Page 70 of Malicious Claim

It was too late.

Don Matteo entered the room as I was attempting to conceal the paperweight, my hand still shaking. Then I did the next best thing I could do. I broke down in tears, faking a distraught appearance, my chest rising and falling in a simulated heaving manner as I gazed down at Stefanos' lifeless form.

"Leila?" Matteo's voice was calm, even after taking in the scene. "What occurred?"

I gazed up at him. "Stefanos—he...he attempted to—" I swallowed hard, my throat tightening with feigned fear. "He tried to force himself on me. I...I didn't know what to do. He wouldn't leave me alone!"

Matteo's face darkened immediately, a burst of fury glinting in his eyes as he stared down at Stefanos. Then his gaze shifted to me, and I could see the realization dawn in them.

"Don't worry, Leila. I'll see to this. But you—" His voice gentled. "Don't tell Makros about this. If he finds out, he will kill Stefanos. Capish?"

I nodded, still acting the role. "Si, capisco."

He knelt beside Stefanos and felt his neck for a pulse. Satisfied, he stood and nodded curtly at me.

"Good," he said. "Leave now. I'll have someone tidy this up."

I exited the study, turning to look back at Stefanos, silently grateful he'd come in first before the Don, and given me the perfect opportunity to avert a crisis. As for Nicolai—who, hopefully, was still dreaming peacefully in the living room, none the wiser.

Chapter Thirty One

Ghosts in the Wind

MAKROS'S POV

The boat cut through the dark waters, coming in towards the docks with a chilling calm. I breathed in, letting the air travel all through my body. The rather sulphury-scented wind filled my lungs, and was icy on my skin. It wasn't icy cold—it was a cold that carried whispers, whispers of old ghosts buried beneath the tide.

Tonight, I felt invincible.

Dragon, who sat opposite me, wasn't so convinced.

"You're sure about this?" he asked, voice low.

I let the silence stretch between us before answering. "I asked nicely for a meeting."

"You also knew Vincenzo wouldn't take that as a sign of good faith."

I grinned, threw my head back, eyes half-closed to the night sky. "I asked for an audience so I wouldn't have to kill him in cold blood. If he's smart, he'll see sense. If he isn't." I shrugged.

Dragon winced. "You should have taken more men."

"If Vincenzo was brave enough to kill me, wouldn't you agree that I'd be dead by now?"

I saw it then—the way Dragon's jaw clenched ever so infinitesimally. He was surveying the docks before us, gauging the angles, the pathways out, the risks. And he wasn't wrong. If Vincenzo was laying a trap, this would be when I would walk right into it.

But I was not scared.

Vincenzo had been a politician first, after all, instead of a ruthless violent killer. He liked his authority solid; liked his moves predictable. He wouldn't jeopardize a war by making me die like this. No, if he had an agenda, it would be complicated. Subtle.

Which meant that I still had time to turn the table around on him.

The boat came to a slow dock. Dragon was first out of the boat, looking around while I followed behind him. A car was waiting, a gleaming black Mercedes with an aura of good fortune and bad intention. We got in, and the driver drove away without speaking.

The city melted away into the horizon. Naples was a different kind of beast from Sicily. There, the power was old but ever-changing, a game of chess where men like Vincenzo defended while pretending to be on the attack.

I almost pitied him.

Almost.