Page 41 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

A Date to Remember

MAKROS'S POV

The photo of my shooter sat in the center of my desk, now a tangible copy.

We had caught a small, inconspicuous detail—the ring on his finger. A simple band, worn and unadorned at first glance, but on closer inspection, it held the only clue to the man who had tried to kill me.

I leaned back in my chair, drumming an impatient rhythm on the table with my fingers. Dragon crossed his arms over his chest, his face impassive, standing opposite me.

"The design is one of a kind," he said finally, his voice laced with a tone of certainty. "It's custom made."

I picked up the photo, my eyes scanning the ring's details. There were some unique markings, and the initials E.B.

"Where do you think it was made?"

Dragon puffed out air. "There's a jeweler in Venice who sells one-of-a-kind pieces to discreet patrons. Crime lords, politicians, senior officials. If this ring was ordered there, we can follow it."

I gripped the photo tighter. "Then go. Follow up on whoever ordered it."

Dragon nodded curtly, already turning on his heel.

But before he could take a step, I addressed him again.

"Oh, and Dragon—not so fast."

He halted in his stride, then spun around, an eyebrow raised.

I steepled my fingers against my chin, observing him for a moment before continuing.

"Tell me again what you did when you got to Dimitri's last known location."

There was a flicker of hesitation. It was fleeting—almost unnoticeable, but it was there.

"You read the report," he said bluntly. "I arrived at the apartment at 3:27 AM. It was deserted."

I remained silent.

He was censoring himself, choosing his words.

"You hesitated," I told him.

Dragon's expression never changed, but his stance changed, weight redistributing on the balls of his feet.

"No, I didn't."

"You did," I said.

His jaw set.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does if I say it does."

His cheek muscle twitches.

For one moment, we didn't speak. Then, finally, he exhaled.

"When we got there," he said deliberately, "I immediately knew the place hadn't been empty for long."

I pushed forward. "Is that so?"

Dragon's eyes narrowed. "The light was out, but the bulb was hot when I felt it.

Someone had recently flipped the switch off.

There was a dent in the couch, someone had sat there, but not long enough for the couch to regain its fluffiness.

A half smoked, recently smoked, cigarette was in the ashtray. Inside smelled of sweat, of lasagna."

I chewed his words slowly.

"So you just missed him," I breathed.

Dragon nodded slowly. "And then I heard the sound of a car."

My eyes widened with disbelief. "What car? You didn't mention this earlier."

He breathed through his nose. "As I was making my rounds, I heard the sound of a car starting up. A car backing away, in a rush. By the time I made it down to the street, all I could see was taillights disappearing down the block."

"Did you get a license plate?"

"Half of it." His jaw set. "Not enough to do a full trace."

I let that hang for a second.

"You didn't think to mention this to me before?"

"I was afraid you'd think I've failed you."

I tilted my head, watching him. "You did fail me, Dragon."

His face turned sad, but he didn't say a word.

I tapped my finger on the desk. "Get that car. Get a handle on who was driving it." My voice was even, but firm. "And Dragon—"

He lifted his eyes.

"Why didn't you chase after the car?"

"I hesitated." I could tell he was holding his breath.

"Don't make the mistake of hesitating again."

He breathed. "Understood."

With that, he turned and left the office. I glanced back at the photo once more, and shoved it aside.

Someone had tipped Dimitri off. And if it so happened to be in my inner circle. They won't be breathing soon.

I plowed through the rest of the day working. Sorting deals over the phone. Scanning documents and reading papers submitted to me for signatures.

Evening caught up with me before I was done and I sent for Leila.

She arrived, pausing in the doorway, eyes guarded, and watchful.

"We're going out," I said to her.

Her lips parted in shock. "Where?"

I smiled. "On a date."

She didn't answer right away. Then, slowly, she lifted her chin. "How romantic of you."

I chuckled. "Get dressed. Dress however you like."

"Ohhhh, someone's being generous," she said.

"I'm happy you caught on that I'm giving you the privilege of making choices."

Fifteen minutes went by before she emerged, dressed in a tight black jumpsuit that clung to her curves, her hair falling in loose waves. She was stunning.

We went to a high-end restaurant, a dimly lit room full of the city's elite. The moment we entered, eyes followed us.

I led her to a private table, ordering us drinks while we waited for food.

Leila sat across from me, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. She wasn't tense, but she wasn't really relaxed either. I could tell that she was soaking it all in—reading the room.

Then a waiter showed up.

"Sir, that man over there would like to have a word with you," he said suavely. "Would you mind stepping aside for a moment?"

I looked at the sole gray-haired man in a wheelchair sitting a few distances from us and smiled back as he signaled for me to come. He was a friend of my dad.

"I will not take long," I told Leila.

She wasn't concerned. "Take your time."

As I turned and left, I looked around the room reflexively, committing each detail of it to memory—the men at the bar, the couple in the corner, the three businessmen hammering at each other about something in hushed tones. I'd lived too long on my wits to ignore where I was.

Leila and I were fine.

At least, for now.

Where I was standing, I could clearly see her. She was adjusting herself in her chair, and then she turned ever so slightly, indicating for a refill to the barman.

And that was when the two men at the bar saw her.

One of them moved closer to the other, his tone hushed. A smile tugged at the face of the second man before he nodded. Then the two of them got up and went over to her table.

I didn't move. Not yet.

Leila barely acknowledged them when they arrived at her side.

"Hey there, sweetheart," I heard him say. "Sitting all alone?"

Leila didn't even look up. "Not interested."

The second man laughed. "That's a shame. We're only being friendly."

Leila sighed, setting down her glass. "I'm sure you are. But I'm still not interested."

However, they lingered.

The first man grinned, leaning in closer, placing his hand on the table. "Come on now, don't be like that. A bit of chat never did anyone any harm."

I saw the way her fingers twitched,the slightest movement, but one I recognized. She was pushing her patience. Considering how long she was going to tolerate this.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then the second man leaned in, tracing his fingers up her arm.

That was a mistake.

Before he could do anything, Leila had him by the wrist, twisted his arm hard, and slapped the back of his hand on the table. The pain would've been immediate, though, because the man gasped, jerked in surprise.

His buddy moved forward reflexively, but I'd already closed the gap between us.

Leila leaned closer, speaking in a soft, deadly whisper. "I said. Not. Interested."

My hand descended on the shoulder of the second man. He barely had time to react before I tightened my fingers, causing him to look up at me.

"You should leave," I said quietly.

His face went white.

" Signor Makros."

Oh, so he did know me and so did his friend.

Leila released the wrist of the first man, and he stumbled back, holding his hand. His friend swallowed hard and nodded quickly.

"S-Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't mean no harm."

"Then walk away," I said, and they did.

Swiftly.

I turned back to Leila. She released a breath, reaching for her glass as if nothing had happened.

"You could've stopped them earlier," she whispered, taking a sip of her drink.

I smiled. "And spoil your fun?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't complain. Just like that, the tension had died.

But I was watching her.

The strain in her shoulders. The manner in which her fingers clasped her glass a little harder.

She was still prepared to fight.

She always was. And I adored her for it.

In fact, it reminded me of the first time I met her, before I had stolen away her life. Sometimes I question if she had forgotten me or if she was just pretending to be dumb since she never brought it up.

It was during a luncheon some five years ago.

I had not been concentrating on anything in particular, until I heard loud voices.

I turned to find a young woman with her back to me standing facing a man grasping her wrist much too tightly.

Leila.

She was younger, but that same spark was still in her eyes.

"No means no," she'd snarled. "Or do you not understand simple language?"

The man had merely laughed, pulling her towards him. "You're coming with me, Leila."

I'd stepped in before even realizing it.

The man barely had time to react to what was happening before I pinned him against the wall by the collar, his eyes fixed in a fierce glare.

"She said no," I whispered. "I suggest you leave on your own before I break every bone in your body."

She'd whispered her gratitude but that was all. I'd kept an eye out for the boyfriend, but he never showed his face again.

I hadn't seen Leila again either until the night her family was taken away from her. And now, she was standing here once more.

Kicking back. Indestructible.

The waiter placing our food on the table snapped me back to reality. The evening had gone on better than I expected—fine food, witty conversations, and a couple of moments where Leila almost tolerated my presence. Tonight, for once, we weren't at each other's throat.

The ride home was in silence.

Until Leila decided to speak to Nicolai. "Your brother—what happened to him?"

The question was direct. No warning, no hesitation.

Nicolai's expression hardened instantly. "It's none of your business."

Leila's jaw tightened. "I want to know."

Nicolai didn't even look at her. "We won't be discussing him or anything at all."

Leila pressed. "Makros said he died. Was it revenge? A deal gone wrong?"

I cut in. "Drop it."

Leila turned to me, her gaze sharp. "Why? Because it's a sore subject?"

I met her gaze, my voice firm. "Because it's not a question you want the answer to."

She looked at me for a long time. Then finally she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.

I caught Nicolai's gaze in the rearview mirror. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the road.