Makros took another drag, watching the ember glow, then fade. Some things never changed.
His phone vibrated on the nearby table. He recognized the number.
Makros answered without greeting.
"Makros, my good friend," Aleksei's voice carried a forced lightness, a little too casual. "You should have seen it. You would have loved it. The way he begged, the way his insides spilled out, like gutting a fish. It was almost beautiful. But then... revenge is overrated."
Makros took another drag, unimpressed. "Oh? So you figured it out?"
"Jeez, man, I thought you'd at least congratulate me for avenging my wife. C'mon, show some heart."
Makros exhaled smoke. "You already knew what it would feel like. You just needed to do it to prove yourself right."
A pause. Then Aleksei chuckled, low and knowing. "Yeah... yeah, I get it now. Maybe that's how you felt when you wiped out her family, huh? A flash of satisfaction, then just... emptiness."
Makros' eyes flickered to Leila's sleeping form. He neither confirmed nor denied it.
"Anyway," Aleksei continued, "I'm done. No more debts, no more ghosts. I'm disappearing, my friend. Gonna go enjoy my freedom. Before I go, anything you need?"
Makros rolled the cigar between his fingers. There was nothing Aleksei could give him.
"Enjoy your freedom," he said simply, then ended the call.
Then, movement from the bed drew his attention.
Leila stirred, her body stretching beneath the sheets, her silk nightwear shifting against her body. She squinted as the morning light crept in, a soft frown pressing between her brows.
She turned, the sheets slipping lower, baring the smooth line of her shoulder, the curve of her breast. The delicate fabric did little to hide the way her nipples peaked against the cool air.
Makros dragged his cigar to his lips, his grip tightening.
He had touched her before. Owned her in ways neither of them could forget. But last night was different.
For the first time, he had simply laid beside her.
Makros exhaled slowly, and his gaze lingered a second longer before he turned away. He crushed what remained of his cigar in the ashtray, stepping back inside.
Her lashes fluttered as he approached, adjusting to the dim light of the room. She caught sight of him—shirtless, the planes of his torso carved in shadow and morning glow. For a moment, she simply stared. Then, her brows drew together.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Makros smirked, stepping closer, his gaze dragging over her without apology. "Like what?"
"Like you want to eat me for breakfast," she murmured, voice still husky from sleep.
"Oh, I do." His gaze dragged over her, unapologetically. "Maybe we could both eat each other."
She swallowed and sat up slowly. The sheet pooled around her waist, and he noticed the way her fingers clenched the fabric, not in modesty, but restraint.
She hesitated briefly to shake off the remnant of sleep. "Last night..."
Makros raised a brow, waiting.
"You didn't touch me."
Makros smirked knowingly appreciating the fact that she noted it. "That disappoints you?"
She inhaled sharply, her cheeks warming. "I didn't say that."
