Page 98 of Inferno

He’s there to keep an eye on me, a replacement handler while Drago is busy, but like every op I lead. He’s almost as useless as Misha was.

Except this one is less creepy. He fears Vlad, and that keeps him far away from me.

“Well, one armed guard is out front. Inside is anyone’s guess. You got enough ammo?” I turn to him, and he scratches his head.

“Yea. You?”

I nod, retrieving my gun and flicking off the safety.

“See you on the other side, I guess. Wait till my shot to go in,” I tell him and crawl close enough to get a shot on the guard.

Once I line it up, a wave of guilt washes over me as I watch him light a cigarette.

I wonder if he has a family?

Taking a deep breath, I shake my head. He’s a piece of shit like the rest of Ivan’s men. He wouldn’t hesitate to blow my head off, either.

The recoil jolts my shoulder as I pull the trigger, and I watch him crumple to the ground in slow motion.

One.

Two.

Three.

Bang.

Dimi is in.

The sharp crack of gunshots fills the air, and I react instantly, sprinting for the front door, snatching the guard’s AK-47 as I pass.

A heavy, expectant silence greets me as I push open the front door, the only sound the faint creak of the hinges. Two dead bodies in front of my feet.

Dimi grins and rubs his hands together. Of course he will be the one who gains from all of this.

As he opens his mouth to speak, a deafening shot rings out, sending him diving for cover.

Fucking pussy.

I fling myself behind the nearest wall, the sound of my breath echoing in the sudden silence, and peer around the corner, my eyes straining to see.

A tall, dark-haired guy emerges from one of the bedrooms, his presence filling the hallway.

With a ferocious roar, he lunges at Dimi, who, in response, immediately issues a bear hug to tackle him to the ground, the impact jarring. He’s also a fucking beast of a man.

I rush over as Dimi slams him to the floor, his neck pinned beneath Dimi’s weight, and the breath whooshing from his lungs.

His eyes are wide and filled with terror, pleading with me as I point the gun between them, the cold steel pressing against his skin.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he croaks.

I look at Dimi. Maybe we should listen. I wonder what tales he has about the organizations.

Any knowledge to me is power.

“Shoot him,” Dimi shouts, as the guy struggles.

He’s young. Probably only twenty.

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