Page 200 of Malicious Claim

I shifted in my seat, leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and pressed my hands together like I was praying. But I wasn't. I was planning. Counting the ways I was going to make those bastards pay. I didn't know the body count yet, but I would. And once I did, even if it was just one person that died, I'd slaughter the entire families of the Orel Bratva.

Leila sat across from me. I could feel her eyes on me. She finally broke the silence with a soft and unsure voice. "I'm sorry."

I pretended not to hear, but of course I did.

Sorry? What was she sorry for? She wasn't the one who had shown Aleksei mercy. I should've killed him the second I had the chance. Mercy was a weakness, and I had shown it. I—Makros—had shown weakness.

How could I have been so sloppy to believe the truth wouldn't come out eventually? It always did. I should've been planning for this, instead I let myself get carried away, distracted by frivolous things.

"Fuck!"

Leila flinched. I bet she wished we were on separate flights. Heck, I didn't even want her around me right now.

Suddenly, I felt her palm rest on my knees. I should've exploded with anger, struck her in the face for daring to touch me, but her touch was not one bit offensive. In fact it made me calm down. I don't know, but that scared the shit out of me.

"Makros," Leila said, her voice cold like ice. "We will get the Russian bastards together."

No, dummy. You should be excited that my world is falling apart. You should use this moment to take your revenge on me. Laugh. Spit in my face. Tell me I deserve it.

But she didn't, and that...that right there was more terrifying than anything the Bratva could ever do to me.

I didn't speak a word to her because I was speechless. She moved to sit beside me.

Throughout the rest of the flight, I let her hold me. I let myself feel comfortable in her arms. Her palm stayed steady on my knee. Her head rested lightly against my shoulder. And for those few minutes, I let the storm rage inside me, instead of outside.

I needed that quiet. I needed her, and that made me hate myself a little more.

Less than an hour later, the ramp lowered smoothly onto the tarmac of the private hangar in Rome. Four black SUVs were already waiting in formation, engines running, headlights casting sharp beams into the humid Italian air. Dragon stood beside the lead vehicle, arms crossed, jaw tight.

His face darkened when he saw me. Not from anger. Dragon wouldn't blame me for anything. It was likely about the weight of the news he'd been holding back.

He didn't speak right away. Just opened the door for me, eyes flicking to Leila, then back to me.

I didn't let him carry the weight any more second than he needed to. "Talk."

His voice came out dry, rehearsed. "Your father's been hospitalized. Severe blood loss. But he will live. He's a really tough man."

He wasn't finished and I braced myself for whatever came next.

"Stefanos is dead. Shot point-blank. Twice."

Did I say I braced myself? Mehn, the shit caved hard. Stefanos had been with us since the beginning. We'd grown up together. Bled together. Fought wars side by side.

I felt Leila tense beside me.

But I didn't react. Couldn't. My voice came out flat. Hollow.

"Take me to the hospital."

Dragon's brows pinched just slightly, like he expected more. Like he wanted more. But I gave him nothing.

He nodded once and slammed the door shut after us.

We drove in silence, engines humming low like warning growls. I could feel every second stretch into hours.

Chapter Seventy-Six

Bloodline

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