Page 51 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Captured

Makros was stretched back in his office chair, legs extended, one arm flung over his forehead, the other dangling a glass of alcohol and cigar in between his fingers.

The clock was crawling its way towards four in the morning, but sleep hadn't come.

Not tonight. Not since the journey down to Moscow.

Soft golden light from a single desk lamp casted long shadows on the mahogany walls, making the room appear smaller, and more suffocating than it really was.

The office was silent except for the occasional tinkle of ice against glass as he absently stirred the whiskey in his hand.

Cigar smoke swirled around him as he lifted his glass of whiskey, the cigar still balanced between his fingers. With a measured movement, he reached for the ashtray and set it down.

A storm had been building all night, thunder rumbling low on the horizon, but there had been no rain. The dark clouds outside his window seemed to reflect his thoughts.

Makros had not bothered to change his clothes since he came back from the trip. The fabric clung uncomfortably to his body, and the top buttons were undone, showing the taut muscles of his chest. His tie had long since been removed, thrown over the back of the chair.

He'd been thinking. Calculating. The idea of Stefanos betraying him had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he knew it was only time before he'd have to act. He could feel it creeping toward him like a slow, inevitable tide.

Then the office door opened suddenly but Makros didn't react.

The sound of someone stepping in replaced the silence. The lights then flickered to life, filling the room with blinding brightness.

"What the hell man?" Makros grumbled.

Dragon moved with loose strides like a perfect gentleman, but his packet shirt partially rumpled from the smears of dried blood from himself and his enemies told a different story.

His expression was stoic, but Makros could see how his shoulders stiffened, how his jaw tightened imperceptibly as he stepped aside. Two men followed behind him, half-dragging a limp figure in between.

It was unfucking believable. Dragon had succeeded and brought Dimitri to him alive.

Makros stirred, sitting up and setting his glass on the table with a gentle clink. He studied Dimitri for a silent moment, taking in the battered look, the way the man refused to lower his head in respect.

Dimitri was worse than he'd ever seen him.

His packet shirt, normally crisp, was stained and rumpled with sweat and blood.

His cheekbones were bruised, a new cut split his lip, and there was a smear of red down the side of his neck, but none of it had succeeded in taming the wayward gleam in his eyes.

Dragon exhaled through his nose. "I found him holed up in one of the apartments in the outskirts of town. Took some effort, but here he is."

"Great job, any updates on the others?" He asked in a smooth, controlled voice.

Dragon shook his head. "No lead on them."

Makros let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face.

That was a problem.

E.B. was moving like a ghost and he hated ghosts except for the caspers kind like Aleksei. The man in the yellow shirt was no less elusive. And without dealing with them, the peace of mind Makros needed to sleep remained just out of his reach.

His exhaustion didn't disappear upon seeing Dimitri, but something sharp crept back into his eyes.

"Bring him to the club."

The men did not wait for Makros to get up before they carried out his instruction.

The underground club was deserted, cold and dark. It was soundproofed which served well for a maximal violent interrogation.

No screaming, however loud, would save anyone who was brought down here.

Makros moved in slowly, his shoes clinking against the tiles softly.

One of the two guards shoved Dimitri into a metal chair. His hands were wrenched behind his back, bound so tightly his shoulders rebelled against the restraint. He breathed in short, shallow gasps, but they were steady, and although his face was bruised and bloody, he managed to sneer.

Makros cracked each of his knuckles slowly, almost casually. The air was thick with a promise of violence, the kind that settled deep into the bones.

Dimitri breathed sharply, swaying his neck from left to right. His lip curled slightly. "Why don't we all just take some time to—"

Dragon struck him squarely with a swift jab to the ribs closing off his words.

Dimitri grunted but barely flinched. His smirk wavered, but it didn't completely disappear.

Makros sighed, punching his closed fist into his palm as if testing the impact of his punch on a small scale first. "Don't make this any harder than it needs to be."

He struck Dimitri's jaw, sending his head snapping to the side. A fresh trail of blood trickled from his lip.

Dimitri spat out a broken tooth.

Makros bent down to his level, his voice low, steady. "Who else were you working with? Who else is Vincenzo's spy?"

Dimitri did not say anything. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths.

Dragon hit him again, this time in his stomach. The force of the blow rocked the chair a little, but Dimitri still bore the pain.

Makros studied him for a second, then stretched out his hand to collect a knife from Dragon. He placed it beneath Dimitri's eye and the man tended.

Makros nodded. "You're a brave soldier, but that will not save you. I can very well guarantee you."

Dimitri swallowed, his expression almost calm, but Makros saw the tension in his jaw, the brief clenching and reopening of his fists.

He pulled the blade lower, tracing it smoothly against Dimitri's tender throat. "The night you took off, who warned you?"

A beat passed. Then, finally, Dimitri slowly exhaled.

"You wouldn't believe me," he said.

Makros didn't move. "Try me."

Dimitri let the silence stretch out before he finally ground out, "Stefanos."

The air in the room seemed to become colder.

Dragon stiffened, his fists clenched at his sides. "Bullshit.

Dimitri exhaled through his nose, his head canting slightly to the side. "It's no shit. Stefanos phoned me on a secure phone from the communications room. 'Makros doesn't know I'm here, he doesn't suspect me. You have to run. He's sending Dragon your way.'"

Dragon's jaw tightened. His gaze flicked to Makros, searching for his boss' indignation.

But Makros didn't offer it.

He simply studied Dimitri for a long moment before shifting his attention back to Dragon. "I've had my doubts about Stefanos for a while."

Dragon let out a sharp breath, rubbing a hand over his face before snapping, "This is insane."

Makros kissed his teeth. "No, it's not. Come here."

They stepped away from Dimitri's earshot.

Makros' voice was low, contained. "Stefanos was trying to help Leila escape the country. And she said he had used the communications room at least twice in order to set it up. Guess what, one of the times just happens to coincide with the night Dimitri escaped. Coincidence? I don't think so."

Dragon's face clouded in a frown. "Leila's gotten inside your head, and now you're questioning your own kin?"

Makros maintained his eye contact. "Stefanos had taken Leila to a restaurant to meet a broker. The man in the yellow shirt. He was planning on running away with her."

Dragon let out a bitter laugh. "I believe Stefanos would screw your wife. But help her escape? Betray you? No. Not Stefanos."

Makros stepped closer, his voice cold. "He's been acting strangely. He ordered Nicolai to leave Leila unguarded."

Dragon's eyes darkened. "The Makros I knew wouldn't let anyone plant seeds of suspicion in his mind against Stefanos." His voice dropped to a cutting accusation. "You're losing your edge, and it's because of her."

"Damn it." Makros' voice rose before he lowered it again. His jaw set. "I'm not losing my edge. Can you make sense of what's going on?"

Dragon exhaled a sharp breath, his mind spinning. Finally, he turned to Dimitri again.

"I will—if you can spare me a few more hours with him."

Makros nodded. "You have twenty-four hours."

He backed up, nodding towards the guards. "Keep him tied down in the kitchen. I'm not through with him yet."

Dimitri's shoulders sagged somewhat as he was hauled away by the guards, but the defiance in his eyes had not been extinguished.

Dragon turned to Makros, his voice low, almost cautious.

"What if Dimitri's lying about Stefanos? I truly believe that Stefanos is being falsely accused."

Makros didn't answer right away. He held Dragon's gaze, his expression unreadable.

"If he's lying, then he's protecting someone else," he said evenly. "Your job is to find out the truth."

Dragon exhaled sharply. "And if it turns out that someone else is the real traitor?"

Makros' jaw tensed. "Then the same fate reserved for Stefanos would befall them."

Dragon let out a dry chuckle. "That's a dangerous assumption."

Makros stepped closer. "What are you getting at?"

Dragon crossed his arms. "You're trusting Leila's word about Stefanos accessing the comms room, right?

But have you considered she might've used his key card herself?

Did you actually see him go in on camera?

What proof do you have besides her words?

" He paused, letting it sink in. "If you're so certain about appropriating the same fate reserved for Stefanos, you better be ready when I prove his innocence. "

Sometimes Makros hated Dragon's guts and how he spoke to him so freely. He thought that having an underboss was not as suave as the old Mafiosos usually made it out to be.

Makros ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. "If you think I'm wrong, prove it."

Dragon's eyes darkened. "That's what the next twenty-four hours are for."

Makros scoffed. "You're going to enjoy torturing the shit out of Dimitri, aren't you?"

Dragon gave a lopsided smirk. "They don't call me Dragon for nothing."

Makros said nothing as he turned, his shoes clicking against the tiled floor. The heavy steel door groaned shut behind him, leaving Dragon alone on the dancefloor. He rolled his shoulders, cracking his knuckles before turning toward the kitchen.

Dimitri barely lifted his head when Dragon entered. His face was still bloodied and his breathing was shallow but steady. His arms were bound behind a new chair, but his eyes were sharp, watching Dragon with suppressed rage.

Dragon drew up a chair, reversed it, and straddled it, resting his arms on the back. He studied Dimitri in silence before speaking.

"You have one last chance to persuade me that you are not full of crap."

Dimitri weakly smirked. His voice rasped when he replied, "And if I don't?"

Dragon shrugged. "Then I will begin to get innovative."

Dimitri did not blink. "I have already told you the truth. If Makros does not believe it, then that is his issue."

Dragon tilted his head to the side. "Makros buys it, apparently. I'm the one who doesn't. You and Stefanos were never friends. Never exchanged more than orders and reports. Why would he warn you? Why would he work for Vincenzo? Your story is shit, it doesn't add up."

Dimitri licked the blood from his lip. "Shit, you're here talking to me when you should be questioning him."

Dragon's fingers drummed idly on the chair. "I don't think you understand your situation."

"Oh, I understand it perfectly." Dimitri's smile extended. "You're going to do what you do best."

Dragon's eyes narrowed. "And you have a very clear idea of just how good I am at it."

Dimitri let out a rough laugh then winced. "Yeah, I do. But no matter what you do to me, it won't change the truth."

Dragon inclined forward slightly, his own voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Maybe it won't. But it might change how much enjoyment you get out of telling it."

For an instant, something glimmered in Dimitri's eyes, but he concealed it rapidly.

Dragon smiled. "Shall we start."

Dragon snapped his neck, rolling the strain out of his shoulders, before nailing Dimitri with a decent glare. The dim kitchen's light cast harsh shadows around the room, which only served to make the dried blood on Dimitri's face stand out even more.

"Let's cut the crap," Dragon stated, voice low and even. "Who are you trying to protect?"

Dimitri breathed out slowly, unsteadily, and then weakly smirked. "Protecting? I can barely protect myself right now."

Dragon's jaw tightened. "Wrong answer." He lashed out, striking Dimitri squarely across the face. The chair scraped against the concrete as Dimitri's head snapped to the side. New blood trickled from his broken lip, but he laughed low in his throat.

"That's all you got?" he taunted.

Dragon reached out and took a grip on the back of his head and jerked him upright. "Who told you to set up Stefanos?

Dimitri let his head roll back slightly, blinking sluggishly at him. "Maybe Stefanos framed himself."

Dragon's fist drove into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. Dimitri gasped, body jerking forward as he coughed.

"You think this is a game?" Dragon growled.

Dimitri wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "If it is, I'm losing pretty bad."

Dragon exhaled slowly, wiping his hand on his jeans as he stepped back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded photo, flicking it open. He held it out to Dimitri, the fuzzy image of a man in a yellow shirt staring back at them.

"Do you know this man?"

Dimitri's eyes flicked to the photo, but his face didn't. "Can't say I do."

Dragon did not hesitate this time—he grabbed Dimitri by the collar and punched Dimitri in the ribs, twice in rapid succession. Dimitri groaned, head dropping forward as he coughed again.

"Try again," Dragon said calmly.

Dimitri laughed through the pain, spitting blood onto the floor. "Looks like a guy in a yellow shirt to me. Pretty odd color for a guy, I prefer black."

Dragon clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the chair's backrest. His patience was running out. He knelt slightly, getting closer to Dimitri's level.

"You've got one more chance to start giving me real answers," he said coldly. "Ever heard of a woman named E.B.?"

For the first time, something flickered in Dimitri's expression. It was a slight twitch of his jaw but Dragon caught it.

Dimitri hastily covered it up, shaking his head. "Doesn't ring a bell."

Dragon exhaled through his nose, a dangerous calm washing over him.

"Alright," he growled.

He just kept punching him again and again until he passed out.