Assassin's Heart

by Monica Burns

  What in Jupiter’s name had that been about—protection. Lysander was thinking Luciano’s attentions might make her feel threatened. She suppressed a sigh. The last thing she wanted was a Sicari bodyguard, especially if he wasn’t in love with her. As she crossed the threshold out onto the patio, Atia motioned toward her.

  “Come sit beside me, Phaedra.”

  Muscles knotting with tension, she slowly obeyed the command. Atia had called Lysander earlier, and his conversation with the Prima Consul had been mostly one-sided. But from the few words she’d overheard, she knew the conversation had been about her. It convinced her that Lysander had texted the Sicari leader about her attack.

  Atia wouldn’t mention the incident in front of anyone else, but she wasn’t so sure the woman wouldn’t find some pretext to drag the two of them away on some urgent matter of business to discuss what had happened. All she wanted at the moment was to eat and have a couple of glasses of wine in hopes of distancing herself from the entire affair.

  Obeying the Prima Consul’s command, she sat next to the woman, while Lysander sat on the opposite side. She released a soft noise of aggravation. It was like someone had placed her in protective custody. The rest of the team settled into their chairs as a bottle of dark red Lambrusco made its way around the table. She poured a healthy portion into her glass, ignoring the arched look Atia sent her way.

  The look irritated her. First a bodyguard, now a mother hen. She knew how much she could drink before her healing ability was diminished. A second later, she took a bite of the cannelloni on her plate. The flavor of the dish burst over her tongue in a delightful symphony of Cavallo cheese, spinach, pasta, and a tomato-based marinade. She immediately turned her head toward Lysander as she saw him take a bite of the dish.

  Surprise swept across his face, before a calculating look hardened his saturnine features.

  In a controlled, measured movement, he carefully laid his fork down, and his long fingers reached out to lightly stroke the stem of his wineglass. It was obvious he’d realized that Luciano was a threat to his culinary reputation.

  Known for his stoic mannerism, the few times Lysander displayed any emotion was in the kitchen, and he guarded his cooking laurels jealously. He loved to cook, but now there was a new face in town when it came to skills in the kitchen. And the man was definitely not happy about it. Those who didn’t know him would assume he was relaxed, but she knew different.

  He was plotting Luciano’s demise in the kitchen. She could see it in the hard look of his green eye and the tension in his body. The man wouldn’t give up his title without a hard fight. He’d use every skill he’d learned in that cooking school in Tuscany. Across the table, Cleo’s expression was one of pained contemplation. Clearly, her friend was in a major dilemma. She’d touted Lysander’s skill, and here was a dish that equaled if not surpassed her friend’s ability. Luciano turned his head and grinned at Cleo.

  “Well, bella, how is it?”

  “It’s delicious,” Cleo said in a cautious voice. Her gaze shifted to Lysander, who met Cleo’s gaze with calm acceptance.

  “It’s more than that, Cleo, and you know it. It’s exceptional,” Lysander said quietly. He lifted his glass of wine toward Luciano. “Well done. Salute.”

  Everyone around the table acknowledged the toast with enthusiasm and a chorus of compliments. Phaedra tilted her head toward Lysander.

  “So what dish are you going to fix to show him up?” she murmured.

  “I’m not.” He turned his head toward her and met her gaze.

  “Oh, please,” she said as she eyed him with disbelief. “You were plotting something the minute you took a bite of that cannelloni.”

  He lifted his wineglass to his mouth and took a drink. When he returned it to the table, he shifted in his seat and turned toward her. One elbow on the table, he draped his other arm over the back of her chair. He was close enough to touch, and the male scent of him flooded her senses until her blood ran sluggish through her veins. Deus, she wanted to kiss him. Touch him—make him cry out her name with need. She swallowed hard as his eye narrowed at her.

  “It amazes me that you think you can read my mind so well, but you can’t read Pasquale’s intentions.” The unexpected observation made her frown.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The man wants you.”

  There was a hard edge to his words, but not even that really registered as she struggled to understand why he would even notice such a thing. As she stared at him in amazement, his gaze grew shuttered. With a shake of her head, she rolled her eyes at him.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a sniff of disgust. “You just don’t want to admit the man can match your skill in the kitchen.”

  “And you hate being wrong.” He nodded in the direction of the other man. “He’s had his eyes on you for the last few minutes, wondering whether there’s anything between us.” Her heart slammed into her chest at the way Lysander’s mouth thinned with what appeared to be anger. Was he upset that Luciano was flirting with her? She reached for her wineglass and took a long draught of the fruity Lambrusco. What in Jupiter’s name was she thinking? The man hadn’t changed overnight.

  But it was impossible not to notice something had changed between them. She didn’t know whether the incident with the rogue Sicari had something to do with his change in demeanor or whether she was simply looking at him differently. She frowned. Even if there was a small shift in the tension between them, she needed to remember the callous way he’d ended their relationship before it had even really begun.

  He’d brutally said she’d been nothing more than a one-night stand to him. His cruel words had inflicted wounds that even a year later were still raw. Ironically, it had been at that moment she’d realized she was in love with him. The realization had only heightened the pain of his rejection, and her natural reaction had been to taunt him at every opportunity. He’d never retaliated—not once, and she’d always been too afraid to ask why. Afraid because loving him the way she did, she didn’t want to know just how indifferent he was to her. Instead, it was easier to taunt him in an attempt to hurt him as much as she was hurting.

  But she was tired of being angry. Tired of trying to get a reaction from him when she knew, deep down, nothing she did or said was going to change the way things were between them. Lysander looked at her again and arched his eyebrow at her. Praying her expression hadn’t revealed her feelings, she slowly turned her head in response to Lysander’s silent command.

  The moment she did so, she saw Luciano watching them with a narrowed gaze. As her gaze met his, he lifted his wineglass in her direction and sent her a mischievous smile. The man’s flirtatious manner was impossible to resist, and she smiled back. The minute she did so, she sensed a change in Lysander. The tension in him went up a notch.

  She stiffened as the whisper of an unseen hand cradled the back of her neck in a possessive touch. It was gone so fast, she wasn’t sure whether it had been real or imaginary. Had Lysander caressed her? Her heart slammed into her chest in a frantic beat at the thought. She peeked a glance in his direction. Although his arm still rested on the back of her chair, he was in the process of taking a drink of wine.

  If she didn’t know better, she could swear he was struggling hard to maintain that stoic calm of his. No, she was reading more into his behavior than there was. But if he’d not touched her, then—she shivered as an icy chill slid down her back. Was it possible the rogue Sicari had found her? No. She wouldn’t even go there. It was crazy to think the bastardo was within reach of her.

  The Order owned almost the entire city block surrounding the safe house, and despite its aged appearance, the complex was well fortified. The security equipment in place was the best money could buy. From steel doors at the main entrances, to iron defenses at every window and balcony, the house was almost impenetrable. She looked back at Luciano, and saw him watching her intently.

  Had he been the one to touch her? Deu
s, she wasn’t even sure someone had touched her. She bit her lip. The fact that she was even obsessing about it showed how edgy her encounter with that rogue son of a bitch had made her. She resented it. And she hated herself for letting the incident affect her at all. Beside her, Atia laughed. Startled, she looked at the Prima Consul, who waved her hand at Angelo seated opposite her.

  “I can assure you, Atellus, I think I’d rather come back as a rock in the next life than explore the catacombs with you.”

  “But they’re fascinating, Madame Consul.” Angelo laughed as he leaned forward and wagged his finger at Atia. “Why, for all you know, the bones of the person you were in a past life might be at rest there.”

  “Impossible. Sicari never bury their dead. We leave this earth in a purifying blaze of fire.” Atia sniffed her disdain before grinning at the man opposite her. “All my past lives have all been as a Sicari. I feel it in my bones. You, Angelo Atellus, are a historian who doesn’t appreciate the romantic aspects of history. Dried up bones are not romantic.”

  “Not so, il mia signora. I think history can be quite romantic, even tragically so. For example, I find the story of Maximus and Cassiopeia most compelling. Here was a man who’d just lost most of his men in the Battle of Milvian Bridge. He’s in retreat from Constantine I when he learns his wife is still in Rome, about to be handed over to fanatical followers of the Church.” Angelo’s expression was one of pensive sadness as he met Atia’s gaze across the table. He made a noise that was a mix of amazement and disbelief.

  “I can’t imagine what Maximus must have been thinking, feeling, as he raced back to Rome only to arrive too late to save Cassiopeia. The man must have had nerves of steel to make his dagger hit its mark as the mob was burning his wife alive.” Atellus reached for his wife’s hand and sent her a loving glance. “I would gladly give my life for Maria, but I do not know that I would have had as steady a hand as Maximus must have.”

  Listening to the conversation, Phaedra remembered her dreams and felt like kicking herself. Her dreams were nothing more than a memory from a story she’d heard since childhood. Well, maybe not a story, but at least bits and pieces of the legend. She’d simply made the first Sicari Lord look like Lysander in her dreams. She was an idiot. Atia’s shoulder brushed hers as the Prima Consul leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table. A contemplative look on her face, the older woman folded her hands and formed a steeple with her forefingers.

  “I have always viewed Maximus as the standard by which all Sicari are judged. To put a dagger through his wife’s heart as she was being burned alive had to have taken immense courage. He must have been an extraordinary man,” the Prima Consul said. With a nod of agreement, Angelo folded his arms and rested them on the table as he sent the Prima Consul a quizzical look.

  “Recently, I came across the writings of Prima Consul Julius Marchio from the midsixteenth century, which I have been reading before bed.”

  “Clearly a sedative if you’re reading it late at night,” Atia said with a laugh.

  “Sometimes, but last night I read that each Prima Consul is tasked with watching for signs that Maximus has returned to the Sicari.” Angelo’s gaze never left Atia’s face as he continued. “Marchio was convinced the Sicari would never find the Tyet of Isis until Maximus was reborn. Have you heard of this prophecy?”

  “There are a great many stories, secrets even, handed over when one takes on the mantle of consul.” Her expression guarded, the Prima Consul shrugged. “The story Marchio refers to has been around for centuries.”

  “Then you don’t believe the story?” Angelo frowned. “Marchio seemed convinced the story was true, and he even detailed signs to look for.”

  “As I said, there are many tales passed on from one consul to another. Some are more plausible than others.” There was the slightest clipped note in Atia’s voice as she straightened and pushed her dinner plate toward the center of the table. “Do I think it possible that Maximus and Cassiopeia will be reincarnated? Yes. I have always believed the soul’s journey doesn’t end with just one life.”

  “But what about the signs, il mia signora? In his writings, Marchio says an alieni will read the Sicari Lord’s coin. Did not Legatus DeLuca’s domina read the coin?”

  Angelo’s words brought all conversation to a halt as everyone turned toward Atia. Her expression closed off and noncommittal, the Prima Consul gave the man across from her an imperceptible nod.

  “Yes, Emma read the coin, but it showed her nothing about the return of Maximus.”

  “Then perhaps we are closer to finding the Tyet of Isis than we realized, because there are other signs as well.”

  “Such as?” As a politician, Atia was excellent at keeping her thoughts well hidden, but the tension flowing from her had an almost tangible quality to it.

  “Marchio says a Primus Pilus who is of mixed blood will find the Tyet of Isis.”

  Angelo’s statement was like a thunderclap in the room, and Phaedra gasped at the possibility of someone with even an ounce of Praetorian blood finding the artifact. The

  thought appalled her. The shudder rippling through Atia was tangible, but her reaction was nothing compared to Lysander’s as the glass of wine he held shattered.

  Red wine and blood splattered the surface of the table as an oath flew from his lips. Instinct made her reach out to him, but an invisible hand encircled her wrist in a painful vise. He didn’t bother to look at her as he stared at Angelo, who was gasping for air, his face white with fear as his eyes met Lysander’s hard gaze.

  “I have no need of the Curavi, Phaedra,” Lysander said in an icy voice as his green eye darkened with fury. “Atellus, if you’re questioning the loyalty of my Primus Pilus, you’re questioning not only my choice for second in command, but my leadership as well, and that’s something I won’t allow in my guild, small that it is.”

  “Let him go, Lysander.” Atia’s voice was firm, but gentle. “He was simply repeating what he’d read.”

  Lysander hesitated at the Prima Consul’s words, then with a sharp nod, he released his grip on the other man. A second later the grip on Phaedra’s wrist vanished as Lysander shoved his chair backward in a vicious movement as he stood up. Angelo inhaled several deep breaths as he recovered from Lysander’s invisible chokehold.

  Maria, her arm wrapped around her husband’s shoulders, looked frightened, but not so much that she couldn’t muster up the courage to glare at Lysander. His features were like a stone statue, cold and without emotion as he met the woman’s angry look.

  “I have every confidence in Marco Campanella. Anyone even hinting at the possibility that he’s not Sicari or loyal to the Order will be challenging my authority as Legatus. A challenge I will not let go unanswered.”

  The quiet words carried a lethal message that said any challenge to Lysander’s authority would not end favorably for the challenger. The unspoken promise was reinforced as he surveyed the faces staring up at him with a deadly calm. Satisfied he’d made his point, Lysander left the table and vanished into the kitchen. Phaedra watched him go with a sense of confusion. His reaction had been completely out of character for him. In his wake, the lighthearted mood had evaporated, leaving everyone somber and

  uncomfortable. Still ashen from his chastisement, Angelo turned his head toward the Primus Pilus.

  “I ask Indulgentia, Campanella. It was not my intent to question either your birth or your loyalty to the Order.”

  “Granted.” Marco frowned as he nodded sharply. “It was the implication in your statement that angered Legatus Condellaire. The Legatus is an honorable man who values the lives and reputations of everyone in his guild, even you, Atellus. It’s something to keep in mind.”

  Angelo nodded his understanding as Cleo broke the tension by getting up from the table and collecting dirty dishes. A silent sigh of relief rippled through the group at her action, and everyone quickly followed her example in cleaning up dinner. Reaching for her plate, Phaedra jumped as Atia stay
ed her hand with a light touch.

  “Leave it,” the Prima Consul said quietly. “I wish to speak with you.”

  “What about?”

  “Lysander sent me a text message about the assault. It’s why I called him earlier. I wanted to know how you were feeling.” The concern in Atia’s voice made her nibble at her lip. The woman had been good to her and Ares since their parents had died.