Page 54 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Promotions

One of the two phones resting on his bedside table buzzed nonstop, jolting Makros awake from a heavy, sleep-deprived doze. He sat up, his mind slow to dispel the haze.

His gaze drifted over to the thick curtains, shut barely an inch to allow a slice of illumination into the room. It was then that he realized the steady rain pounding against the window glass.

His body ached from fatigue, but the moment the last twenty-four hours came surging back—disclosures, betrayals, punishments, his mind cleared.

Despite his current state of haziness, his mind pulled up the image of Dimitri. Had Dragon coaxed out another revelation from him, or was his story still the same one? There was still time left within the twenty-four-hour time period he had granted Dragon for questioning.

Most men cracked within hours of interrogation when Dragon was involved, but Dimitri was not like most men. If he truly had nothing to confess, Makros wouldn't be surprised if he endured the full twenty-four hours, and maybe even longer.

Then his mind shifted from Dimitri to Stefanos. Whether or not he had been secretly working with Vincenzo, his other actions were enough to seal his fate. Helping Leila escape was one thing but kissing her? That was unforgivable. There would be no mercy.

Makros drew a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he hauled himself out of the bed. Men like him did not need a lot of rest, just merely enough so they would not burn out. That's all he could afford, a moment's rest, then the weight of responsibility slammed back over him.

With his regular precision, he speedily dressed himself up in black sleeves rolled up, and trousers. Grabbing his phones in hand, he stepped out into the hall, closing the door gently behind him.

Between Dimitri and Leila, who was he to see first?

The answer was immediate.

"My wife comes first. She takes precedent above all things."

On his way towards the sex dungeon, he wondered what Leila had done with herself in solitude. Had she spent the time pouting in rage? Or had she learned something from the chastisement that he had given her? The answer mattered to him.

Nicolai regarded him with a curt nod as he reached the door before unlocking it. Makros went inside.

Leila had been perched on the edge of the bed, still in the clean attire that Elisa had brought to her the previous evening.

Her eyes flashed up at him. She didn't need words to convey defiance. It was there, as transparent as glass in every glance, and in every breath she breathed.

He studied her intently, noticing the small tells she likely thought she kept properly concealed. The slight clenching of her shoulders. The way her fingers curled into a fist, then gradually relaxed against her knee. She was waiting for him.

Good.

A woman should wait for a man. For him it meant he was in control. He let the silence hang a moment longer, drawing it tight.

"I finally caught him," Makros said at last, crossing further into the room. "The other spy. Dimitri."

There was a flash of something on Leila's face—too quick to name. Surprise? Shock? It was gone before he could be certain.

He would not let it happen again.

He sat beside her, close enough for her to feel his warmth but not close enough that she'd shift uncomfortably.

"Dimitri confessed," he said, hesitating just a moment for the full force of the words to hit. His face was intent on hers, but she didn't flinch. Satisfied, he smiled, "Stefanos warned him. Told him I was closing in."

This time, she flinched. Barely perceptibly.

Her eyes were bulge wide open for an instant before she recovered, but he had already seen it. The tiny crack in her seemingly perfect composure.

Surprise, he told himself, is a far more better reaction than fear or guilt.

Makros exhaled, collecting himself before he said anything else. "You were right," he acknowledged unwillingly. "I did not want to believe it, but Stefanos's name keeps cropping up. And however much it hurts to acknowledge it... people change. Even good men can be consumed by ambition."

He left the implication hanging there. That Stefanos—his cousin, his childhood friend—was now a potential threat to the Crete's family.

Leila was careful not to give away her excitement, however. If anything, she looked guarded.

Makros leaned in, lowering his voice to something that was close to a whisper.

"But if you are playing me." His gaze locked onto hers. "If this is some clever ruse to get me to fuck up my own cousin—" He inclined his head, examining her for any hint of wavering. "I will discover it. And when I do, you will be sorry that you ever tried to deceive me."

Leila held his eyes. "Fine, but now what?" she snarled, defiantly. "Am I still your sex toy, locked away in this so-called dungeon, or are you finally letting me go?"

Makros met her glare with an amused smile. Sex toy? She was being dramatic, as always.

"I've kept you sitting in this room long enough," he breathed. With a slow, deliberate motion, he trailed one finger down her jaw, tilting her chin up. "Come with me."

Her expression did not shift.

But before she could respond, a knock on the door interrupted her.

"Makros."

Makros adjusted slightly, his hand dropping from Leila's face.

"Yeah, Nicolai. What's going on?"

"Your father has summoned everyone to the living room for an emergency meeting."

Makros didn't move at first. He just sat there, weighing, trying to figure out what could possibly be so urgent as to warrant such a meeting. Then, without a word, he got up, took Leila's hand, and moved towards the door.

The gigantic living room was packed when they got there.

Capos, soldiers, and maids were standing at attention, while those in the inner circle sat.

On the far side of the room, sitting in his regular chair, Don Matteo glared over the group with expressionless mastery. Sitting beside him was Stefanos.

Makros fumed with deep, seething anger at seeing him there, sitting like he was some sort of son of the family. As if he weren't a traitor.

He fumed at Leila's side, but his expression never gave it away.

He still held her hand and walked her to the seats at his father's right hand. They fell into position with trained fluidity, their poses looking easy. And then, the conference began.

The Don leaned back comfortably in his chair, fingers interlocked, eyes scanning the room. A look was enough to quiet the room.

When he spoke, his voice was soft, but unrelenting.

"Loyalty is a delicate thing." His voice cut through the air. "It needs to be tested. Tempered. Tested again. And again. And again."

No one could immediately tell where he was leading with this, not even Makros who thought he knew the man all too well.

"We've seen betrayal," he said. "And we've seen where it takes us. But those who are left, those who survive, are worth remembering."

As he paused to let that sink, Makros finally understood what this gathering was called for. It made his skin crawl with so much anticipation but he had to maintain composure.

"Dragon," Don Matteo called sharply.

Dragon leaned forward slightly, his posture at ease as always, but his eyes burned with an intensity that could set the room on fire.

"You've worked for this family for years," the Don said, his voice levelled. "As underboss to Makros, there is no higher position I could grant you." His eyes narrowed to a slit. "But loyalty still has its rewards."

He paused to let the words take hold.

"Starting today, you'll receive a ten percent bonus on every shipment deal we make. I'm going to add more to your wealth."

A murmur ran through the room.

Dragon nodded his head in appreciation. "Thank you, Don. I appreciate it."

Makros kept quiet, but in his thoughts, he had been estimating just how much ten percent was worth. It was a good bonus for loyalty.

The Don continued.

"Nicolai."

Leila caught his jaw tense, but his expression remained stoic. She wondered why he always acted like that, like an unemotional sac of balls.

"You are a strategist. You are effective. And above all—loyal."

The Don paused for a long time, considering making Nicolai shift in his seat with some level of anxiety.

"You will be Caporegime."

Nicolai finally let go of the stale breath he was holding and nodded his head. "Thank you, Don. I won't disappoint you."

Caporegime? Makros barely even looked at him. It was a befitting role for a man who went undercover for them with the ambassador, and being instrumental in getting Aleksei out of prison. But the question of the hour still lingered in his mind: Why now? Why these changes? And where is mine?

Then the Don spoke again and Makros leaned forward expectantly only to be disappointed when his father spoke another name.

"Estela."

The head maid stepped forward, hands neatly folded in front of her. Though Leila had once harbored speculative jealousy toward her, seeing Estela outside the confines of the sex dungeon cast her in an entirely different light.

"You have been the backbone of this household." The Don's tone contained something strange—respect. "You see more than most. You know more than you let on. That is valuable."

There was another pause.

"From here on out, you are chief of staff."

Makros nodded, weighing the role against what he knew of the woman. No objections, she had earned it.

Then, he watched as the Don's lips parted again. His pulse quickened. This was it...his turn.

"Stefanos."

The name came with greater import than the others. The air in the room became charged, energy moving infinitesimally.

Cursily seated, Stefanos bent forward, finally acknowledging the moment.

The Don regarded him for a long beat. Makros, watching closely, was reminded of the secret his father had kept, the knowledge that Stefanos had once tried to force himself on Leila. And yet, here they were.

"You have proven... adaptable," the Don continued. "Which can be a strength or a weakness. Time will tell. But you are family, and you have been loyal in your own way."

A smirk ghosted across Stefanos' lips.

Makros and Dragon exchanged a look. No words, just an understanding that passed between them.

"You will be head of external operations," the Don finally declared.

Leila scoffed beside Makros, unimpressed.

Makros' fingers curled against the armrest, his grip tightening.

It took effort—real effort, not to speak out.

This motherfucker, still under suspicion of betrayal, had just been given control over alliances, new ventures, and the gatekeeping of their world.

But that was a mistake Makros could correct, once he had proof.

The Don let out a brief chuckle. "I'll admit, we have no shortage of competent men. But I'll sleep easier knowing Stefanos is handling our outside affairs. Now, I know many of you would agree he doesn't exactly fit the mold because he makes jokes—"

Laughter rippled through the room, punctuating the Don's words before it died down. Even Stefanos grinned, spreading his hands in mock surrender.

"But we need someone like Stefanos for diplomatic reasons," the Don continued, his tone shifting to something more deliberate. "Someone who knows when to talk, when to listen, and when to pull the trigger."

Stefanos inclined his head. "Ah, so my charm does come in handy."

Dragon rolled his eyes. "Don't push it."

Another chuckle ran through the gathering.

Leila studied Stefanos, then flicked her gaze to Makros, noting the ease in his posture despite the storm she knew brewed beneath. He was playing along, but she could see it, the way his fingers still tapped against the chair, the way his eyes occasionally drifted toward Stefanos, calculating.

Makros finally locked eyes with his father and held his gaze. He didn't shift in his seat, but his fingers stopped tapping.

"I am resigning," the Don finally said. The words felt like he had just passed a death sentence upon himself. "Makros will take my place."

Don Matteo allowed himself a brief moment of introspection after he said so.

There was once a time he'd thought that he would divide the Crete empire between his two sons.

But then his wife passed on in a ghastly car accident and he had to be both mother and father.

When one of his sons began to be a nuisance he sent him away to never show up in the family again unless he was ready to die.

He missed his wife, she was the only one who could calm him down emotionally.

He was hardly emotional till this day but his decision to banish one son had been an emotional one.