Page 197 of Malicious Claim

He stepped forward.

"Makros didn't kill the Volkovs. But if any of you lit that fire thinking he'd burn alone, think again."

There was a collective sigh in the room.

Caruso leaned back in his chair. "Why should we be convinced he didn't do it? He betrayed the Volkovs, they drop dead in their own backyard, and suddenly Makros is in Greece. Now he's looking for who will take the fall."

"He didn't do it," Dragon said evenly.

Matteo raised a brow. "That's not what he's letting people believe."

Dragon gripped the table with both hands leaning forward to make himself very clear. "Makros wanted the Russians to think he did it. But he didn't."

Scar-Cheek gave a humorless chuckle. "Not denying a murder is the same as doing it, Dragon. It might earn recognition and power, but it also earns enemies."

Caruso snorted. "And now you come here asking us if we did it."

"I'm asking," Dragon said calmly, "if any of your families had a hand in it."

There was a pause. The kind that stretched too long.

"No," Matteo said first. "It wasn't us. The Volkovs did good for our business."

"Same here," Scar-Cheek grunted. "Too much heat."

Caruso gave a curt shake of his head. "I'd at least have made a statement out of it. That was too surgical for my style."

Bruno tilted his head, but said nothing more.

Dragon let the silence settle. "Then we have a bigger problem. Someone wanted to bring the heat on Makros."

Scar-Cheek lit a cigar, the smoke curling in rings as he exhaled. "Maybe that's what he gets for playing too many sides. Should've picked a lane with Aleksei."

"He made the right call at the time," Dragon replied.

"For him," Matteo murmured, "But not for anyone else."

This was what he feared, there was blood in the water and the sharks were hungry to devour the Cretes.

Dragon straightened. "Makros is still the crowned prince of Italy and that title wasn't given lightly. It came from blood, legacy, and years of proving he could lead this thing when others couldn't. That loyalty isn't just to a man, it's part of what has kept us from tearing each other apart. So if anyone here is thinking of making a move... think carefully. There are better ways to handle the Volkov brothers death than turning on your own."

Scar-Cheek exhaled a puff of smoke, amused. "Tell your prince that if he wants to wear the crown of Italy, he better startacting like a king. Because one more step in the wrong direction we would start to think he's not suited for the position he's been given."

Dragon didn't flinch. "I'll let him know."

With that he stepped out of the building without looking back. He lit a cigarette as he got into his car.

Pieces were moving. Not fast, but deliberate and precise.

Makros was still wearing the crown, sure. But people were starting to place their queen on the board. And in this game, queens didn't just check kings. They bled them slowly.

As Dragon started the car, the weight of another unresolved mystery pressed down on him. If none of the families were behind the Volkov brothers' deaths, then who the hell did it? Vincenzo?

Chapter Seventy-Four

The Other Players

The road stretched long and lonely, bordered on either side by a blur of pine trees. The prisoner transport van hummed low against the old dirt road. Alessio's fingers tapped against the steering wheel to some inaudible beat. Next to him sat his partner, Gavino, a man known for his quiet competence and a knack for seeing trouble before it arrived.

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