"Ready to go?" he asked.
She flipped a page, scanning the checklist. "Yes, Captain."
Captain. It still seemed proper, the way it fit on his shoulders. There was something about that title that he preferred to chauffeur. He had worked so diligently to gain it. And it was part of the reason why he was one of the Cretes family's most prized possessions.
He gazed at the tinted windows of the car. Makros remained within.
Makros sat for another few seconds, drumming impatient fingers on his leg. He glanced at his watch again and it was 3:13 PM. Only three minutes had passed since the previous glance. It did not matter. Leila was not yet there.
With a resigned, soft breath, he opened the door and stepped out. The wind hit him at once with a cold air that was almost as biting as the car's air-condition. He shut his eyes tight for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. The fresh air steadied him, grounded him, but did little to nothing to calm the anger knotting his chest.
The hangar was full of silent motion. Mario stood by the jet, discussing something with Susi, as the ground staff moved back and forth between the stacks of equipment and cargo.
He looked at his watch, and just as he registered the time, another car pulled in, its lights sweeping the area before it was killed with the engine.
Nicolai emerged first. He stretched, rolled his shoulders, then, slowly, deliberately, he put his hand around the back door handle and pulled it open.
Leila lingered for half a second before exiting the vehicle. The sun's rays brushed her cheeks, and she looked whiter than usual. She looked around the hangar in a measured rather than dreamy way, taking in the jet, the staff, Mario, Susi, Makros and of course Nicolai who'd been in step behind her.
Mario approached Makros, nodding toward the jet. "We're cleared for takeoff."
Makros didn't really hear him. His focus was on Leila, who approached with the slow, measured grace of a bride walking down the aisle.
"What was the holdup?" Makros growled.
"You gave me the day off and you didn't tell me we were flying today."
Makros scowled at Nicolai who just shrugged to say she's correct.
"Get in," Makros ordered.
The cabin surrounded them in an eerie quiet. Inside the jet was filled with the scent of new leather. Makros sat opposite her, leaning back as if he owned the property, which of course he did.
"How was your day off?" Makros asked, breaking the silence.
Leila couldn't quite claim to have spent it travelling to murder Dario Conti, who was one of Italy's most prominent crime lords.
She shrugged, adopting a careless tone. "I went out."
Makros gave her a suspicious glance. "Where?"
Leila had been prepared for the question. "Shopping," she answered nonchalantly. "I wandered around for a bit, ate lunch, and bought some things."
It was technically the truth and it was Nicolai's idea to go do it all. She entered a shop, fed her eyes just long enough to make actual purchases, and left a trail in case someone happened to be following her.
Makros studied her for a moment too long. "What did you buy?"
Leila snorted skeptically. "Clothes, shoes, handbags. Check your debits, Makros."
His mouth pursed into a tight smile, but she caught the glint of amusement in his eyes. He would not check it. He never did. He had told her she could spend his money anyhow she wanted.
"You're in a mood," Makros noted in a low, nearly teasing voice.
"I'm fine," Leila replied coolly. "Just tired."
Makros raised an eyebrow but did not continue to probe. "You'll get rest on the flight," he said.
Leila nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. Rest was the last thing she'd get on that flight, not with the death of Dario Conti hanging over her head.
