Page 38 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Whispers in the Dark

Makros and Leila had checked out of the hotel. Nicolai had already arrived to take Leila back to the Crete mansion. Makros, on his part, had to make a quick detour.

The man he had waited to see was in the corner of a dimly lit section of a bar, drinking a whiskey. A shipping contact—one of the last neutral agents still functioning in this war.

Makros sat down across from him. "You have something for me?"

The man nodded, sliding a crumpled sheet of paper across the table. "A manifest. Last-minute cargo additions. Someone's been adding goods to your shipments without your knowledge."

Makros smoothed out the paper, scanning the names. One of them stood out in particular.

The son of a bitch had been right in front of him.

Without saying another word, Makros stood, dropping a fat roll of money on the table. "You never saw me."

The man smiled. "You were never here."

Makros walked out, already dialing one of his capos' number. "We have a lead. I just sent you a name."

Then he went home.

Makros sat alone in his private lounge, the red liquid in his glass catching the firelight. His mind wasn't at ease.

He had made amends for the sabotage of the Russian Bratva whose cargo had been detonated but the problem persisted. One of his own men had given the perpetrators a tip-off. Dragon was already on it, but Makros was itching with impatience to find out who was responsible.

And then the phone rang. On a secure line.

Makros answered immediately. "Who is this?"

On the other end came a low laugh. "Now, is that a proper way to greet an old friend?"

Makros tensed. "Aleksei."

"You're shocked. You shouldn't be. I always pay my dues."

Makros leaned back, stirring his drink. "And what dues would that be?"

"You released me when you should have killed me," Aleksei said to him. "And I haven't forgotten. That's why I'm calling you now. Vincenzo has spies in your ranks. Two of them. I extracted their numbers from his phone before I disappeared."

Makros breathed slowly. "Give me the numbers."

Aleksei gave them to him.

Makros wrote them down.

"You should stay in hiding, Aleksei."

Aleksei laughed. "I'm hiding in plain sight. I'm here in Moscow, under the nose of the Orel Bratva."

Makros straightened up. "Isn't that a coincidence?"

Aleksei's voice rose up a notch. "Speak up? I can't hear you over the helicopter."

"You live at an airport?"

"Of course. I live close to my exit route in case shit happens."

Makros smiled. "No wonder you're so good at disappearing."

Aleksei chuckled. "Yeah, what did you say?" The sound of the helicopter faded into the distance as he walked away.

Makros's tone became serious. "I made a mistake and intercepted a shipment that was owned by the Orel Bratva."

Aleksei cursed. "How in the hell did that happen?"

"As I just said, it was an error. Guess neither of us can resist Russian business."

Aleksei whistled. "Orel Bratva, huh? That's one hell of a mess."

"The Orel Bratva is not an enemy to be taken lightly, Aleksei."

Aleksei's tone softened. "Neither are you, Crete."

"What do you have to do with them?"

Silence. Then Aleksei spoke. "Revenge for killing my wife. I'm sure you can understand."

Makros' grip on his glass tightened. His voice was curt. "I understand."

Aleksei's voice turned thoughtful. "I knew our paths would meet again, but I didn't expect it to be so soon neither did I expect we would have another common enemy."

"Be careful, Aleksei," Makros cautioned. "For both our sakes. Or else this time, I'll actually have to kill you."

"How do you kill a ghost?"

The phone call ended.

Makros gazed at the numbers in his hand. If Aleksei told the truth, these were the men who had cost him millions.

Then the door was flung open. Dragon entered, his face somber.

Makros sighed. "Don't you know how to knock?"

"It was Vincenzo," Dragon declared, collapsing into a chair. "He rigged the shipment. He has an inside man here but I couldn't get a name from my source before I beat him to death."

Makros was not shocked. "I just got word." He gestured to the piece of paper. "Now we hunt for the spies."

Dragon whistled. "Spies, as in more than one?"

"Uh-huh."

Makros and Dragon worked that evening in the comms room. Dragon, apart from being a killer and an excellent cook, was also an asset tracker and hacker. They pulled out conversations, calls, and bank statements from the spies' phone numbers.

Their betrayal was deep.

Makros printed out a copy of it all. There would be blood come dawn.

Leila had been watching Makros closely all day. He had been leaving her alone since after their time together at the hotel. She enjoyed the moment of peace, but it also unsettled her. Something was different. And his usual calm, controlled manner had an edge to it tonight.

Then she noticed why he was different. She noticed Dragon pulling a man out forcefully. The man's face was bloodied—Dragon had taken good care of that. He never disappointed.

Leila followed Dragon, and she was followed closely by Nicolai.

"What's going on?" Leila asked Nicolai.

Nicolai without breaking pace replied. "Haven't you heard? Your husband caught a traitor, and he's making an example out of him."

Makros stood before his men in the warehouse, the traitor kneeling before him, hands bound.

Leila watched from the corner, her heart pounding. She had seen Makros kill before. But this was different.

"I just don't get it," Makros said, voice as tough as steel. "Messages to Vincenzo. Money exchanging hands. You've been selling information to my adversary." He lifted the file he was holding in his hand. "And for what? A few dollars?"

The traitor spat blood onto the floor, glowering up at him. "You don't scare me, Makros."

Makros snarled. "Then you're more stupid than I thought."

He pulled a knife from his belt—a slender, curved dagger honed to a fine point.

No gun. No quick death.

Makros crouched before the man, laying the cold blade against his neck. "Do you know what's interesting about a slow cut?" he whispered. "The body doesn't go into shock right away. You feel everything."

The traitor's breath caught.

Makros drew the blade through his skin—just far enough to draw a fine red line.

"You wish to inform me about the second spy?" Makros asked.

The man gritted his teeth.

Makros sighed. Then he inserted the knife in his side, twisting it. The man screamed.

"I'm going to carve you up, bit by bit." Makros' tone was level. "Or you can give me a name, and I'll make it quick."

The man sobbed, the fight going out of his body.

"Dimitri."

Makros nodded. "Good. And where's he now? Ah han, only whispers."

Makros leaned in closer as the man whispered Dimitri's location to him.

Then, in one swift motion, he slit the man's throat.

Leila flinched as the blood spilled onto the concrete.

Makros wiped his blade clean. "Dragon come closer," he ordered Dragon. He whispered into Dragon's ear and Dragon gave a curt nod.

Then he turned around, catching Leila's eyes in the dark.

He knew she had been watching.

She came to his bedroom following the execution.

When Makros entered the room, the air was thick with the scent of red wine and something darker—desire coiled low and waiting.

Makros sat in the amber glow of the bedside lamp, his shirt hanging open to reveal the hard lines of his chest, the fabric rumpled around his elbows.

His tie dangled uselessly from his collar, forgotten.

A glass of deep red wine rested between his fingers, the liquid swirling lazily as he eyed her entrance with unreadable calm.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Her heels clicked softly across the floor, each step slow, deliberate. When she reached him, she dropped to her knees without ceremony, the silk of her dress pooling around her thighs.

Her hands slid up his legs, slow and possessive, feeling the tension in his muscles beneath the fine fabric of his trousers. Her nails traced along the inside of his thighs, stopping just short of where he’d begun to harden.

“Let me please you tonight, Makros,” she purred, her voice a sultry invitation laced with something more dangerous.

He arched a brow, taking a slow sip of wine, letting it coat his lips like blood. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice low and edged with suspicion. “A sudden change of heart?”

She smirked, dragging her mouth up to hover near his belt. “What? A wife can’t worship her husband?” Her grin sharpened as she met his eyes. “Or are you scared I’ll bite your cock off?”

Makros let out a rough, amused sound—half laugh, half growl.

He set the glass aside and leaned in, the lamp casting shadows across his face.

“You don’t scare me, Leila,” he rasped, threading his fingers deep into her hair, tugging her head back just enough to force her to look up at him.

“Whatever game you’re playing... fuck it. I’ll play.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her hands worked quickly, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants, freeing him. He was already hard, already ready for her, thick, hot, pulsing in her palm as she stroked him once, slow, deliberate, watching his jaw tighten at the contact.

Then her mouth was on him, tongue teasing, lips wrapping around the head as she took him in inch by inch, the weight of him heavy on her tongue. He groaned, hips jerking slightly as her hands gripped his thighs to steady herself.

“Fuck, Leila...” he hissed, his hand tightening in her hair, guiding her pace. “Just like that.”

She gave him everything, her mouth, her throat, her submission wrapped in fire. The room filled with the wet sounds of her devotion, the low grunts of his pleasure, the quiet clink of the wineglass being knocked off the nightstand as he lost himself in her.

When it was over, Makros collapsed back onto the bed like a man undone, sprawled with satisfaction, the scent of sweat and sex thick around them. His breathing slowed, lips parted, a lazy king sated in his throne.

Leila lay beside him, the sheets twisted around her body. Her eyes were closed, her breath even but she wasn’t sleeping.

She was waiting. And when his breathing dipped into deep, oblivious sleep, she stirred—softly, silently, her body moving like a whisper in the dark.

She slipped out of bed, moving silently across the room to his desk. Her fingers moved nimbly, rifling through several papers she had no business touching, reading each one hastily before returning it to its exact position.

Then she saw it.

The file with the details on the second spy.

She memorized the phone number, all of the details of the communications with Vincenzo.

Now she needed only a way of reaching Dimitri. She knew exactly who could help.

Stefanos.