Page 14 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Playing With Fire

Makros kicked the door to the club's cooking room open. Everything had been evacuated to a safe place due to the agent's presence, so it was mostly empty.

Two of his trusted soldiers stood apart in the dark space. In the middle was a figure on their knees, their head kissing the ground.

The door banged shut behind him. Before he could open his mouth, one of the boys shot forward and offered him a cigarette.

“Thank you, Giovanni,” he appreciated the boy he had watched grow into a man. From a petty street thief, he had turned him into a man who could back up his boast.

Wasn't that what he did? Turned boys into men and men into real men.

The other stepped out with a lighter.

“ Gracias Mario,” he said to Giovanni's partner.

He had found him as a baby in an abandoned carton on the streets. Fleas were making a feast out of him while people walked past without stopping to help.

They had not eaten for days. Who wanted a liability to add to their distress?

Against the judgment of the Don, who insisted they were not a charity organization, he picked him up and got him a nurse.

Eighteen years later, he was the boss now, and that little boy had grown into a man who handled a pistol better than he could at his age.

Then there was the one in the middle.

Makros took a puff and stepped forward. He let the cigarette fall from his hands, landing directly on the boy's shirtless back.

He hissed with pain and jerked up. The motion caused the cigarette to fall to the ground, but the burn on his skin was sure to cause a scar that may never fade.

“Look, he's alive.” He laughed maniacally, his gaze darting between his boys.

They laughed, too, but paused when he stopped.

“Boss–”

“Don't you dare!” He lifted a silencing finger.

The boy flinched and withdrew into his shell.

“What did you do to him? I don't see a mark on his body, yet he's so weak.”

“A little something-something, boss,” Giovanni, the little daredevil, said.

He chuckled but became serious shortly after.

“I need a chair. Get me a fucking chair, would you?” He directed at Mario.

Faster than light, he moved his feet and dug out a chair for the boss. Placing it down, he stepped back as Makros sat down.

Carefully, he pulled out the pistol he had taken from his office and placed it on his lap.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

The boy, a pool of sweat on his forehead and his face twisted in pain, obeyed his boss's order.

“What is your name, again?” He questioned, leaning to the side.

“Arturo,” he stuttered.

“Arturo,” Makros repeated, nodding his head. “You work at bartending?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Boss?” He scoffed. “Don't hurt my feelings. I can't possibly be your boss, can I?” He looked up at his real boys to help answer his question.

“He's mocking,” Giovanni snared.

“Sob story,” Mario nodded in agreement.

“Hear that, Arturo? They don't believe you, and neither do I. I can't be your boss when you're dipping from my purse.” He sounded genuinely perplexed.

“Bo–ss please,” he begged.

“Now he's begging? For what, Arturo? What do you want from me?”

“Forgiveness.”

Makros chuckled. Then he threw his head back and laughed with all his strength.

The boy knew he was in a hopeless situation and began to tremble.

“You're one funny lad. That's how the Americans speak, you know?” He ended his speech with another short laugh.

“That's how they steal too. Sloppy,” Giovanni said, fueling the tension.

Makros snapped his finger in agreement. “Very sloppy thieves, Gio. Very sloppy.” His eyes trailed back to Arturo. “Why did you do it?” He asked.

“I was–”

The cock of a gun stopped his words.

“That's a question I would have asked if I was an American. Probably hold your hand and lead you to a therapist. It's not him. Think about his mental health.” He mimicked an American accent. “But we aren't as civilized, are we?”

“No, boss.” Arturo's voice quivered.

“Good man,” he stretched out a hand and tapped his shoulders. “At least you agree we're not like them. We're beasts. Bloody monsters. Vagabonds. Those filthy Sicilians. All of those things, but not thieves!” He suddenly thundered.

Arturo jerked, his heart jumping into his mouth. The mocking laughter of Giovanni did not help. It didn't look like there was any escape from the boss's anger. Defeated, he licked his wounds before they even came.

The chair scraped against the smooth floor as Makros rose to his feet.

He pointed the gun down and sneered. “Money is significant to me, but principles trump it.

If you needed money that bad, you should have asked for it.

You bit the hand that fed you because you chose to be greedy.

Now, I'm going to take something important from you. That thing you stole to please.”

He moved the gun until it was leveled with Arturo's midriff.

“Gio?” He called.

“Si, boss.”

“Read his mistakes.”

He cleared his throat and began. “He stole by inflating the prices of drinks and pocketing the change. Not because he had a sick family to tend to or school fees to pay for. He stole to fuck a whore.”

Mario flinched at that phrase, and Makros saw it happen.

The boy was still just a boy in many ways. He was indeed good at shooting, but the gangster life wasn't something he thoroughly enjoyed like Giovanni did.

He had toyed with the idea of sending him to university. Maybe he could become a lawyer and return to help the family business. But for now, it was fun to watch him squirm at the raw words.

“A whore. You finger tucked my cash to fuck a whore.” Makros chuckled. “And the verdict, Gio?”

“A bullet to his balls. Burst the bastard so it'll never nut again,” he said.

Arturo's eyes bulged. He began to sweat all over. He trembled, and his chest tightened, which made him struggle for breath.

Makros wondered how long it would take until it eventually happened. Ten seconds? He decided to count.

With every count, he brought the gun up and down. By the fifth count, his nose scrunched. It had happened.

“He held on longer than expected,” Giovanni said, holding his nose.

Mario didn't say a word but threw his face to the side. He had gotten the perfect opportunity not to watch a man's balls blown off. Even if he survived it, he would never be the same again.

“Bo-ss,” he called in a pleading voice as he knelt, covered with his piss.

“We don't have that relationship anymore.” His index finger circled the trigger.

“Boss, please, please!” He begged now at the top of his voice.

He pulled the trigger, and Arturo fell to the ground. Blood spilled all over as Makros smiled.

“Clean him up and keep him until I come to fetch him.” He threw his gun at Giovanni and turned around.

“You're one lucky bastard,” he heard as he shut the door behind him.

A smile claimed his face. He had decided at the last minute to spare the boy by shooting his arm. He would never steal again.

Whipping his phone out of his pocket, he dialed Stefanos.

“I want the girl in my office,” he said, feeling a rush of adrenaline pumping in his veins.

“Which one?” He answered cleverly.

“Very funny,” he said humorlessly. "The one I want to do business with.”

“Without the agent?” His voice was calm, which told Makros he had lowered it to avoid being heard by the agent.

“He can come if he likes.”

“Are you sure, Makros?”

“I want her.” He ended the call and diverted to his office.

Shutting the door behind him, he went straight to his cellar where he stacked his drinks and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Taking a big gulp, he covered it and returned it.

A shudder ran through him. But now, he was prepared to play whatever games the agent had decided to play by coming in the disguise of a bodyguard.

He was about to take his seat when the door pushed open, and Stefanos walked in. His brow was lifting when a raging Leila followed right after him.

“Before you say anything, I tried to stop her. I told her who you wanted to see, but she threatened to rattle the agent.”

“How did she know he's an agent? You told her?”

“No!” He spread his arms in frustration.

“Stop discussing me like I'm not in the room.” Leila hissed.

“If the both of you are here, who is watching the fucking agent?”

“I'll return.” Stefanos exited the room before he could say anything else.

“You–” he began in a voice trembling with fury.

“Me what?” she rolled her eyes.

“I swear on my life–”

She walked forward and stopped in front of him. “That what?” She folded her hand across her chest, throwing him a daring glare.