Page 51 of Malicious Claim

The shattered remains of his whiskey glass glittered on the floor. He had not spoken in the last five minutes, had not moved an inch.

Stefanos leaned against the doorway, arms folded across his chest, watching his cousin intently. He'd seen Makros angry before, but this was different.

"Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news first?" Stefanos finally said, his usual cocky demeanor subdued.

Makros didn't turn around. "You tell me."

Stefanos let out a slow sigh. "Okay, the good news is that she's back. The guards apprehended her outside the perimeter after she crashed the car. She's banged up pretty good, but she'll live. She's tough from all indications."

Makros exhaled through his mouth, a slow, three-second hissing. "Alright. What's the bad news?"

Stefanos scoffed. "Oh, I'm sure you're really going to hate this one, Mak. We lost at least half the shipment after getting in to take a look at the damage the grenade did. We still haven't been able to identify who the attackers were, but the Don seems to think it's our old business associates in Napoli. Oh, and Pietro's finally dead."

Makros faced him eventually. His expression was blank, but the glint in his eyes sent shivers down Stefanos's spine.

He took a step closer. "Where's my wife?"

Stefanos wondered for a second how he could still refer to her as such after everything she'd done.

He shrugged. "Where do you think?"

Makros didn't wait to listen to anything more. He walked out of the office, his steps measured, and precise. The entire house was supercharged; it was electrified to the point of combusting. Every man in the corridors looked away as he passed. They had seen him angry before, they had become accustomed to it even, but this was not the same.

This was not anger.

This was Hiroshima waiting to be unleashed.

Leila had been thrown into the basement. The icy cold stone floor bit harshly into her skin. The pain in her ribs made every breath she took feel like she was being flogged repeatedly with a sledgehammer.

She was on the other wall of the basement, her wrists bound together in front of her with zip ties. Her face was red and bruised from the accident. They hadn't done anything for her wounds. Makros hadn't wanted them to, and nobody wanted to disobey his request.

There were footsteps on the stairs.

She knew who it was before the door opened.

The room seemed to get smaller when he entered. His presence occupied all four corners of it. He shut the door behind him, the lock clicking into position made her shiver.

Leila lifted her chin in defiance. "Come to gloat?"

Makros didn't even bother to answer. He inspected her with predatory eyes, his gaze traveling over her bruises, her cut lip, a cut dangerously close to her eye, the blood still fresh and trickling down her cheek.

Her arms were swollen. Her clothes were torn, showing more cuts on her arms and legs. Her eyes never left his, as if challenging him to do his worst.

And then, in a swift motion, he grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look up at him.

"I should kill you," he whispered.

Leila spat in his face. "Fuck you. I've heard better threats from toddlers."

A muscle contracted in his jaw. He hated that she was so fearless. How, after everything, she still had the audacity to challenge him.

Makros let her fall roughly, stepping back. "You hurt at least three of my men. You cost me two cars to repair. And most of all, you made a fine fool of me."

Leila wiped the blood on her lip with the back of her hand. "Good. I hope it hurts."

Makros laughed briefly. And then, before she could expect it, he reached out and grabbed her by the throat and dragged her up to her feet.

Her breath caught in her throat.