Page 44 of Malicious Claim

A small, fractured sob crackled through the speaker. "P-Papa... please... do what they say..."

She sounded terrified, her voice shaking. The noise in the club had dulled enough that a few guests nearby picked up fragments of the conversation, their faces shifting with curiosity and concern.

The ambassador’s already heavy breathing came out in pants. His eyes darted around, desperate for control. "Vanessa, where are you? Who has you?"

A muffled voice interrupted. Male. Distorted.

"Mr. Ambassador, I'd like to make an exchange. Your daughter for a prisoner's freedom. A fair exchange."

The ambassador's grip on the phone tightened. "You're out of your damn mind if you think–"

"Papa, please!" Vanessa's panicked plea cut him off. There was a rustling sound, as if someone had yanked the phone from her grasp.

"Don't test our patience," the voice was distorted but firm. "You have twenty-four hours. If our man isn't freed, you'll never see your daughter again."

Click. The call was dropped.

Silence stretched in the club as the ambassador slowly lowered the phone, his chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths. His jaw was clenched so tightly I thought it might snap.

I stepped forward then, with a carefully composed expression of concern. "Mr. Ambassador," I started smoothly, "What's going on?"

His gaze snapped to mine, wild and filled with a rage barely restrained. I tilted my head in a pose that conveyed worry. "Was that Vanessa?"

The ambassador exhaled sharply, shoving the phone into his pocket. “It's none of your concern.”

I nodded, offering a slow, understanding smile. "Of course. But should you need any resources to... resolve this situation, I am at your disposal. I let the police check our cams, my men are collaborating with witnesses."

His nostrils flared, but he gave a stiff nod before storming toward the exit.

I watched him leave, a satisfied smirk tugging at my lips.

Everything was falling into place.

Chapter Eighteen

Can't Kill My Confidence

The hallway leading to Don Matteo Crete's chambers was blanketed with a peaceful stillness. The low humming of a violin played, its pensive tune filling the space with a tranquil calm.

Makros didn't hesitate as he approached the heavy double doors, pushing them open without waiting for permission.

The Don sat in his leather chair, swirling a glass of brandy. His sharp gaze locked on Makros the moment he entered.

"Sit," the Don ordered.

Makros obeyed, settling into the chair across from him. There was no emotional connection between them, only an unspoken understanding that they both knew their responsibilities in this underworld of crime.

The Don set his glass down with a soft clink and studied his son with an intent gaze. "You went too far as usual."

Makros arched his brow. "I didn't realize we had boundaries."

"The ambassador's daughter," Matteo continued, ignoring the sarcasm in Makros's tone. "It was reckless."

Makros smirked. "Actually, it was effective."

Don Matteo leaned forward with a slight movement. "I didn't come this far without control and precision. But you Makros, you're like wildfire. This is loud. Too desperate." His gaze narrowed. "Do you know what happens if this falls apart? If the ambassador finds out about our involvement in his daughter's abduction?"

Makros didn't break a sweat. "It won't fall apart."