Page 128 of Sinful

I walked deeper into the room and stared at the monitors, taking in all the information. I had no idea what any of it meant. Computers weren’t really my thing. Ashes spent more time fucking around with them than I did.

“What are you working on?” I finally asked.

“I’m working on breaking into Ivanov’s accounts. He has them on lockdown. I’ve never seen code like this before.”

I watched in silence, wondering what my father was up to. Whatever it was could seriously fuck us all if it went south.

“Work harder,” I said in a deadly whisper. “Faster. Results are needed now, not tomorrow.”

The man stopped typing furiously and didn’t move for a moment. Finally, he turned and faced me.

I blinked rapidly at him, something in his face making my guts churn.

He was familiar. Too fucking familiar.

“I am trying. I can only do what I can do. He has me roadblocked at every turn. He’s smart. Ivanov’s paranoia works in his favor. It always has.”

I swallowed. “Indeed.”

The man rubbed his eyes and pushed his dark hair away from his face, his blue eyes filled with exhaustion. Black rings from lack of sleep circled his eyes.

“What’s your name?” I asked after a moment, my heart thrumming quickly.

He looked up at me from his seat and let out a soft laugh.

“It’s funny you should come in here and ask my name. I figured the son of Satan would know it, or does he not give you pertinent information like names when he sends you to do his bidding, Dante?”

I narrowed my eyes at him and pulled my knife out. I gave it a twirl, trying to soothe the monster inside me who wanted answers but feared them.

“Right.” He eyed my blade. Judging by the look in his eyes, he’d contemplated attacking. Had he not wasted away down here, we may have been a fair match. He knew better, though. “My name is Anatoly Sokolov.”

“Is it?” I demanded in a low rumble.

“It is. Of course, I’ve gone by many names. I’m sure you’ve heard of me before. Nathaniel, Frederick, William—”

“Jonathan,” I said, a slight wobble to my voice.

He blinked in surprise at me. “Yes. Jonathan.”

“Lawrence.”

He crinkled his brows as he stared back at me. “Everett told you that one?”

“He told me nothing,” I snarled. “You have daughters.”

He exhaled, his hands trembling. The careful, strong mask he’d had in place slipped. “Do you. . . know my girls?”

“Yes.”

“You-you haven’t hurt them, have you? They aren’t here, are they?” He went from somewhat cocky to terrified as he rose to his feet. “Please. They are good girls—”

“How would you know?” I asked, anger surging through me. “You haven’t seen them in years.”

“I-I couldn’t.”

“Or wouldn’t,” I snapped at him. “You walked out and left them. Do you even know what happened to them?”

The trembling in his body grew. “What happened to them? Please. . .”

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