Page 72 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Spoiling Her Silly.

Makros asked Nicolai to take him to the Bronx Hotel after work.

There was a dinner party Vasilis was hosting. His company had just turned sixteen years old.

Makros sat in the backseat of the black SUV, eyes lazily tracking the passing lights outside the tinted windows.

Nicolai drove using one hand, the other one drumming rhythmically against his leg to the beat of an old Italian song playing from the speakers.

Makros glanced up, catching Nicolai's reflection in the rearview mirror. An unpleasant and unwelcomed thought flickered in his mind briefly before he pushed it away.

The Bronx Hotel appeared up ahead, tall and strikingly beautiful, all glass, glowing with enthralling lights. Valets danced between cars that probably had names beside what their manufacturer called them. Guests strutted in like walking ads for wealth and riches.

"Che festa lussuosa (this party is luxurious)," Nicolai muttered before his eyes fell on an elegantly dressed figure. "Hey, boss, that Polly Prairie over there?"

Makros followed him with his eyes to a tall, champagne-dress woman, laughing too loudly as she clung on someone's arm.

He didn't recognize her. "Is she meant to be someone?"

Nicolai killed the ignition, twisting around in his seat. "Seriously? Polly? Was there for you when your—"

Makros cut him off. "I don't remember her."

"Ah, I see," Nicolai answered. "You don't want to talk about her because of Leila. You used to have bitches line up your doorsteps and keep a list of every single one. Now you're forgetting them like they're nothing."

Nicolai heard the door shut with a soft thud before he even registered Makros already walking toward the grand entrance. He scrambled out, handed the key over to a valet and jogged to catch up.

At the lobby entrance, security scanned them with a handheld metal detector. Makros came out clean. Nicolai? Not so much. The device beeped sharply.

"I'm his bodyguard," Nicolai said quickly, flashing a smile and gesturing at Makros. "Security detail."

"No guns allowed inside the premises," the guard said firmly, extending his hand. "You can retrieve it on your way out."

Nicolai hesitated, looking to Makros for backup, but all he got was a short nod of approval. With a sigh, he handed over his pistol.

"That's an M12," Nicolai muttered as he placed it gently in the guard's palm. "Special issue. Please don't let the janitor walk off with it."

The guard gave him a flat stare. Nicolai patted his chest before walking on.

Makros shook his head as they stepped into the grand ballroom. "This guy," he mumbled under his breath.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick with elegant decorations. Soft jazz played from a live quartet in the corner, and the scent of different food and drinks clung to the air.

Though the event had only just begun, a few well-dressed guests were already seated around tastefully decorated round tables. The crowd was full of elite CEOs, high-ranking executives, and a few socialites thrown in for color.

Makros selected a table near the center and sat down. Nicolai hovered.

"What are you doing?" Makros asked without looking up.

"Um, standing guard like a loyal soldier?"

Makros glanced at him and sighed. "For god sakes, Nic, sit down before someone mistakes you for an overpaid waiter."

Nicolai chuckled and pulled out the chair beside him. "I thought of myself as a bodyguard... But really, boss, why didn't you bring Leila? It's a dinner party. Look around you everyone's got their plus-one. People might start thinking things about us."

Makros shot him a glare. "Okay, Nic. Nobody gives a damn who you're fucking these days. Just shut up and let me think."

Nicolai raised both hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. But—"

The gentle clinking of a spoon against glass silenced the room.

All heads turned toward a tall man in an immaculate charcoal suit. Mr. Vasilis. His silver hair was slicked back, and he held his champagne flute with the confidence of someone who had negotiated empires into existence.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Vasilis began, voice smooth and commanding, "it is my honor to have you here tonight.

We've gathered not just to enjoy fine food and drink, but to remind ourselves of the power of connection.

We are not just CEOs. We are visionaries, creators.

Tonight is not merely a celebration, no, it's an opportunity.

So make deals. Forge bonds. Don't just fill your glasses, fill your portfolios. "

Laughter in the way rich people do spread through the room followed by scattered applause. Vasilis smiled and raised his glass in a toast. "To ambition, and those bold enough to chase it."

Makros lifted his glass, but his expression was unreadable. Nicolai leaned in slightly. "You think he's full of shit?"

Makros didn't answer. He just sipped.

As the applause died down, servers began moving gracefully between tables, pouring wine and placing plates of food in front of the guests. The hum of conversation slowly returned, but it was measured, somehow even in this setting professionality wasn't lost.

Makros picked at the filet mignon on his plate, his mind elsewhere. He was thinking, dreaming in fact of returning home to Leila.

Vasilis made his rounds, stopping by each table, exchanging brief greetings. When he reached Makros, he placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Walk with me," he said quietly.

Makros stood, nodding for Nicolai to stay put. They stepped out of the dinner hall onto a quiet balcony that overlooked the city skyline, its glass railing glowing faintly under recessed lights.

Vasilis took out a cigar but didn't light it. He just held it between his fingers like a comfort object.

"This is a strange world, Makros," he said. "One moment you're building an empire. The next, someone's trying to set it on fire."

Makros didn't answer immediately. He leaned on the rail, his gaze distant.

"You're not talking about shoes anymore," he said eventually.

Vasilis smiled thinly. "No. I'm talking about you." He paused briefly. "Why would someone shoot your wife?"

The question hung in the air, inescapably and inevitably needing an answer. As potential business partners, Makros understood why Vasilis needed to ask. Nobody wanted to go into business with someone who had bullets following them around.

Makros straightened slowly. "I've been asking myself the same thing."

"She isn't just a pretty face at your side," Vasilis continued. "The moment you married her, you invited her into a world with no fences. Jealous people will come at you and your loved ones just for being richer than them."

"You think it's because I won the award?"

"I know it is. Been a victim myself. Someone pulled a gun on me and threatened to back out of a deal last year."

Makros's jaw tensed. "Did you back out?"

"I didn't." Vasilis laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "I wanted to, really I did but why should I let another man threaten me. I removed the threat."

Makros laughed, genuinely surprised. "Oh Vasilis, I didn't think a proper businessman like you had it in you."

"Well, I didn't think I had it in me either."

"I'll find out who shot my wife and I'll remove the threat too."

"I'm sure you will," Vasilis said calmly. "But don't let your grief blind you. There are vultures in this room tonight. Smiling, drinking, talking about investment... but they'd tear you apart if they sensed weakness."

Makros met his eyes. "I'm not weak."

Vasilis gave a short, satisfied nod. "Then act like it. Don't vanish from the scene. Don't retreat. Make them nervous."

He stepped back toward the door, then stopped.

"One more thing," he added, voice lower now. "You've got a good woman. Don't shut her out."

Makros's throat felt tight for a moment. "She's resting."

"She's wondering."

Without another word, Vasilis walked back into the party, cigar still unlit. Makros stayed behind, the city lights casting sharp lines across his face. He liked Vasilis, or at least he thought he was going to like him. Maybe someday when he was Don, he could make Vasilis an associate. Who knows?

When he returned to the table a few minutes later, Nicolai glanced at him curiously but said nothing.

Makros sat, picked up his wine glass, and swirled the red liquid inside. He wasn't thinking about shoes. Or sales. Or business.

He was thinking about threats. And how to avert them.

On the ride home, the night outside had deepened into a thick velvet sky, the streets quieter now. Nicolai was surprisingly quiet for once, focused on the road.

Makros broke the silence just as they turned into the villa's estate.

"Take tomorrow off, Nic."

Nicolai's brows furrowed. "What for?"

"It's your brother's death remembrance day, isn't it?"

Nicolai blinked, caught off guard. "Yeah. How'd you remember?"

"I remember everything that matters."

Nicolai didn't respond right away. He first fought the urge to park, pull out his M19 gun and just shoot Makros. A day off wouldn't bring back his brother. Makros should've not even breathed a word about his brother's remembrance.

"Thanks, boss," he said, finally.

Makros heard the underlying hatred beyond those fake gratitude but said nothing.