believe that there's no shortage of time to process grief, the same can apply for anger."

He glanced at her with a hardened gaze. "Anger is a weapon."

"Makros—"

"Leila," he said, cutting her off. "Grief is what you do when it's over. I don't stop to mourn, I make sure what puts me in such a situation doesn't happen again."

She didn't answer.

She just turned her face back to the window, watching her reflection blur in the glass, fractured by passing lights.

What was she even trying to accomplish?

It just unsettled her the way he could hold her, protect her, go to war for her... and still when it came to grieving for her even theoretically he wouldn't.

Her shoulder throbbed, but the ache that settled in her chest was worse. That crushing weight of regret of trying to carve humanity out of a man who only knew how to burn the world down.

"You're such a damn fool," she muttered under her breath.

Not to him. To herself.

The silence held for one more breath.

Then Makros's phone buzzed sharply in the cupholder between them, the screen flashing with Dragon's name.

He snatched it up with a grunt, and swiped to answer. "What."

There was a pause.

Then his posture shifted, he straightened, stiffened. His other hand tightened around the hem of his shirt.

"What do you mean they're both dead?"

Leila turned to him slowly, her blood running cold. Who was dead?

Makros didn't blink.

"The Volkov brothers?" he asked, voice coming out like stone.

Then there was another pause before asking, "Who did it?"

Leila's heart pounded. Not because she cared about the Volkovs. But because this—this was the kind of news that turned into battles and wars.

"Aleksei doesn't have that kind of connection," Makros muttered, his eyes narrowing as they flicked toward her. "I'm the biggest connection he had. Find out who did this."

He ended the call with a sharp tap, knuckles white around the phone.

Leila stared at him. "The Volkov brothers are dead?"

Makros didn't look at her. Just nodded once.

"Yes. And I'm not the one who struck first."