Page 22 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

The Exchange

Ambassador Monroe rubbed one hand across his wet forehead, the dented car not even registering in his mind. His only concern was finding his daughter. His fingers trembled as he grabbed his personal phone from the tabletop. The displayed ID read blocked number. He knew well enough who it would be.

Drawing in air, he pressed the answer button and listened.

"You have what we want?" A gruff-sounding voice inquired without any preamble.

Ambassador Monroe gulped. "M- my daughter... I- is she alive?"

There was a brief pause while the caller held the phone up to Vanessa. Then the unmistakable sound of muffled crying could be heard over the receiver of the phone.

"Daddy! Daddy help me." The line went dead quiet.

Monroe's heart pounded. "Wait! Please! How do I know–"

"She's alive. At least for the moment," the voice interrupted. "But that's your decision. If you make even a single adjustment to the plan, she dies."

Monroe squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the phone in his hand so tightly it ached. "What do you want?"

"Listen carefully, Mr. Ambassador. You're to send the prisoner with only one man escort. Just one car. No police. No tracking devices, whatsoever. You will deliver the prisoner to us, unarmed with the escort."

"That's impossible. The authorities—"

"—will return your daughter in pieces if you don't obey."

The words sliced through Ambassador Monroe like a knife.

Silence filled the air. Then the voice once more, deep and threatening.

"You have three hours, Mr. Ambassador Monroe.

Then the next time you'll hear from us will be Vanessa's voice trembling, pleading, begging us to be merciful.

And with each passing second, you'll hear her screams rising higher, each one more piercingly shrill than the last. Because once we start, we won't stop until there's nothing left for you to save. "

The line went dead.

Monroe slowly drew the phone away from his ear, panting. His daughter's voice still echoed through his head, trembling with fear.

He turned, his gaze finding the only man in the room as distressed as he was, Makros.

Makros sat cross-legged, a face contorted with feigned worry. He had sat through it all, hearing the discussion unfold, appearing regretful for the Ambassador.

Ambassador Monroe pushed a hand through his gray locks. "They're asking for something unreasonable. One escort? No assistance? No surveillance?"

Makros rapped on the edge of his chair with a cigarette but didn't light it. "They don't need war. They only need insurance."

Monroe's eyes blazed at him. "And if I go along, what is to stop them from killing her anyway?"

Makros leaned forward a little, his voice slow. "Ambassador, trust is a two-way street. If you're a good player, they'll be one, too."

Monroe snorted in a scornful laugh. "You say that like you know them."

Makros smiled, slow and knowing. "I know men like them."

Monroe drew a sharp breath. "The police will never let one man take a high-value prisoner."

"Then hire someone... outside the police." Makros's eyes flashed to the quiet figure in the corner.

Monroe followed his gaze, his brows furrowing. "Sam?"

The man, Nicolai, cocked his head. He was such a quiet presence Ambassador Monroe had hardly noticed he was there.

Monroe stuttered. "You... you think Sam can make this happen?"

Makros shrugged. "He's a professional bodyguard, right? And more importantly," he paused for effect, "he works for you, not the government."

Monroe's jaw hardened.

The rationale was good. For a moment he wondered where Dan was. The idiot son of a bastard had lost his daughter.

Finally, he breathed out. "Alright. Sam will take the prisoner."

Makros's smile was in his voice. "Well, Ambassador, call him."

The warden was phoned briefly, tautly.

Monroe kept his voice steady as he arranged for the prisoner’s release under ‘special circumstances.’ There was pushback: protocols, security measures, but an ambassador’s influence could smooth over many obstacles.

The warden eventually relented. “The prisoner will be transferred under your escort in two hours. You’ll have to sign off on it personally.”

Monroe nodded, ending the call.

Makros stood, pushing up his cuffs. "Good thinking. I don't have a daughter but if I did I'd do the same."

Monroe looked at him suspiciously. "You're too deep in this. Why?"

Makros chuckled, standing to make his exit. "Well, Mr. Ambassador, having your guest kidnapped on the opening night of your club isn't exactly the press I was hoping for."

Sam moved as if he had performed this a thousand times during his lifetime.

His attire was modest: black tactical pants, fitted jacket, and holster pressed against his ribcage. A switchblade was hidden in his boot.

The ambassador watched him checking the car, a black, shiny SUV, the same one Leila had rammed into, tinted windows beyond legal standards. "Do you think they'll kill you?"

Sam did not hesitate. "Always a possibility."

Monroe shifted. "You don't sound concerned."

Sam turned at last, his expression neutral. "Because I know how to survive."

Monroe regarded him for a long time. "Just bring my daughter back in one piece."

Sam nodded once before getting into the driver's seat.

As the car pulled away, the Ambassador's face was contemplative. He was thinking of sending a covert backup to follow Sam.

Makros, who stood beside him, read his face as if it were a book. "I see what you're thinking, Ambassador. I would advise against it. This is Italy, and criminal or not, men here keep their word."

Monroe glared at Makros, his irritation kept in check. "You actually think they'll hold up?"

Makros looked at him, a flash of cynicism in his eyes. "I don't think. I know."

Monroe's jaw locked. "What if they don't?"

Makros shrugged. "Then we'll deal with it. But I wouldn't do anything to defy their instructions."

Monroe eyed him warily. "Why?"

Makros glanced back at him. "Because it'll give them an excuse to make it worse."

Monroe didn't answer, simply looked back in the direction the SUV had disappeared.