by Monica Burns
“Our guest executed him before I arrived.” He could almost see his Praefect’s expression of disappointment at his words. Frustration swept through him. “We’ll find a way to get her out, Cornelia. I gave you my word.”
“What is meant to be, will be, Tribune. But I appreciate your efforts.”
Cornelia’s quiet, serene response was typical. The woman had completed the Novem Conformavi at the age of twenty and was able to control her emotions unlike any Sicari Lord he’d ever met. Not even Marcus possessed her mastery of emotions. It was why Dante had always questioned Marcus’s decision to make him Tribune.
Cornelia’s steely control would have made her the better choice to lead the Sicari Lord’s guild. Although she would have been the Absconditus’s first female leader in the recorded history of the Sicari Lords. Her decisions would be logical because of her superior ability to set aside personal sentiment. He, on the other hand, struggled on a daily basis to keep his emotions in check. Like the frustration he was experiencing now.
“Our guest is injured. Bring the car around.”
“Vincenzo and Lucius are on their way. I’ll meet you at the Via Pomi alleyway entrance.”
He didn’t reply, knowing Cornelia would do as she said. Instead, he turned back to the woman who’d unknowingly cost him more time and trouble. Cleopatra was no longer on the ground, and it took him a moment to find her. She’d tried to hide herself in the darkest section of the building’s shadows, where she stood watching him.
Even from where he was standing, he could see it was an effort for her to remain on her feet. Just the way she pressed her body into the building’s wall for support said her legs could give way at any moment. She had the look of a cornered animal, and from the tension rolling off of her, she was ready to go down fighting. A blistering onslaught of jumbled thoughts and emotions slammed into him as he studied her.
He stiffened as he fought not to put her thoughts into some form of coherency. It was forbidden to read the minds of other Sicari without permission, but at the moment, he was finding it damned difficult to close himself off to her. The powerful way her tension wrapped itself around him to burrow deep into his body startled him.
He’d never experienced anything like it. Even more surprising was how difficult the sensation was to ignore. With great concentration, he pushed it aside until it was just a small vibration against his skin, but the effort it took to bury the tactile pressure of her emotions unsettled him.
Slowly approaching where she stood pressed against the wall of the alley, Dante frowned at his inability to see her shadowed features. It would help if he could at least read her expression. He didn’t have to read her thoughts, because her feelings were strong enough to give him an idea of what she might be thinking. With each step that closed the distance between them, her emotional state was a razor scraping along his senses.
She was afraid, and he didn’t like it that she was scared of him. He dismissed the thought. There were only about two feet between them when he saw her slide downward an inch or two. Without a second thought, he stretched out his hand to help keep her upright against the wall. In the next instant, her blade was digging its way across the back of his gloved hand.
“Goddamnit,” he bit out.
“Don’t come any closer or I’ll gut you like a fish.”
Her blade had sliced straight through the leather glove and into his skin. He glanced down at the opening of his cloak where her stiletto pressed into his stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had gotten past his guard so easily—not only to cut him, but to threaten him as well.
Again, her emotions and thoughts barreled into him. He’d never encountered a Sicari with the ability to plow right through his natural ability to block another individual’s thoughts and emotions. It wasn’t just disturbing. It was damned uncomfortable. He grimaced as he painstakingly reinforced his mental shield to keep from ordering her thoughts in a rational order. It didn’t help matters that if he simply dropped his shield, he would know exactly what she was planning for her next move.
Despite his annoyance, his admiration for her went up another notch. Marcus clearly had no idea how skilled his daughter was in hand-to-hand combat. No wonder she’d managed to survive two bodyguards and two Praetorians without a partner. Still, she’d broken the rules, and he wanted to know why.
Without touching the weapon, he visualized the blade twisting out of her hand and landing in his. She didn’t quite gasp, but the tension in her body spiked in a way that was almost a tactile sensation. He braced his good hand on the wall behind her and leaned forward, determined to intimidate her into answering his questions, but froze. Every thought of interrogating her went out the window as he stared at her face. Until now, he’d not been close enough to really see her, and the air left his lungs.
She wasn’t just beautiful. She was timeless. He doubted there was an artistic master past or present who could do her justice, no matter the medium chosen. With her oval-shaped face and flawless complexion, she was stunning. Knowing of Angotti’s love of beautiful women, the son of a bitch must have been completely disarmed by her. The nostrils of her slender nose flared slightly, a sign of her agitation, while her violet eyes were wide in her face.
And sweet Vesta, her mouth. It was temptation in its most powerful form. Plump and lush, her mouth invited a man to sin with her. What would it be like to kiss her? Just thinking about it was like taking a punch to his midsection. Jupiter’s Stone, his oath. Had he lost his mind? She drew in a deep breath as she glared at him.
“Well, finish it,” she rasped.
“Finish it?” He shook his head as he tried to collect his wits and concentrate on the matter at hand.
“Just slit my fucking throat and get it over with. That’s what a Praetorian Dominus does, isn’t it?”
Despite the bravado of her words, the fear vibrating off her had found its way into her voice. Christus, he didn’t like being compared to a Praetorian, but what else was she supposed to think? He should have explained who he was from the beginning. Instead, he’d allowed her imagination to run wild. Still, it didn’t make her insult any more palatable.
His only excuse was that he wasn’t used to meddling in the Order’s affairs. His conscience laughed loudly. He’d been so riveted by her face that he’d forgotten all about the Absconditus and the Order. He blew out a harsh breath and shoved the hood of his cloak off his head so she could see his features.
Every Tribune and Sicari Lord of the Absconditus wore the cape to honor Maximus Caecilius Atellus, the first Sicari Lord, and it was a way to protect their identity in instances like this. But reassuring Cleopatra that she was safe was more important than protecting his identity. As the hood fell backward to expose his face, an emotion flared in her eyes, but it vanished too quickly to identify it.
“I’m not the enemy,” he ground out. “Although it’s clear you think I am.”
He tugged the glove off his injured hand and showed her the wound. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it stung. With an effortless thought, he mentally reached out to remove the stiletto’s leather sheath from between her breasts. The sound of her gasp made his mouth go dry.
Suddenly, he found himself wishing his invisible touch had been a physical one and her gasp had been one of pleasure. The moment her eyes widened, his throat tightened at the possibility that his reaction to her had been physical and not an impulsive thought. Alarm zigzagged its way through him. With an abrupt move that made her jump, he jammed the stiletto into its sheath and squatted in front of her. It amazed him that she was still standing, considering what little he could see of the cut on her leg.
“Let me see your injury,” he demanded. Her back still against the wall, she shifted her body slightly to prevent him from examining her leg.
“Not until you tell me who you are.”
He sighed and looked up to meet her suspicious gaze. “My name is Dante. I’m Sicari like you.”
“The only Sicari I’
ve ever seen dressed like you was—” He saw her eyes widen then narrow all in the space of two seconds. “Fuck, another Sicari Lord.”
He didn’t bother to correct her or explain the difference between a Sicari Lord and a Tribune. The existence and hierarchy of the Absconditus wasn’t common knowledge among the Order, and he was fairly sure Cleopatra knew next to nothing about the Sicari Lord’s guild. And now certainly wasn’t the time for a lesson. He narrowed his eyes as he looked up to see her mouth tighten with anger before her beautiful features became a cold mask. Puzzled, he resisted the urge to reach out and touch her mind to find out what she was thinking.
“We’re wasting time. Show me your leg,” he said, but she didn’t move.
“He sent you, didn’t he?” The words had a brittle quality to them that made him narrow his gaze at her. For a moment, her face revealed a look of anguish that tugged at him. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but it was enough to tell him that she was struggling with the recent revelation of who her father was.
“Do you mean Marcus?” he asked quietly as he got to his feet. It was obvious she wouldn’t let him look at her leg until she was certain he wasn’t a threat.
“Yes.” The response could have punctured a tin can, it was so sharp.
“No, Marcus didn’t—”
“Don’t you fucking lie to me.”
“I’m not in the habit of lying,” he said stiffly, his gaze steady as he looked into her angry eyes. “Did I know you were Marcus’s daughter? Yes. Did he send me? No. I came because of Angotti.”
Deus, since when had he ever twisted the truth to suit his own ends? While it was true Marcus hadn’t instructed him to keep an eye on Cleopatra, there had been a silent request in the Sicari Lord’s voice when he’d mentioned his daughter had remained in Rome. Dante would have come whether her target had been Angotti or someone else.
“That sounds pretty damn convenient,” she snapped.
“Jupiter’s Stone,” he said in disgust. “It wasn’t convenient at all. I got here after you killed Angotti. Trust me—I’m not happy about it.”
“Sorry about that.” Her cavalier response made him grit his teeth, but he reined in his temper. Her tough exterior was a façade. There was a wild tumult of emotions running beneath the surface that she was fighting hard to hide.
“You broke the rules tonight. You decided to carry out Angotti’s execution without a partner. Why?” he asked softly. He frowned at the flash of vulnerability that crossed her beautiful face.
“What I do is my business,” she said with a quiet defiance.
“No. It’s my business, because Angotti was valuable to me,” he said in a hard and inflexible voice. “Now, I won’t ask you again. Why did you come here without a partner?”
Cleopatra turned her head away from him, clearly debating how much to tell him. He growled with irritation, and the sound made her jerk her head back toward him.
“The bastardo had information I wanted. I knew having someone with me might make it more difficult getting Angotti to talk.”
“What kind of information?” Dante’s muscles hardened as tension wrapped its claw around him. Maybe the last four months monitoring Angotti might bear fruit after all.
“I wanted to know what he knew about the Convent of the Sacred Mother.” Cleopatra’s words made him suck in a sharp breath.
“What did he tell you?”
Dante watched as her mouth tightened in a stubborn line so like her father. Leaning into her once more, he steeled himself not to let her mental impact on his senses or her beautiful face distract him. He succeeded. Her curves caught his attention instead. Suddenly, his senses ignited in a different way, his body on full alert as his muscles drew up taut. He’d been so busy studying her face he’d not noticed the gash on her arm and breast. Her shirt was splayed open to reveal a lace-edged bra. The sight of it made his mouth go dry, while his fingers itched to tug the lingerie downward to see the stiff nipples pushing the material outward.
Heat streaked across his skin, stirring something deep inside him. He’d been attracted to women before, but his training had always enabled him to put aside his lust. This was different. The strength of his reaction to this woman was a powerful, fiery force that spread its way through his body until he was hard everywhere.
His primal response created a knot in his throat that was hard to swallow, and for the first time in his life, Dante was sorry he’d taken his oath. The traitorous thought made his muscles twist even tighter. Hands braced on the wall behind her just to keep from touching her, he leaned into her. Her tension level and something else he didn’t want to identify rocketed off the charts, but all he cared about was getting the information he wanted without doing something stupid.
“I asked you a question,” he said in a strained voice. “What did Angotti tell you?”
When she didn’t answer him immediately, his hand caught her chin and forced her to look at him. It was a mistake to touch her. Fire singed his fingertips, and he jerked away from her. The knot in his throat was back, but larger this time. Deus, what was wrong with him? The thoughts of Vincenzo and Lucius brushed against his senses. Grateful for the interruption, he turned toward the two dark shapes emerging from the shadows. Behind him, Cleopatra gasped.
“Oh fuck, please tell me they’re with you.”
“They’re with me,” he said without turning his head. With a gesture toward Angotti and his bodyguards, he lightly touched the minds of the two warriors.
“Leave Angotti’s men where they are. The police will assume it was a hit the guards tried to stop.”
“Yes, Tribune.”
“Make sure you search the Praetorians before you dispose of them in the catacombs.”
Both men gave him a quick bow of respect before they picked up the bodies of the dead Praetorians and disappeared back into the shadows. Satisfied that the cleanup was well in hand, he glanced over his shoulder toward the end of the alley. A car rolled to a stop and doused its lights. As always, Cornelia was prompt.
The sound of leather scraping softly against stone caught his attention, and he turned to see Cleopatra sinking down toward the cobblestones. Her head resting on the wall behind her, there was an air of defeat about her. The sudden urge to pick her up and comfort her made Dante suppress a groan. He needed to get her to a healer, and then he’d get as far away from the woman as he could. He returned to her side and squatted beside her.
“A friend of mine has a sister in that convent,” he said quietly. “If Angotti told you something about it, whatever he told you might help me save her.”
“You’re planning a rescue, aren’t you?” Her violet eyes widened slightly before they closed and she breathed a heavy sigh. “If I tell you, I want in on the plan.”
“Out of the question,” he snapped. Marcus would have his head if he agreed to her demand.
“Then I can’t help you.”
Despite her obvious exhaustion and pain, there was a determination in her that he recognized. She was more her father’s daughter than she knew. The shrill wail of a police car echoed, closer this time, and he blew out a harsh breath. Someone had called the police, and he wasn’t in the mood for questions. They needed to leave now.
“By the gods, I must be out of my mind,” he said grimly. “The first thing we do is get you to a healer. Then we talk. Agreed?”
“Yes.” It was more a sigh than an answer. It made him frown.
“Can you walk?”
“Ye . . . no.”
It was obvious she didn’t like admitting to any weaknesses. He studied her drawn features with a sense of doom. He couldn’t explain it, but he was certain refusing her demands wasn’t going to be easy. It was bad enough Marcus would want to flay the backs of everyone involved in an assault on the convent.
But if Dante agreed to Cleopatra’s participation in the rescue, it was anyone’s guess what the Sicari Lord would do to him. He sighed as he envisioned the potential ramifications of his actions t
hen closed his eyes. The fifth Tabulati taught one to seek tranquility in all one did. He could use a little of that right now. With a soft oath, he carefully lifted Cleopatra into his arms and stood up.
“Oh, that was a compliment,” she muttered wearily.
“What?” Startled, he stared down at her in surprise.
“You didn’t have to make it sound as though you were picking up a tub of lard.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” he growled with embarrassment. He wasn’t even using his telekinetic ability to help carry her. If anything, she felt just right in his arms, and it scared the hell out of him.
“Uh huh.” Her skeptical response tugged another growl out of him, but he didn’t respond.
All he cared about at the moment was getting her to the car so he could put some distance between them. The woman was wreaking havoc with his senses. And holding her in his arms like this wasn’t helping matters. The way she was nestled against his chest placed her head just below his nose, and the sweet smell of soap floated upward from her dark hair.
He had to fight hard not to lower his head and breathe in more of the delicious scent. Even harder to fight was the blazing heat streaking through his blood until his body was taut with something he could only describe as expectation. His jaw locked with tension as he quickened his stride to get to the Via Pomi where Cornelia was waiting with the car.
“Thank you.” Her soft words wrapped a vise around his heart. “If you hadn’t come along, I would have had a tough time getting out of this alley on my own.”
“Breaking the rules has consequences, but you’re welcome,” he said gruffly.
“So, what, you don’t break the rules?”
“I try not to.” He winced. He’d done an excellent job breaking some rules tonight.
“I break the rules all the time,” she said. There was almost a note of pride in her voice, and it made him smile.
“Is it worth it?”
“Sometimes, but at others . . .”
The way her voice died off into nothing made him frown. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he was certain that at some point she’d broken a rule and gotten hurt because of it. It aroused the protective instinct he’d experienced a few minutes ago. He pushed it aside, trying to reassure himself that he’d feel the same thing for anyone who was in trouble. Another breach in the teachings of the first Tabulati. He was learning how to lie well, even to himself.
