Page 44 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

The Assassin's Trail Tightens

The jeweler's shop was tucked away in a quiet corner of Venetian.

It was the kind of shop where everything of value was on display within the sanctuary of glass cases. One glass case contained elegant pieces of diamonds set in platinum, another had gold rings fashioned with meticulous attention, and watches more valuable than what most men made in a year.

Dragon had come to this shop before, but today he was not here to purchase anything. He was following up a lead.

The doorbell just above the entry softly rang out as he stepped inside.

The air was filled with the smell of aging furniture and expensive perfume.

Behind the counter was an old man with silver-framed glasses adjusting a watch under the glow of a jeweler's lamp.

His hands were firm, the kind that had worked with precision for decades.

Dragon slid the picture over the glass. The image was fuzzy, but the ring on the man's finger stood out—a dainty band with a distinct engraving.

"Is this one of yours?"

The jeweler held it up to the light, his keen eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the ring using a magnifying glass.

"Yes, this is my work," he conceded, his voice cautious. "No doubt about it. Are you looking to get a similar piece?"

Dragon's heart quickened. He leaned forward. "No. Who is the man in the photo?"

The jeweler set the photo aside and shook his head. "I have never seen him a day in my life."

Dragon's mind whirled. If the assassin hadn't bought the ring himself, then someone else had given it to him. A gift, maybe? A token of loyalty?

"Who ordered the ring?"

The jeweler hesitated, fingers drumming nervously against the table. "I have very prominent clients. I can't betray them by giving out names. If word gets out—"

Dragon's voice cut through the air like a blade. "You don't have a choice."

The jeweler's eyes shot up, locking with Dragon's. There was a moment of tense calculation before his shoulders slumped slightly. He drew a breath and spoke in a deeper tone.

"The ring was made for a woman."

Dragon's stomach hardened. That was not what he had been expecting.

Before he could query further, the store window behind them shattered.

Shots cracked out.

The jeweler jerked as bullets tore through his torso, spreading his blood over the gleaming glass countertop. Dragon reacted instinctively, dodging behind a showcase as another bullet zipped through the air—scraping his shoulder.

Pain seared through him, white-hot and sharp, but he shut it down and pulled out his own weapon. He fired twice, causing the attacker to retreat. In a blue shards of glass had been scattered all over the floor, the jeweler's body dropped dead, blood pooling over fine jewelry.

Dragon didn't want to risk a chase not knowing if he was outnumbered. Clutching his hurt shoulder, he ran across the counter, opening the back door behind him, and into the maze of Venetian side streets.

He called Makros as soon as he'd found safety, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. His hand pressed a rag into the wound, blood soaking through the rag.

Makros spoke immediately. "Report."

Dragon leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly through his nose. "The jeweler's dead. Someone shot him before he would tell me who bought the ring."

There was a pause. Then Makros asked, his voice sharpened with worry. "Are you all right?"

Dragon growled with a dry laugh. "I'll make it." He pulled the cloth tight over his wound. "But listen to this—the ring wasn't made for the assassin. It was made for a woman."

Silence.

Then Makros spoke, quieter but more caustic. "A woman?"

Dragon nodded, despite the fact that Makros couldn't see him. "Yeah. And whoever she is, she's someone with eyes, powerful enough to have me shot the moment I got too close to her."

On the other end, Makros straightened his tie in front of a mirror, preparing for Petrov's banquet. His image sneered back, unreadable.

"Find out every woman with the initials E.B and bring it back to me."

"Already on it," Dragon responded. Then, a moment later, he added, "How's Moscow treating you?"

Makros half-ironically smiled. "Well, I'm going to wine and dine."

Dragon let out a low laugh. "Is that so? From burning buildings to breaking bread."

Makros glared into the mirror for the final time before moving away from it. "One of the many bonuses of the Mafia life, Dragon."

Dragon's dry laughter echoed, and he flinched as pain spiked in his shoulder. "Yeah, well I can give you some more bonuses to add, like getting shot for a piece of bloody jewelry."

Makros grinned wryly. "True, we live for the bullet wounds."

Dragon sneered. "What's the wining and dining for?"

Makros fidgeted with his cufflinks. "Petrov's daughter is having a birthday celebration."

Dragon's voice grew more serious. "Oh man. The way Petrov's moving, it seems this is more about matchmaking than birthday at this point."

Makros exhaled slowly, gazing at the door. "I am married, Dragon."

Dragon chuckled. "Yeah? That never once stopped guys like you, ever?"

Dragon was right. Weddings in their world were as much a matter of convenience than as they were emotions. But he had Leila. And she was all he wanted.

Makros eventually broke his silence. "It stops me."

Dragon hesitated. "Well, damn. Something about you has changed since you got back from America."

Makros's lips trembled, but he didn't bite. "Find the woman, Dragon. I want to know who she is before she finds me."

Dragon let out a breath. "Yeah, yeah. I'll call you when I have something."

Makros ended the call and shrugged his shoulders, getting himself together before going into the banqueting hall.

The hall was as intimidating as one would expect from a man of Petrov power. High ceilings, gold chandeliers dripping with crystals, and very long tables heavy with more food and wine than any man could possibly eat.

Makros entered with father at his side. The room was silent for an instant at their entrance before conversation resumed, though now with a faint undertone of curiosity.

Petrov rose from the head of the table, holding up a glass. "To the Cretes. I'm glad you honored my invitation on a moment's notice."

Matteo nodded slightly, advancing. "It was a lengthy journey to Moscow. I believe this makes the trip worthwhile."

Petrov smiled, inviting them to sit. “Perhaps we can do a survey after to find out, eh, old friend."

"Perhaps we can."

Matteo sat beside Petrov and Makros sat beside him. A waiter poured each of their glasses full of dark red wine. Makros swirled the liquid idly, looking at Petrov with the patient silence of a man who had suffered enough betrayals never to rush into trust.

After a minute or so of chit-chat, Petrov leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to make Makros nervous. "You know, Makros, if our factions merged, we'd be invincible."

Makros didn't flinch. "Is that so?"

Petrov's lip curled into a sneer. "Of course. Alone, the power we each wield is tremendous. Together? No one would be able to resist us."

Makros set his glass down on the table. "True, but I'm married."

Petrov grinned, shaking his head. "Come on, my boy. You and I both know that marriage in our world is not always a matter of the heart."

Makros's eyes turned cold. "Mine is."

Petrov regarded him for a moment, then simply smiled. "Then I commend your dedication. However, you should meet her."

Makros didn't inquire as to who. He already knew.

Petrov beckoned to a woman who sat further down the table. "Come, Ekaterina. Join us."

Ekaterina Petrov was, no doubt, beautiful. High cheekbones, striking blue eyes, and a confidence that preceded her with each step as she walked toward him. She was in a black gown, the slit high enough to be an open suggestion.

"This is Makros Crete," Petrov announced. "He's a tiger, this one."

Makros resisted the urge to correct the man by saying he was a dragon.

She extended her hand, and Makros accepted it briefly, more because of manners than anything else.

"It's my pleasure to meet you," she said smoothly, sitting beside him.

Petrov lifted his glass and set it down after a moment of consideration. "Why don't you give Makros a tour?"

Makros glanced at his father, who watched the exchange with silence.

Ekaterina smiled brightly. "Shall we stroll?"

Makros hesitated, but knew that a flat-out refusal would be impolite to Petrov. He nodded slowly. "You lead the way."

The halls of the estate were quiet, intimate. Ekaterina led him by a side hall, stopping at a dimly lit sitting room. She swung back, expression unreadable.

"So, the negotiations with my father were to your liking?" she breathed, drawing nearer.

Makros didn't move, not yielding any sign as to how her nearness affected him. "I wasn't in charge of the negotiations. Left alone, there'd not even be one."

She tilted her head. "What? Don't you enjoy offers?"

He smiled weakly. "Depends on what's being offered."

Her hand trailed lightly along the lapel of his suit. "I could be offering you something very... nice."

Makros caught her wrist, his fingers hard but not unkind. His voice was deep, even. "You're beautiful, Ekaterina. But I don't do business with my dick."

Surprise flitted over her face before she let out a soft laugh, moving back. "Wow," she said. "That's odd."

Makros adjusted his cufflinks, his mind already on Leila. "It's not for sale."

Ekaterina looked at him a moment longer before letting out a sigh. "Too bad. We could've been a good pair."

Makros glanced at her. "I already have a queen."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, watching him go.