Page 55 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Consequences

The living room was starting to empty out after the promotions had been handed out. Leila and Nicolai were among the last to depart, leaving Makros in his father's company.

"I have not fully stepped down," Don Matteo said. "This was just a formal announcement."

"I figured as much," Makros replied.

His father reached for something in his suit's inner pocket and he produced an envelope. "Someone dropped this for you on my windshield yesterday. Who did you make angry this time?"

Makros took the envelope, ripping out the letter. His gaze sped over the lines:

Makros Crete, your days are numbered. There's no shortage of men waiting to carve your empire into pieces.

No shortage of debts left unpaid. But the real debt?

That's between you and me. The more you search for me, the more I'll take.

You can't protect everything, and you can't stop me.

You'll never see me coming—only what I leave behind.

Tick tock, Makros. It had been signed E.B. in the bottom right corner.

His father gazed at him expectantly.

"It started when I went to see Caruso about the Orel Bratva. I was nearly killed, and in brief, we tracked the hit to a woman named E.B. That's all I know so far."

Don Matteo raised an eyebrow. "There's an assault on you, but you don't even know who is behind it?"

Makros exhaled. "Dad, if I counted all the people I annoyed, I'd die from exhaustion before a bullet. And besides, Dragon is following up a lead."

The Don shook his head, his expression unclear. He leaned forward after a while of silence. "Have you heard from your brother?"

Makros' jaw tightened. He shook his head. "Not since he got thrown out."

His father took a deep breath, but otherwise didn't move. "Good. Let that stay that way. I know you, don't go looking for him to gloat."

Makros scoffed, shaking his head. "Gloat? Please. I'm not looking for him, and even if I was, it wouldn't be to rub anything in. I've always been better than him."

His father studied him for a long moment, then exhaled. "Alright then."

Makros' grip on the letter tightened. He tapped the envelope against his palm, pressing his lips into a thin line before speaking. "I'll look into this."

By the time he reached his office, the tension in his muscles had settled into something sharper, edged with intent. He pushed open the door, crossed to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a drink.

The red liquid foamed as he raised the glass to his lips.

Behind him, the door creaked open.

Makros did not turn, but he could see the reflection in the glass of the liquor cabinet.

"What have you gotten out of Dimitri?" he asked, his voice level.

Dragon stepped into the room, arms crossed, his posture heavy with weight Makros didn't appreciate.

Dragon's tone was cutting. "Dimitri's dead."

Makros froze.

Slowly he turned, gripping the glass more tightly. "Dead, how?"

Dragon's face remained impassive. "That's the part we don't know. But the killer has to be in this house."

Makros breathed sharply. His mind shut down to the inevitable response.

"Stefanos," he said quietly.

Dragon's face locked up, but he wouldn't neither deny nor confirm.

Makros' eyes hardened. "He killed Dimitri. To keep him quiet. To cover up his own trail with Vincenzo."

"You don't know that," Dragon said, voice even. "You're jumping to conclusions."

Makros sneered. "And you're sentimental. Blind."

Dragon's jaw tightened, but he didn't let his frustration turn to anger. "It's your call. You're the boss." With that, he turned and walked out.

Makros downed the rest of his drink. He was going to have a word with Stefanos. No more messing around.

He left the study, shutting the door behind him.

He moved with purpose through the house.

He first went into the lounge, where Stefanos usually had visitors, but it was empty except for some of the maids taking care of the previous day's mess.

Then he went to the billiard room, where Stefanos liked to drink and play. But Stefanos was not there either.

His irritation mounted as he checked for him in the home gym. The room was vacant.

Finally, Makros stopped a passing maid. "Where is Stefanos?"

The woman looked thoughtful for a second. Her hands tightened on the tray. "He's in the private spa room, Signore."

Makros didn't waste time, heading straight to the spa room

He found Stefanos in the jacuzzi, lying back with his arms stretched out beside him, steam twisting around him. The soft drone of the jets gave cover to Makros' approach.

Stefanos cracked one eye open, smirking lazily. "You look like hell."

Makros didn't answer. Instead, he moved closer, rolling up his sleeves.

The smirk faded.

"What now?" Stefanos muttered, shifting in the water.

Makros didn't give him a chance to react. He grabbed Stefanos by the back of the head and shoved him under.

Stefanos thrashed, bubbles breaking the surface. When Makros finally yanked him back up, he gasped for air, coughing.

"You have something to say?" Stefanos asked, breath shaking.

Makros shoved him under again.

"Did you kill Dimitri to keep him quiet?"

Stefanos came up sputtering. "Wh—what?"

Makros forced him down once more.

"Did you silence him because you're working for Vincenzo?"

This time, when Stefanos resurfaced, confusion flickered into irritation. "I don't work for Vincenzo! What the hell is this? Makros, let's talk without the drowning part."

Makros didn't push him under again, but he kept a firm grip.

"You warned Dimitri that I was closing in.

Don't act dumb, your key card was used to access the control room the same night I sent Dragon after him.

Dimtri confirmed you called him from there.

Mother fucker you tried to force yourself on my wife! "

Stefanos exhaled sharply, frustration tightening his jaw. "I admit I flirted with your wife to test her loyalty. That was personal." His gaze darkened. "But to think I'd work against my own family? Makros, how could you even think that?"

Makros' expression remained cold. "I'm closing in on you, Stefanos. Soon, I'll find dirt on you—"

Stefanos cut him off, eyes flashing with fury. "Fu— fuck you, Makros. Do your worst. But you should know, I'd never betray this family. I'm not the one who married his family's killer."

Makros' fists clenched, but he let him go.

Stefanos watched him leave, jaw tight.

Makros went straight to Leila's room.

She looked up as he entered. One glance at his face, and she knew whatever he was there for was serious business.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Your father just abdicated power to you. Why do you look so—"

"Dimitri's dead," interrupted Makros in a subdued tone.

Leila's eyes twitched. "Okay... so, you tortured him to death?"

"No, Stefanos killed him before we could," Makros Said. "But I have no evidence."

Leila's fists clenched. "Stefanos?" she queried mildly. "So what will you do?"

"I need to kill him," Makros said.

He didn't say I would have to kill him. He said he needs to kill him. She noted the difference.

Leila looked at him, trying to read his expression but all she could see was the same fuming look. "Do you believe me now?"

"I do."

Leila exhaled. But before relief could set in, Makros stepped closer. His voice dipped low.

"There's something you should know."

She stiffened and silently hoped that whatever she needed to know had nothing to do with Dimitri saying she'd helped him escape.

Makros leaned in, watching her reaction as he said, "I did kill your family in revenge."

Leila swallowed, caught by surprise by the sudden admittance. "Whose revenge?"

Makros quietly sighed.

"Mine."

Her breath caught.

"What did my family do to you?"

Makros locked gazes with her, silent for a while. Then, finally, he spoke.

"They killed my wife and child."

Leila gasped, but Makros was not finished. He allowed just the right amount of brokenness to creep into his voice to reveal his pain.

“I was away working. I came back, and my house was quiet. I found my wife inside, hanging on. My son—" His throat closed, but he forced himself to continue. "They murdered him first. She lived long enough to say who had done it."

"My family?" Leila whispered, a tide of faintness washing over her.

His eyes darkened, locking onto hers. "Yes, your father had an assassin sent on my wife and child. Your family targeted mine first."

Leila stumbled backward, shaking her head in denial. "No."

Makros breathed out, half sigh, half laugh. "Yes."

Leila's breath caught, her mind struggling to get around his words. No. That can't be. Her father had been cruel to men, but he had never been cruel to women and children.

She shook her head, her heart racing in her ears. "No. " The word was little more than a whisper. Then louder, more forceful, "No. That doesn't make any sense."

Makros simply stared at her, his face expressionless.

She retreated. "What did you do?" Her voice shook despite herself. "They wouldn't just go after your family. My father wouldn't—"

Makros snarled. "Wouldn't what? Kill an innocent?" His voice sliced through the dense air between them, cutting as a blade. "I didn't do anything to deserve to lose them, Leila."

Her gut churned. "That's not possible. My father never went after women and children. We don't—"

Makros' head inclined to the side, his eyes narrowing. "You don't?"

Leila hesitated.

"Hardly," she said finally, but the word was bitter in her mouth.

"Your father was a heartless man," Makros said, his voice lower now, but no less menacing.

Leila's nails dug into her palms. She had no reply to him.

Makros moved in, closing the space between them. "Do you want to know why I let you live?" His voice lowered, almost teasing. "Because I had questions, Leila. I needed to know why. Your family ripped mine apart, and I never got to ask why before I had to bury them."

Leila swallowed. Memories surfaced in her mind of her father and his men returning from mission, faces somber, the bloodstain on them. It was always self-defense. Kill or be killed her father had told her.

But now? Now doubt wrapped itself around her ribs like a vice.

"My father..." she started, but the words got lodged in her throat.

Makros' face clouded. "Was a murderer, just like me."

Leila flinched.

He exhaled roughly, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know why they did it, Leila. I don't know what reason your father had, what garbage excuse he gave himself to make it seem required." His jaw clenched. "But I do know one thing—your family didn't waste any time."

Leila looked away, pressing a hand to her forehead. Her heart ached painfully in her chest.

Everything she had known, everything she had held onto—it was collapsing beneath her feet, rendering her unstable.

Did I know my father at all?

She wanted to protest, to demand proof, but in her heart, she already knew that Makros wasn't lying. His hatred had been too intimate, too raw. And if she put together everything she had found out from Stefanos and Estela it all falls into place.

She clenched her fists. "If that's the case..." Her voice cracked. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "If that's the case, then what am I to do with this?"

Makros let out a low, humorless laugh. "That's up to you, agápi mou. You wanted revenge. Now you have the entire story."

Leila shut her eyes.

Revenge.

She had spent so much time dreaming and plotting his downfall. Had fantasized, over and over, about making him suffer. But now...Now she was no longer certain she wanted it.

She turned to him again, her eyes probing him with intentionality. "Did killing them make you feel better?"

Makros' expression did not change. "No."

Leila's breath shook and she felt her body shudder slightly. "Then what was the point?"

Makros didn't answer right away. He merely gazed at her, waiting to see if she would reach the conclusion on her own.

"I could ask you the same, Leila. Why do you want me dead? Justice. Revenge." He exhaled. "In the end, it didn't bring my family back."

With that, the gravity of it all came crashing down upon her.