The tension snapped as the realization hit.
Salvatore circled her again, his eyes inscrutable. "You had a choice, Leila."
She whirled to confront him.
He sneered. "You chose to betray the traitor, not your family."
The two men released Stefanos. He wiped his jaw, smearing away the fake blood. "For an instant there, Leila, I thought you would shoot me in the head."
Salvatore grinned. "Welcome to the Italian mafia,bella."
Leila swallowed.
She'd passed the Don's test.
But she'd never felt more trapped.
Chapter Thirty Four
The Dragon Returns
MARKOS'S POV
The atmosphere in the Crete estate was different that evening, filled with the scent of triumph. News of my victory had reached ahead of me. The Russians were happy, thinking Aleksei was dead, and the rumors of how I chased Vincenzo away single-handedly and made my own name in Naples only solidified my ferocity and rise to power.
I was really happy to be home, and I was pleased with the respect that now preceded my name.
Within the opulence of the Crete's living room, I sat with Dragon and Nicolai. The golden chandeliers illuminated the room with a warm glow, casting elongated shadows on the marble floor. The soft crackle of the fireplace was the only sound before Dragon finally broke the silence.
"You were right," he said, arms folded across his chest. "The Russians bought it. No doubts. No second-guessing. Aleksei's ghost won't be haunting you."
I smirked, leaning back into the leather couch. "That's because ghosts don't exist."
Nicolai, standing against the wall with a glass of whiskey he had poured for himself, gave a low laugh. "Neither do second chances, and yet you somehow managed to grab one." He drank his liquor slowly. "Your father is happy. Says you recovered your blunders well."
My smirk lost some of its light. Blunders. My father would never let me live them down, no matter how well I played the game.
Dragon flipped his lighter, the small flame flickering in his black eyes before he lit a cigar. He blew out a heavy plume of smoke. "And Naples?" he asked. "How long until someone tries to challenge the claim you've made to Naples?"
I smiled. "Let them try." My voice was casual, but with a touch of menace. "I didn't just plant a flag, I rooted myself in their soil. They know it, and so does Vincenzo. He ran. That tells you everything."
Nicolai set down his drink with a soft clink. "So now what? You tracking him down?"
More than once during the return trip the impulse had run through my mind of hunting down Vincenzo. Giving up the pursuit had been a tactical move, but part of me would've loved to end his hanging threat once and for all.
Before I could answer, a maid approached with a silver tray, her steps light and deliberate.
She was new—or at least I assumed she was. But I wasn't quite certain. The servants came and went like waves on the beach, some staying long enough to be remembered, others before I could even learn their name.
"Would you care for a drink, sir?" she said, holding the tray out to me first.
Brandy.
For an instant, I almost took it. My fingers tensed, extending but I halted.
Brandy wasn't my drink.
Red wine. That was what I drank. Everybody knew it. Dragon knew it certainly, and so did Nicolai.
