Opening her bedside drawer, I pull out the sleek black laptop she was given when she first arrived so she could still complete her schoolwork while they hunted down Elias and Christian.
Flipping open the top, the laptop whirs to life.
“She didn’t have it locked?” Surprise tints his voice. “Who doesn’t lock their laptop?”
I shrug. “Someone who has nothing to hide that isn’t already secure?”
It makes sense. Libby would have only ever had her schoolwork on the computer, which she completed from the safety of the penthouse after Vas had her switched to online classes. She wouldn’t have needed to lock her laptop. But she would have protected the information she copied over from Elias’s black books.
The question is—where would she put imperative information on her laptop? A sub drive is possible, but I’m not seeing anything popping out at me other than her normal school documents. I think back to what I read in her journal. The hastily scrawled numbers and name. I assume Demeter is a username I would enter to access a specific file, but there isn’t anything in her files that doesn’t just open. No passwords are needed for any of them.
Where the fuck did she put it?
“What if it isn’t to a file,” Vas states. “What if it’s to a site or even another account on the laptop.”
“Worth a try.” I log out of the current account to get to the main screen. Nothing. There isn’t even an option to log in to another one. “Wait.” The lightbulb clicks. The dawn rises. It’s all coming full circle. “What was Demeter’s daughter’s name in the Greek myth?”
“Um,” Vas thinks for a moment before the lightbulb dings. “Persephone.”
“Persephone’s Web.” We both say aloud. Persephone’s Web is an underground chat room and dark web encryption hosting platform. Unlike most of the dark web, Persephone’s Web was created to help people in need find and store vital information on taking down organizations like Elias’s. Libby and I learned about it from Mark before I pulled a Houdini and disappeared in the dead of night under Elias’s nose.
Persephone is a legend. Having exposed more sex trafficking rings and shady government officials and deals than every law enforcement agency in the world. It’s a safe space for victims or families of victims to find justice without all the expenses.
My fingers move lightning fast, clicking back into Libby’s primary account. I missed it. There’s a small black symbol that blends in with the swirling of her wallpaper in the top right corner of the screen. It’s Demeter’s symbol in Greek mythology. Full stalks of grain.
I double click.
And wait with bated breath as the rainbow icon of the mouse shifts and turns.
“Yes!” I grin broadly when a sub screen pops up before my eyes requesting a password. Entering the digits I saw in her journal, I press enter.
Bingo.
“Holy fucking shitballs, Batman,” Vas murmurs under his breath as file after file pops onto the screen.
“I really hope she labeled these,” I mutter. There’s enough data on the screen that it will take weeks to sift through.
“Well, that’s why there is more than one of us,” Vas winks at me and stands. “Let’s get this back to the compound. We can get the others to help.”
The others.
Maxim and Nikolai have been scarce since I took up the mantle ofPakhan. Dima is apparently out of the country on personal business, and Leon is busy helping build alliances with my Uncle Dante and the Cosa Nostra.
I think.
Or he’s out assassinating them.
Vas hasn’t made it super clear.
At this point, I couldn’t care less.
forty-eight
The drive to the compound takes longer than normal thanks to the heavy flow of traffic. I haven’t been back since the first time Matthias brought me here, and I miss it. Mark’s smiling face greets me as I step out of the vehicle. Vladimir, my driver and secondary guard, nods at me as I close the door to the SUV and leads me up the stairs that descend into the underground bunker.
He’s tall and largely muscled. The pristine white dress shirt he wears is stretched tightly over his chest, the seams straining at his broad shoulders. I wait in silent anticipation for the buttons to suddenly burst off. His accent is thick and deep, his skin covered in tattoos from the Cyrillic Russian letters on his knuckles to the ink scrawled up his neck.
Vladimir is one intimidating motherfucker, and if he weren’t on my side, I might have shit my pants when I first met him. No joke.
