Page 54 of Malicious Claim

Monroe kept his voice steady as he arranged for the prisoner’s release under ‘special circumstances.’ There was pushback: protocols, security measures, but an ambassador’s influence could smooth over many obstacles.

The warden eventually relented. “The prisoner will be transferred under your escort in two hours. You’ll have to sign off on it personally.”

Monroe nodded, ending the call.

Makros stood, pushing up his cuffs. "Good thinking. I don't have a daughter but if I did I'd do the same."

Monroe looked at him suspiciously. "You're too deep in this. Why?"

Makros chuckled, standing to make his exit. "Well, Mr. Ambassador, having your guest kidnapped on the opening night of your club isn't exactly the press I was hoping for."

Sam moved as if he had performed this a thousand times during his lifetime.

His attire was modest: black tactical pants, fitted jacket, and holster pressed against his ribcage. A switchblade was hidden in his boot.

The ambassador watched him checking the car, a black, shiny SUV, the same one Leila had rammed into, tinted windows beyond legal standards. "Do you think they'll kill you?"

Sam did not hesitate. "Always a possibility."

Monroe shifted. "You don't sound concerned."

Sam turned at last, his expression neutral. "Because I know how to survive."

Monroe regarded him for a long time. "Just bring my daughter back in one piece."

Sam nodded once before getting into the driver's seat.

As the car pulled away, the Ambassador's face was contemplative. He was thinking of sending a covert backup to follow Sam.

Makros, who stood beside him, read his face as if it were a book. "I see what you're thinking, Ambassador. I would advise against it. This is Italy, and criminal or not, men here keep their word."

Monroe glared at Makros, his irritation kept in check. "You actually think they'll hold up?"

Makros looked at him, a flash of cynicism in his eyes. "I don't think. I know."

Monroe's jaw locked. "What if they don't?"

Makros shrugged. "Then we'll deal with it. But I wouldn't do anything to defy their instructions."

Monroe eyed him warily. "Why?"

Makros glanced back at him. "Because it'll give them an excuse to make it worse."

Monroe didn't answer, simply looked back in the direction the SUV had disappeared.

Chapter Twenty Three

Submission is an Illusion

Leila lay back on the silk-draped, cold bed, her entire body less painful because her wounds had been bandaged and she'd had some pain relievers. She was in a different kind of pain now, a psychological pain, one that numbed and blunted her senses more than the pain relievers could ever do.

That was why she didn’t hear the door when it creaked open.

Makros crept in soundlessly like a cat but she could tell he was there. She could always tell whenever his presence filled a room.

He had left her for hours, giving her time to stew on the failure of her escape. Now, he stood at the end of the bed, face devoid of expression, but his eyes flamed with something evil, something demanding.

"You are good," he admitted, voice smooth, almost laughing. "Three men down. Impressive."

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