Page 136 of Malicious Claim

It maddened him and he wanted to lash back at Stefanos, punish or kill him, but he could not afford to be reckless. Not yet. Not without knowing exactly what Stefanos had done.

Makros controlled his breathing, forcing himself to think. Stefanos' betrayal had to be crystal clear to him. He wouldn't waste his cousin on accusations. Couldn't just kill him because he was screwing with his wife.

He could summon Stefanos right now, demand the truth, and break him down until he confessed how deep his betrayal ran. A violent interrogation. Painful. Direct.

Or he could watch him longer. Play the ignorant fool. Let Stefanos believe he was still being discreet while tightening the noose around his neck.

Makros breathed hard. The second option would require him to wait. And waiting never came naturally to him.

But it was the more prudent decision.

He would pretend not to know anything. Let Stefanos continue to carry out his plan, let him slip up. Let him dig his own grave

when the time was right...He would bury him in it.

Chapter Fifty-One

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.