The Banker

by Penelope Sky

  The Banker

  Banker #1

  Penelope Sky

  Hartwick Publishing

  The Banker

  Copyright © 2019 by Penelope Sky

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  Siena

  My grandmother left me a small house outside Florence. It was old, a living antique. The pipes were original, and I could hear the water running through the entire house when I flushed the toilet. There were cracks in the stone outside, and the glass in the windows was so aged that they were constantly blurry, regardless of how many times I cleaned them. It was a short distance from the city, so close that I never felt like I was really out in the middle of the Tuscan countryside, but it gave me the quiet and peace I craved. Every morning in spring and summer I could hear the birds chirping outside my window. It’d been a haven to me for a long time—since I’d turned my back on my family.

  But right now, this house couldn’t protect me.

  I sprinted up the wooden staircase, the creaks screaming beneath my feet as I moved as quickly as my body could carry me. There was no point in being quiet—not when they knew I was here.

  “Run, bitch.” Damien led the chase, his two cronies behind him. “It’s more fun this way.” His sinister tone reached every end of the petite home, as if he were speaking over a sound system that amplified every single syllable.

  “Shit.” I made it upstairs and slid across the hardwood floor toward my mattress. Tucked in between the two pieces of the bedding was the revolver I kept for emergencies. I’d disowned my family years ago, so I’d thought I would never need it.

  Guess I was wrong.

  I turned off the safety and prepared to shoot Damien right between the eyes. I wasn’t the kind of person who hesitated when they squeezed the trigger. It was either him or me.

  It certainly wasn’t going to be me.

  Damien took his time moving up the stairs, his heavy footfalls beating like the sound of steady drums. “Sweetheart, I would check that gun if I were you.” His deep voice carried down the hallway, his smile so audible I could actually see it behind my eyes.

  My hands started to shake.

  I opened the barrel and looked inside.

  Empty.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me…” They must have hit my house while I was at work, stripping away all my bullets so I would be unarmed when they came for me. It was smart on their part—because I was a good shot. “Fucking asshole.”

  His laugh drifted down the hall, the sound getting louder because he was so close. He seemed to move slower the closer he approached, as if he wanted to savor this for as long as he could. He cornered me like a rat—and he wanted me to squirm.

  I was no rat—and I didn’t squirm.

  I opened my closet and pushed back all my shoe boxes until I found my sword—a samurai sword given to me as a gift from Kyoto. I removed the sheath and prepared the blade, ready to stab my attacker right through the neck as I’d been taught. I wasn’t a master of the sword, but I certainly knew how to stab someone.

  I pressed my back against the wall and waited for Damien to walk through the open doorway.

  Damien cocked his gun before he moved inside, his gun held at shoulder height. “Sweetheart, you know I love it when you run—”

  I slammed my blade down fast, aiming to sever his arm right at the elbow.

  Damien must have been expecting me to hide there because he dodged out of the way. “Ooh…you look pissed.”

  I slashed my sword at him again.

  He jumped out of the way and kept his gun aimed at my right shoulder. “And sexy.” The corner of his mouth rose in a smile that looked more like a sneer. He was enjoying this way too much. His jet-black hair flopped down in front of his face and hid some of his left eye from view. He was the top dog in the organization—because he loved his job so much.

  I stabbed my sword at his gut, wanting him to bleed out all over my floor.

  He backed up toward my bed. “Sweetheart, I will shoot you.”

  “And I will stab you.” I put all my strength into the move, preparing to drive my sword right through his gut and into the wall behind him.

  He pulled the trigger.

  I didn’t feel the bullet enter my shoulder, just the jerk of my body at the momentum. My shoulder jutted back and my body shifted because the force was much stronger than my own velocity. Smoke burned from the tip of his gun. The smell was suffocating—along with that of my own blood. I dropped my sword but stayed on my feet. It was the first time I’d ever been shot, and the shock that washed over my body protected me from the pain.

  I stayed on my two feet—refusing to fall.

  I held his gaze, my eyes narrowing with a promise of death.

  Damien dropped his smile, and against his will, he showed a slight look of respect. “Damn, you’re stubborn.”

  “Damn, you’re a bad shot.” He’d hit me in the shoulder, missing the main arteries and organs.

  “No. I hit my mark perfectly.” He kept the gun trained on me, this time aiming it between my eyes. “Drop the sword. Or die.” The barrel didn’t shake as it stared me down. “What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?”

  I wanted nothing to do with this life. While I loved my father, I’d told him I wanted nothing to do with his business. By putting some distance between us, I’d thought I could have my own life, a reputation untarnished by the criminal underworld.

  It looked like it had followed me anyway. “What do you want from me?”

  “Drop the sword.”

  “What do you want from me?” I hissed. Blood was ruining my clothes and dripped down my arm. Dizziness settled in my brain. My strength was slowly starting to drift away, but I kept myself upright, like I had something to prove.

  “What does it matter?” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in irritation.

  “Because I need to know if it’s worth dying for.” I wasn’t the kind of person who could be a willing prisoner. Instead of surrendering, I’d much rather die. Maybe it was my family bloodline or my Italian roots, but I was the most stubborn woman on the planet. I’d rather die for what I believed in than submit to anyone.

  He shook his head slightly. “You’ve always been a crazy bitch.”

  “I take that as a compliment.”

  The corner of his mouth rose again. “We have your father. If you want to save him, drop the sword.”

  I continued to hold my pose, my heart beating harder in my chest. My father was being held captive, and if I died then and there, I wouldn’t be able to help him. Damien had me cornered, and he knew it.

  “Continue this suicide mission and die,” he said simply. “Or come with us—and we’ll work out a deal.”

  “Work out a deal?” I hissed. “You’ll just take me and kill me too.”

  “Normally, yes. But I have another use for you. Drop the sword.”

  My hand wanted to keep gripping the handle, but there was doubt planted in my mind. Even if there was nothing I could do to save my father, letting myself die now wasn’t an option. We fell apart a long time ago, but my loyalty had never waned.

  I dropped the sword.

  He grinned wide. “Good girl.”

  2

  Siena

  The men stopped the bleeding then stitched up both my entry and exit wounds, like this was an everyday occurrence. They didn’t give me anything for the pain, and I was too stubborn to ask. A thick piece of gauze was wrapped around my shoulder, hidden underneath my t-shirt so I didn’t stick out like a sore th
umb.

  I was thrown in the back of the Escalade before they escorted me into the center of Florence. It was five in the evening, but the sun was still bright because it was summertime. We ventured down the narrow streets until we approached an old building. With a tap of a button, a door to the underground garage opened, and we descended.

  It didn’t bode well that they allowed me to see where we were going.

  I could have broken the window with my elbow and jumped out of the car at any time. But if they really did have my father, running wasn’t an option. Regardless of our differences, we were family. He would lower his weapon for me in a heartbeat…at least, I hoped he would.

  We plummeted into the darkness of the underground garage. Other expensive cars were parked in the spaces, all SUVS and all black. After we parked, we got out of the car. The two sidekicks tried to handcuff me.

  I kicked one in the shin. “Are you kidding me? I surrendered and I’ve been shot.”

  He clenched his jaw before he snatched my wrists again.

  Like a horse, I slammed my leg back and bucked him.

  Damien raised his hand. “Let her be. Nothing she can do anyway.”

  The guy finally let me go.

  I kicked him again anyway, hitting him in the ankle.

  He didn’t hesitate before he backhanded me, hitting me hard across the cheek and making my body turn with the impact.

  I moved with the momentum and almost tumbled to the ground, but I regained my balance before that humiliating event could occur. I righted myself again and glared at him, ignoring the tingling sensation in my cheek.

  He pointed in front of him. “Walk, bitch.”

  “You know, I’m getting a little tired of this nickname.” I stepped in front of him and followed Damien.

  Damien opened the door and led the way. “I hope not. It fits you so well.”

  I was tempted to kick him in the back of the knee, but Damien would do something worse than slap me. I was already suffering from a gunshot wound, and I didn’t want a stab wound to go with it.

  He led me into the building and past a bar where the lackeys were enjoying their booze after a long day of criminal activity. Most of them looked me up and down like I was a plaything they would enjoy sometime that evening.

  Not gonna happen.

  I was led into a private room. With black walls and black-framed mirrors, it looked like a private room in a club. There was a bar in there too, but instead of having a bartender, there was just an older man in a black suit. He sat on one of the curved leather couches that faced a black coffee table. There were three glasses of scotch on the surface.

  I was certain one of them was for me.

  The goons shut the door behind us, leaving the three of us alone.

  “She’s damaged goods,” Damien announced as he sauntered into the room. “But she didn’t give me much of a choice. Pulled a samurai sword on me. She was pretty good at wielding it too.” He approached his boss then turned to me. He snapped his fingers like a man calling to his dog.

  I refused to cooperate. I probably would have sat of my own free will because booze was exactly what I needed to mask the pain. But comments like that weren’t well received. My eyes narrowed, full of murder.

  The man in the suit studied me with an unreadable expression. He had a gray beard that matched the hair on his head. His skin was tanned and tight, but he looked to be in his fifties. His age hadn’t slowed down his muscularity, and he filled out the suit well. He still possessed enough strength to be a formidable opponent. “We treat our guests better than that.” He rose to his feet then indicated the leather couch across from him. “I’m sure she’s thirsty after the day she’s had. Damien, get her a few painkillers to take with her scotch. No need for her to suffer.”

  If this guy were trying to kiss my ass, it wouldn’t work. If he had a demon like Damien on his payroll, he definitely wasn’t trustworthy. But the booze and pills were calling my name, so I took a seat. If they wanted to kill me, they would have done it already, so I knew their offering hadn’t been poisoned.

  I took the pills and washed them down with the scotch. I drank the entire glass, needing every drop to steady my nerves. Like my father, I didn’t show fear in the face of danger, but a good glass of booze always made it a little easier. A drop dripped from the corner of my mouth, so I wiped it away with my forearm. “Let’s skip the power plays and the bullshit. I need my father, and you need me. Elaborate.” I rested my elbows on my knees as I stared at the gentleman sitting across from me. He seemed harmless, like a grandfather who only punished you when you really deserved it. But I wouldn’t let the false kindness in his eyes overshadow who he really was.

  He held his glass in the hand resting on his knee as he smiled at me. “Like father, like daughter.”

  “Not sure if that’s a compliment or not.” I’d inherited my father’s hardness but not his lack of morality. I also had his eyes, but that was as far as our shared attributes went. Everything else I had I received from my mother, who’d been dead for many years.

  “I’ll let you decide.” He took a drink before he set the glass on the table.

  Damien sat beside him, his predatory eyes glued to my face. Lust and hostility shone in his gaze. He wanted to shoot me again just to get off on it. He was a demon without a leash. There was no telling what he might do.

  They obviously needed me for something. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be alive. If they wanted to torture my father and punish him, it would make sense to execute his only daughter. But I was still sitting there, the painkillers kicking in. “On with it.” Perhaps I was bolder than usual because I knew I had some sort of power in this game.

  “You know Damien well, obviously,” he began. “But we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Micah.”

  “And you know who I am,” I said, not bothering with an introduction. “Where is my father?”

  “In the building.” Micah wore a gold ring on his finger with a green emerald in the center. His hands showed his age, the veins mixing with the wrinkles. He must be a few years younger than my father. “The specifics don’t matter.”

  “They matter if you want my cooperation.” My father taught me to always be strong, regardless of the opponent I faced. Earning your enemy’s respect was the only saving grace you would ever receive. And if your fate was unavoidable, it was best to go out with honor. I was too proud to kneel for anyone—because that was how I was raised.

  Damien gave a slow grin. “You’re lucky you’re alive right now.”

  I glanced to him. “As are you.”

  He widened his grin farther, hating me but wanting me at the same time. His green eyes were set in a handsome face, his masculine cheekbones complementing his full lips. He was a beautiful man, but he was tainted by such evil, his handsomeness got lost in translation.

  Micah ignored his right-hand man. “If your father remains in my captivity, I will torture him and kill him.”

  I maintained the exact same expression, just as I would in a poker game. My brother was part of the family business, but he hadn’t been mentioned once. He must have disappeared before they could get to him—and now they had no idea where he’d gone into hiding. He would never tell me, so it was pointless to ask. “I assumed. What do you want from me?” I didn’t have special skills or any interaction with the family business, so I didn’t have much to offer. Even my information was useless because I’d turned my back on the trade. That should be obvious to them—if they did their research.

  “We’ll make a trade with you,” Micah offered. “One man for another.”

  I narrowed my eyes automatically, the fear involuntarily controlling my reactions. The only person they could possibly want was my brother—and that was a trade I refused to make. They could threaten to kill me again, and it still wouldn’t make a difference. “You have a building full of capable men at your disposal. Why are you asking me?”

  “This man is untouchable.” Micah pulled out a folder
from the inside of his jacket and set it on the table between us.

  I didn’t open it. “If he’s untouchable, I’m a terrible person to ask. I may be a good shot, but I’m no assassin.” I couldn’t pull off any kind of stunt. I lived a quiet life outside of Florence. I went to work every day at the gallery, spent time with my friends, had a few dates here and there, and then went home.

  “We don’t want you to kill him.” Micah pushed the folder closer to me. “We need this man alive. Bring him to us, and your father goes free.”

  I couldn’t allow myself to think about my father’s condition. He was probably locked up in a room with no windows and barely a cot. Maybe he deserved it because of his business, but it broke my heart to imagine him that way. If there were anything I could do for him, I would. “As I’ve already said, I have no skills. I’m an art buyer.”

  Damien watched me with those malicious eyes. “Give yourself more credit, sweetheart.”

  I kept my gaze on Micah so I wouldn’t rip out Damien’s throat. “Who is this man?”

  Micah grabbed his glass again, but instead of drinking from it, he held it in his palm. “Cato Marino.”

  That name meant nothing to me.

  Micah must have recognized the blankness in my eyes because he elaborated. “He owns the biggest bank in the world. He hides money for the Chinese, has ties with the vaults in Switzerland, and half the debt of the United States can be attributed to him. There may be banks under different names, but they’re all owned by the same man.”

  “Jesus…and you think I can touch this guy?” I laughed despite the seriousness of the situation because it was ridiculous. “He’s like the richest dude in the universe. You think I can just walk up to him and ask him to come with me?”

  “No.” Damien watched me without blinking. “But you could get into his bed.”

  Now it became crystal clear. They wanted me to spread my legs and seduce this man. They wanted me to bed him like a whore. Once I gained his trust, I could trick him into being caught by the wrong hands. “I’m not in that line of business.” I grabbed the bottle of scotch and refilled my glass.