Page 105 of Inferno

“Do you recognize this name? Igor Popov?” I ask.

“Off the top of my head, no. I can check the records we took from my father’s estate. If he worked for Ivan, I’ll be able to tell you.”

“Appreciate it.”

“He alive?” Mikhail asks quietly.

“No. Tried to infiltrate Decadence. I wanna know who is behind it.”

“I don’t see any Russians coming for power in the States. They’d have to get through me first. I’d say it’s unrelated to my father. They’re being wiped out every day. Hardly any remain from my sources.”

I rub my temples, feeling the tension slowly melt away with each circular motion.

So who the fuck is behind this?

“I’m sure I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“There’s always someone. If you need me or my men, let me know. We’re pretty sweet here now.”

“Thanks, Mikhail. Same goes for you.”

We say our goodbyes and cut the call.

Taking a picture of the ID card, I shoot it over to Enzo and Mikhail.

I try not to pester him too much. We want to establish ourselves as our own unit.

But he’d be able to find out who this is.

Checking the security feeds for Decadence, I see the front iron gates, their stillness hinting at an eerie quiet in the pre-dawn light.

Three contestants, each carrying a backpack and looking determined yet full of fear, have already arrived. I’m eagerly awaiting the final two to put faces to the names.

Ebony is who I’m looking forward to. Contestant number three. The first woman to ever catch my eye enough to think about offering her the alternative deal.

My phone vibrates, and it’s the man, Enzo himself. I lock my computer as I head back to my house.

I need to get ready for the games to start.

Chapter 35

CHARLOTTE

The drive from the airport was a welcome reprieve since I wasn’t forced to endure a suffocating, blindfolded journey.

But the blacked-out windows mean I still can’t see anything outside.

I’ve got two heavily armed guards on either side of me in the Escalade.

Neither have said a single word to me, or hardly even looked at me.

Distracted, I nervously twist the rope binding my hands, the rough hemp scratching against my skin, a dull ache growing in my wrists. The car slows down, and the driver opens his window. Not that I can see through the black partition, but I can hear him.

Italian possibly. They’re so muffled it’s hard to make out.

I keep as still as possible as the guard on my left opens his door. Taking in a deep breath of fresh air is a relief. My head is still kinda fuzzy from the way over here.

The light almost blinds me as I look outside.

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