Chapter 8 The Devil's Playground

Leila didn’t have the time to react before Makros closed in the gap between them, grabbing her by her wrist. His grip was firm and unshakable. “You’re coming with me,” he declared flatly as he marched her toward the staircase. Before disappearing upstairs, he turned towards Stefanos with a sharp, cutting glare. His nose twitched, his jaw clenching tightly as if he was grinding his teeth. That look passed on a silent message, one that needed no words to comprehend. Makros kept his steps evenly paced, his exterior remained composed, but a flicker of annoyance stirred within him. Would he have to kill Stefanos? The Don wouldn't allow it. But to hell with the Don. If it came down to it, he'd do it anyway. Once inside his room, he flung Leila onto the bed effortlessly. The door slammed shut behind them. “Do you enjoy testing my patience?” His voice was controlled, but the sharp edge in his tone betrayed his anger. Leila sat up, pushing back against the mattress in defiance. “What exactly did I do this time Makros?” she asked, lifting her chin, determined not to show her fears. Makros’s eyes darkened, his irritation visible. “You’re really going to play dumb?” He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “No, it's not that. I think you know exactly what you're doing.” She gave a slow, deliberate shrug. “If you’ll just tell me, maybe you’ll save yourself the unnecessary rage.” Her words struck a chord within him. “Unnecessary rage? Ah, si, si. I stepped out of character last night, but it won’t happen again. That’s a promise.” She pursed her lips bitterly. “What won’t happen?” she demanded. “You hitting me again or–” Her voice faltered as the memories she had been trying to keep buried resurfaced. “You savage beast. Murderer. Control freak. Rapist!” The moment the words left her mouth, she saw the shift in his expression. His gaze, already dark, turned pitch-black. Oh, Leila, what have you done? She tensed, bracing herself for impact. But the strike never came. Instead, he stayed glued to the spot, watching her. Silent. Looking thoughtful. She swallowed hard. Somehow, his stillness unsettled her more than his anger ever could. When he finally moved, she flinched, scanning the room for something, anything, that could serve as a weapon. If he came at her, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. But he didn’t lunge. Didn’t grab her. Instead, he closed the space between them with slow, deliberate steps. Standing over her, he studied her face like he was trying to memorize it. Then, to her utter confusion, he smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was taunting, almost condescending. His fingers brushed against her cheek, and she recoiled, turning her face away. He simply cupped her chin and forced her to look at him. “Did I hear you say 'Savage beast'?” he echoed, amusement dripping in his voice. “That’s rich coming from someone with the blood of monsters running through her veins. A lineage of savages, with the cries and blood of the innocent.” His gaze trailed down her face. “Don’t you dare play the victim card with me. If you were in my shoes, what would you have done?” Leila frowned. “What the hell are you talking about? Was I there when you bought the shoes? Why should I be in your shoes then?” He chuckled softly. “Never mind. You’ll understand soon enough.” His voice dropped into a whisper as he spoke again. “A day will come when you look in the mirror and see exactly what you hate. What did you call it again? Savage beast. And when that day comes…” His lips curled. “You’ll finally understand me. Then you’ll agree on the size of my shoes.” “Never,” she spat. He leaned in very close, their breaths mingling. “We shall see about that.” Before she could reply, his lips crashed onto hers. Fast. Hard. She shoved him away using every ounce of strength she had, but he didn’t budge. He absorbed her resistance like it was nothing, deepening the kiss as if her struggle excited him. She bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood. He pulled back for only a second, then smirked, licking the blood off his lip before kissing her again. She tried to fight. She really did. But something shifted in that moment, something she couldn’t quite explain. The anger in her chest tangled with something else, something traitorous. And at the same time, a soft, unwilling moan slipped from her lips. She knew what this unwanted desire was, it was her ovulation and it seemed different whenever Makros was involved. Abruptly, he pulled away with a smile, leaving her breathless and furious. “Bastard,” she hissed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand after spitting on the floor. Her hormones fight inside of her. His grin was infuriatingly smug. “Since I was a little boy,” he replied easily. “You think you’re so–” she snapped. “That was the worst kiss of my entire life.” “I believe you.” He chuckled, turning toward the door. She glared daggers at his back. “The worst, Makros! You hear me? The worst.” He paused at the door, looking at her over his shoulder. “Si. I heard you, Wifey. Well, stay put. Until dinner, then. Ciao.” Her scowl deepened. “Dinner? It’s not even noon. Why the hell will I be here until then?” As the question rolled out, her unease grew. The angry man she had seen minutes ago was gone. In his place was someone worse. A cool, calm and calculated man. It made her stomach churn. “I’d love to answer that, but Wifey you're smart enough to figure that out on your own. And oh, tell me if the punishment fits the crime. I love feedback.” The door closed. “Makros!” She shot up from the bed just as she heard the lock turn. “Enjoy your stay,” he said, laughing as he walked away. Her curses followed him down the hallway, but they only fueled his amusement. The woman was all fire and brimstone, always ready to burn. But what she hadn’t realized yet was that her anger only made his game more enjoyable. His smile faded when he stepped into his office. The moment he closed the door, the irritation returned. The image of Stefano standing beside Leila burned in his mind. The lady’s man was what they called his cousin. Stefano had a way with words, a way of slipping into people’s heads and twisting them around his fingers. He could talk a hooker into fucking him for free. He could negotiate his way out of any situation. That was not the kind of man he wanted around his wife. And she smiled at him. But had recoiled when she saw him. Makros' jaw clenched, fury simmering in his blood. He didn’t want to admit it pricked his ego, so he threw himself into a work mood. His hand hovered over the office phone, ready to make a call, when a knock interrupted him. He exhaled sharply. “Who is it?” “It’s me.” Damn Stefanos. “Come in.” Stefano stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. He didn’t sit. Only stood there, waiting. Makros leaned back in his chair, his gaze piercing. “Do you plan on standing there like an idiot, or are you going to explain why you were with my wife?” Stefano didn’t flinch. He expected the question. But he hadn’t expected Makros to actually ask. Makros never made a fuss over women. He could snap his fingers and have anyone he wanted. Why was this one different? Wife? It was almost laughable. “Relax cous,” Stefano said smoothly. “We were only talking.” Makros slammed his fist on the desk, making Stefano pause. “She’s not one of your little playthings. Next time you see her, you’d better turn the other way. Because if I ever catch you again…” His voice dropped down an octave to convey his seriousness. “I’ll give you a reason to cringe every time you pass a mirror.” Stefanos gave a slow nod, understanding the conversation was over. After a long silence, he decided to say the reason why he was there. “The club’s opening tonight. Governor’s sons will be there.” Makros’s expression relaxed. “Everything ready?” “Si.” A slow smirk spread across Makros’s face. “Then it looks like we’re about to have a hell of a night.” He raised an invisible glass in the air. “Cin cin.”