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DECLAN

I prowl the dimly lit bar inside Inferno, the stale smell of beer and sweat clinging to the air, feeling like a caged beast.

The private bar inside is on the top floor and requires an extensive security check that Enzo has installed. Fingerprints, retina, the works.

This is where the business happens.

The fun happens below us.

Finally the doors open. A perplexed Finn and a relaxed Conan stroll through. Conan beelines towards the bar and starts pouring our drinks.

“Talk, Dec,” Finn presses, taking a seat at the bar.

I shake my head and hold up my finger, downing my scotch first.

“Reggie said you broke your own rules. Twice,” Finn says harshly, sipping his own drink.

“I had to,” I reply, lighting up my third cigarette in half an hour.

“Explain. You’ve never once entered a game. You’ve outright refused even Conan’s ideas. Why now? Why her?”

His jaw ticks. Finn himself is probably diagnosable as a true psychopath. Perhaps it takes one to spot one?

She’s under his skin, for entirely different reasons than me.

“We want her to win. She needed help. I knew she did.” I swallow the burning lump in my throat.

It’s a half-truth.

Even if she lost, I can intercept her and interrogate her, regardless. It’s my fucking game. My factory.

A chuckle escapes Finn’s lips, and Conan stares at me, his confusion evident in his wide eyes.

“I told him to have fun,” Conan tells Finn.

I don’t need defending.

Pulling out my cigarette packet, I offer one to Finn, who accepts and pulls out his Zippo.

“You losing your head over her, brother? If so, I can step in and finish the games,” he tells me, exhaling the smoke into my direction.

“No. I’m fine. I just need a break. So do the girls.”

Conan lets out a low chuckle.

“You’re too nice to them,” he tells me.

“I don’t want my potential sub to be scared to death every time I breathe near them, Con,” I snap back.

I’ve read enough books now to know exactly how to create the perfect submissive.

Balancing fear and pleasure. Learning exactly what gets them going. How to turn their minds off.

And what better way to learn how to be a dominant than by the words of a woman.

“Fair enough. I do.” Conan walks round to our side of the bar and takes a seat next to Finn.

“So what exactly is your plan?” Finn asks, and I take another drag.

“Please fucking tell me you have one.” Finn rubs his hands over his face and lets out a huff. Patience has never been his strong suit.

Except he can operate on someone for hours on end without breaking a sweat, but hits the roof if we don’t answer a question in seconds.

Psychopath.

A brilliant one.

“Of course I fucking have one. She wins the games. We hold her in the last room and interrogate her.”

“And then?” he presses, tilting his head to study me.

“She has to go, Declan,” Conan tells me.

I shoot him a look, dread pitting in my stomach.

“We will have to assess once we get there, who knows her motive or how we can use her. And we need to speak to Enzo.” The words just keep tumbling out.

“You’re stalling. Don’t let her get to you. That’s her plan.” Finn taps his finger to his temple.

“Crazy. Remember that. You could still be in jail or fucking dead because of her.”

I nod, and the anger flows through my veins as I clench my fist.

Finn pulls out some paper from inside his gray trench coat and hands it out to me.

I take it and I crumple it. It’s her application.

“What?” I ask.

“I had another look at the files Enzo sent. This was his late addition.”

I gathered that.

“Russian links. Already screwed you over. The same trip you met Enzo. This isn’t a coincidence.”

My mind spins. Finn doesn’t trust Enzo. Never has. Believes someone with that much power at his fingers can turn at any moment.

That’s why we have minimal help from him. We avoid interventions. We run our games. Enzo helps from a distance.

But would he fuck us over?

Whatever he has going on in Russia is spilling into my territory.

No. We’re an important asset. The games are too. We purposely created this to become too hard to lose.

“With everything going on in Russia, the unrest after Ivan’s death, and Mikhail not wanting to lead the Volkov family there? Yeah, Enzo probably does have another motive. But it won’t be against us, brother.”

I rub the back of my neck, trying to relieve some of the tension. I hope I’m right.

“Fine. I trust you. Maybe speak to him before you reconvene the games? He’s holding his cards, and you fucking need to see them.”

Finn straightens, leaning heavily on the bar, the scent of old wood and stale alcohol heavy in the air, and takes down the bottle of our father’s whiskey.

A constant reminder of how we got here. The empire we’ve built is on the foundations of his sacrifice.

Blood is everything, even in death.

No one takes that from us.

Not even her.