Chapter 7

CLEO stood in the salon staring up at the portrait hung on the wall over a half-moon table. From his manner of dress, she wondered if the man in the painting was a Sicari Lord. He wore the same type of attire she’d seen her fa—She’d seen Marcus and Dante wear. She ignored the Freudian slip.

As she studied the portrait more closely, she drew in a quick breath of surprise. She wasn’t well versed in Italian artwork, but there was one artist she knew well. Sofonisba Anguissola. As far as she could tell, the portrait on the wall was an original. Her gaze focused on the man’s face.

She wondered if he might have been the leader of the Sicari Lords in his time period. Just like her father—Marcus was today. Another Freudian slip. She frowned and released a harsh sigh. Eventually, she would have to face the man. It wasn’t something she really wanted on her bucket list, but in all fairness to Marcus, it wasn’t like he was a deadbeat dad.

Her mother had lied about his existence to Cleo and had kept Marcus in the dark as well. The thought made her tighten her mouth with anger. If there was anything her mother should never have lied to her about, it was who her father was. She understood the reasons for her mother’s actions, but it was the past three years of silence that she was having trouble accepting.

Atia should have told her the truth after Cleo had lost the baby and the doctors had confirmed she’d never be able to have children. Her hand automatically went to her stomach. She’d always wanted kids, and now . . . she closed her eyes for a brief moment. It was over and done with. Dwelling on it wasn’t going to change anything. But it should have changed her mother’s decision about keeping her father a secret.

Cleo’s gaze returned to the portrait on the wall. It was bad enough learning that her real father was alive, but the fact that he was a Sicari Lord only raised the bar for her. The Sicari Lords had always been an elusive part of the Order’s long history. Until that night in the Pantheon, she’d not really believed they existed. Now, she was knee-deep in Sicari Lords.

Her lack of skills had always made her feel like she was standing on the outside looking in when it came to the Order. It was why she pushed herself so hard to be one of the best-trained fighters the Order had. But the Absconditus . . . this was something altogether different. She’d never felt so completely out of her depth in her entire life. So far this morning she’d seen more than a dozen people during her quiet exploration, and she had no idea who was a Sicari Lord and who was Vigilavi. And she sure as hell didn’t want to ask.

Just being here made her nervous, and she didn’t like the feeling, especially when her host had deserted her last night. The man had disappeared moments after their arrival, leaving the stoic Cornelia to arrange for Cleo’s Curavi and a room for the night. On some inexplicable level, the way Dante had abandoned her ticked her off.

On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she was quite ready to face the man just yet. Particularly when there was something about him that made her body tighten with pleasurable tension. When he’d pushed back his hood last night, her heart had skipped a beat. She’d always appreciated the beauty of the human face, and Dante’s was no exception.

Despite the darkness, he’d been close enough for her to see his sharp, angular features. It had been impossible to tell the color of his eyes, but his dark hair had a slight curl to it, and Deus, that mouth. He could easily pleasure a woman in so many ways with that beautiful mouth of his. Her stomach did a slight flip-flop at that last thought. What would he be like in bed?

She frowned. Somehow Dante didn’t seem like the type who’d easily fall into bed with just any woman who crossed his path. If anything, he seemed a little uptight. Although she had to give him major points for having the kind of voice that could give a woman an orgasm without even touching her.

She drew in a quick breath then blew it out just as quickly. Christus , the man wasn’t just a Sicari—he was a Sicari Lord. And ever since Michael, she’d made it a point to only get involved with Vigilavi . They understood the Order, and like her, they didn’t have any special powers. They wouldn’t reject her because she was a freak.

“Signorina.”

She jumped as someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she whirled around to assume a defensive posture. The young man facing her eyed her with amusement until she scowled at him. In an instant, his expression became one of polite respect. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen, but he had the air of someone much older.

“Signorina, I am here to take you to the Tribune Condellaire.”

“Tribune?” She narrowed her gaze at him in puzzlement as a small, indefinable thought fluttered around in the back of her mind like a mad butterfly. “You mean Dante?”

“Yes, signorina. The Tribune would like you to join him in the garden.”

Now the man wanted to see her. He’d left her hanging all morning feeling lost and out of place, and he’d finally decided he was ready to see her. Instead of coming for her, Dante had sent someone else to fetch her. And it was a summons, which was like adding insult to injury. He needed her, not the other way around.

She had the information from Angotti, and she wasn’t about to let Dante off the hook when it came to her involvement. She was going into that convent whether he liked it or not. She jerked her head at him.

“Lead the way,” she said.

The boy’s manner changed immediately at her authoritative tone of voice. It was as if he’d suddenly realized she wasn’t just another pretty face and he’d underestimated her. It didn’t surprise her. A lot of people, mostly Praetorians, did that. It was the downside to being pretty. First impressions often resulted in others thinking she was a helpless, brainless female. The truth was she’d easily give up her looks if she could have a Sicari ability. The young man bowed slightly in her direction then gestured for her to follow him.

He led the way out of the salon and down a corridor she’d not explored yet. It brought them into another salon like the one they’d just left. This room was similar to all the others she’d visited this morning. It was elegantly furnished, and artwork filled the walls, tables, and anywhere there was space available. Despite her limited experience, she was certain most, if not all, of the artworks were priceless pieces. The house was a virtual living museum.

No. The word house was a misnomer. It was actually a palace. Small, but a palace nonetheless. Surrounded by a tall, unassuming stone wall, the Sicari Lord installation didn’t look like much from the street. But once you were past the gates and inside, it was breathtaking. She’d spent all morning walking through at least six different rooms and studying the opulent decor and each room’s artwork.

They moved from one room to the next via the corridor that connected them until they reached a stained glass door. The young man opened the door without touching the handle. He stepped aside and waved his hand toward the open doorway.

The late-morning air was pleasantly warm despite the fact that it wasn’t quite April yet. A lattice walkway covered in grapevines provided shade from the sun beaming down on a large ornamental garden situated in the middle of the house. She’d gotten glimpses of the sizable courtyard from one of the windows earlier, but as she stepped out from under the covered walkway, she took her first good look at the garden.

As she studied her surroundings, she realized the house was designed like an ancient Roman residence, centered around a peristylium . The stone columns she’d seen lining the hallway had to be the remains of a colonnade walkway. The breezeway had since been closed off, making it one long hallway that wrapped its way around the garden.

She stepped out from under the covered walkway and welcomed the warmth of the sun on her face before a movement she saw out of the corner of her eye diverted her attention. Across the expanse of the stone-paved courtyard, she saw Dante going through the slow movements of a martial arts exercise. Immediately, she experienced a quiet tranquility that relaxed her. It was an unfamiliar sensation, almost as if she was experiencing his calm state of mind. Fuck, what was she thinking? She couldn’t sense emotions. But physical chemistry? That, the man had in spades, and she loved looking at him.

The only thing he wore was a pair of black, loose-fitting trousers. Entranced, she watched his leg come up in a slow high kick, his foot flexing inward with his toned arms extended in perfect position. The muscles of his back rippled as he slowly descended from the high kick and sank down toward the ground.

In a controlled movement, his leg slid out to one side, while his entire body dropped into a low crouch until she couldn’t see any space between his extended leg and the ground. As he moved, his hand followed the line of his inner thigh, gliding toward his foot then up into the air. The slowly defined movements of his exercise displayed the power of his muscular arms and emphasized the strength of his legs.

She didn’t budge an inch as she watched him move fluidly from one position to the next. It was like watching a large tiger in a confined area. Raw, lethal power hidden beneath the skin, and the promise of blazing speed. Even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t have turned away, because he was beautiful to watch.

Her gaze followed the path his arms made through the air, and she couldn’t help remembering how he’d carried her to the car last night. She’d liked it. Maybe a little too much. And now, seeing him like this . . . Her mind shifted gears as she imagined running her hands over his delicious-looking chest, shoulders, and back. From there her thoughts went a little wild as she pictured what else she’d like to do to the man.

The way he suddenly stiffened then jerked out of his exercise to whirl around and face her made her frown as she walked toward him. Christus, was the guy blushing? No, he couldn’t be. Exertion. That’s what it had to be. Of course, if he’d been reading her mind—

Okay, that thought didn’t make her happy.

Telepathy was an intimacy that required permission among the Sicari, and she’d not given it. She didn’t care how glorious his body was. On second thought, she might be able to give a little for that reason. And Deus, he did have a body.

The color in his face seemed to deepen, and she eyed him suspiciously as she came to a halt in front of him. Hell, he looked like she’d caught him with his hand in a cookie jar. Then again, maybe it was because she was still drooling over him like a woman who hadn’t had sex in a while.

She ignored the voice that emphasized precisely how long it had been. Instead, she reminded herself that he’d abandoned her last night and taken his sweet time summoning her this morning. Not to mention how he’d sent junior for her rather than coming himself.

“You wanted to see me?” Her irritation at the way he’d left her hanging for the entire morning came through loud and clear in her voice.

“Yes, we need to talk about what Angotti told you.” Dante turned away from her and picked up a black martial arts jacket off the grassy area where he’d been exercising.

“Not until I have some assurances from you about including me in the rescue mission,” she said as she watched him shrug on the jacket then tie it closed.

As he knotted the sash around his waist, she noted his strong hands and long fingers. In the next breath she envisioned his hands caressing her breasts, his thumbs rubbing across her nipples until they ached for him to suckle her. The image made her wet, and she drew in a deep breath then released it in exasperation. Merda, she needed to stop thinking about the man’s body and focus on the topic at hand. But damn, the man really was delicious eye candy. He was a red-hot waiting to dissolve on her tongue. An odd expression crossed his face as he met her gaze. For a second time, she got the impression he was embarrassed.

“I have some concerns about letting you go to the convent.”

“Like what?” Cleo narrowed her gaze at him. If he even mentioned her lack of special abilities, she’d deck him.

“You carried out an execution without a partner, despite knowing what the standing rule is in Rome.” There was a sharp edge to his voice that said he wasn’t going to give way easily.

“I told you why I didn’t take a partner,” she snapped. “I would have needed to explain my reasons for grilling Angotti, not to mention my methods.”

“It was reckless.”

“Reckless implies that I rushed into the assassination without a plan, which isn’t true. I planned Angotti’s assassination carefully, and while the Praetorians were a bit of a surprise, I knew it was more than possible they might turn up,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “I weighed all the options, and my plan was a risk I was willing to take. Angotti had the information I wanted. If there had been another way to get what I wanted, I would have taken that route. There wasn’t.”

She worked hard to keep from appearing defensive as he studied her with a careful look she was already starting to recognize despite having known him less than a day. His expression of assessment and calculation reminded her of Lysander when he was evaluating a decision he had to make. He even tilted his head in the same way Lysander did when considering something.

Now that she could see Dante in the full light of day, the resemblance between the two men was pretty remarkable. She scoffed at the notion. She was going off the memory of what Lysander used to look like. It had been more than a year since that night in a Chicago warehouse when they’d found Lysander with half his face peeled off.

Still, there was something similar about the man who was like a big brother to her and the Tribune standing in front of her. The two men looked enough alike to be brothers. She brushed off the thought as her imagination was running wild this morning. As she studied his face, she could tell he was thinking long and hard about how to respond to her. Did he know she had no special Sicari abilities? It was common knowledge in the Order that she was different. She flinched at the thought.

Dante folded his arms across his chest and eyed her carefully. He knew. Cleo was certain of it. It was why he was looking at her like that. Lysander always had that look when he was about to tell her something she didn’t want to hear. Now Dante was going to tell her she couldn’t go with him on the mission because she wasn’t a true Sicari.

“An assault on the convent is far too dangerous—”

“Don’t. Don’t even think of going there,” she snapped fiercely. “Just because I don’t have any Sicari abilities doesn’t mean I can’t fight. Like this.”

With a quick move, she kicked her foot out to hook it around the back of Dante’s leg and tugged hard. He easily thwarted her attempt to drop him to the ground by twisting his body in midair as he fell backward. In less than a second he landed in a push-up position, and his foot lashed out at her leg. She drew in a sharp breath as she quickly jumped to one side. She was crazy. She’d just attacked a Sicari Lord.

Instinctively, she danced backward as he sprang upright. The expression on his face said he wasn’t happy. No big surprise there. Invisible fingers wrapped around both her arms as he slowly used his telekinetic ability to draw her toward him. She knew better than to resist, and instead, she deliberately threw herself forward.

The move surprised him, and as she slammed into him, her momentum threw him off balance. An instant later, he was on his back and she was on top of him. With her face inches from his, she was able to see the color of his eyes for the first time. They were the shade of an angry sea at night. Dark blue and mysterious. Christus, his voice wasn’t the only thing about him that would easily make a woman forget who she came to the party with.

As their gazes locked, she breathed in the tangy aroma of spice. The potent male scent of him stirred up an image of a warm night, hot skin, and tousled silk sheets. Beneath the palm of her hand, she could feel the racing beat of his heart. The sound of ragged breathing caught her attention. Was that sound coming from her?

No, not only her. His breathing was just as harsh and shallow. The tension in him was palpable, and her own heartbeat quickened as the sudden pressure of his erection swelled against her inner thigh. Her gaze drifted downward to his mouth, and an impish desire to break through that restrained manner of his swept through her.

She didn’t think. She simply acted on the impulse of the moment and bent her head to brush her lips across his in a tentative kiss. She’d only meant it to be a quick touch, but the taste of fresh mint made her mouth linger against his. His body went rigid beneath her.

Desire coiled through her belly to spread its heat through her limbs. His arousal hardened further, and she shifted her hips until his hard length was pressing into the apex of her thighs. His mouth moved against hers, and she nipped at his lower lip with her teeth. Deus, even without trying the man had her so turned on she was willing to forget he was a Sicari Lord.

She stiffened against him. He was right. She was reckless. First she’d hit a Sicari Lord, and now she was attempting to seduce one. Embarrassment slid its painful net around her as she broke the kiss and lifted her head. The world suddenly shifted, and Dante rolled her over until he was the one on top.

His expression was harsh as he stared down at her. If she hadn’t been so humiliated by her seduction attempt, she might have thought him embarrassed as well. She swallowed hard at the way he quickly got to his feet and stepped back from her. The stiff way he moved gave her the impression that he felt soiled being so close to her.

Not that it would surprise her. There were a lot of Sicari men who’d found her lack of abilities unattractive. Except Michael. He’d not cared until the day she’d lost the baby and her ability to have children. But that had made his rejection all the more painful. Without any order from Dante, she scrambled to her feet. Head bowed, she breathed in a sharp breath.

“I’m sorry, il mio signore, you were right. I’m reckless and deserve whatever sentence you hand out.”

Humiliation held her rigid in front of him, and she jumped as he uttered a violent oath beneath his breath. Her gaze jerked upward at the sound. Desire, anger, and confusion hardened his expression into an icy façade as he turned away from her.

“It’s not your fighting skills I’m concerned about,” he ground out.

“I don’t understand.” Puzzled, she shook her head in bemusement.

“It’s who you are that’s the problem.”

“Who I—”

Cleo stiffened as the full impact of his statement slammed into her. Marcus Vorenus. Suddenly, now that people knew she was the daughter of a Sicari Lord, she needed to be handled with care. Well, she refused to let anyone treat her like some precious object.

“I want to talk to him,” she said with a quiet hiss of air breaking past her lips. “Now.”

His features expressionless, Dante turned his head toward her. Those dark, stormy eyes of his studied her for a brief moment before he nodded sharply.

“Come.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned and headed toward the corner of the garden. Cleo followed him with a rigid stride that matched his. She was going on this mission whether Dante Condellaire or Marcus Vorenus liked it or not. In the far reaches of her brain a trigger went off, but she didn’t pay any attention. All she cared about at the moment was making sure she was included in the rescue mission.

She’d put too much effort into researching, analyzing, and planning the assault on the convent not to be included on the mission team. There was no way of knowing what her information might bring to the table in terms of a rescue plan, but it was clear Dante didn’t have enough information to move forward with his own plan.

If he did, he wouldn’t have tried to pressure her into telling him what Angotti had revealed. It would explain why he was so angry last night. He’d been furious that he’d not arrived before Angotti’s execution.

As she followed Dante into the house, she fought to gain control of her anger. If she were going to convince Marcus to let her participate in Marta’s rescue, she needed to sound logical and rational when she spoke to him. They passed through several rooms via the corridor that surrounded the courtyard until they turned into a smaller hallway that led to a monitoring room.

It took her a moment to adjust to the low lighting, and when she did, she saw almost twenty different video screens that surveilled the perimeter of the mansion. The young man and woman watching the video feeds immediately jumped to attention as Dante entered the room. He waved them to stand down and turned to the woman.

“Mary, contact White Cloud and get His Eminence on screen.”

“Si, il mio signore,” the woman said as she spun her chair around to face the console.

Cleo winced. Eminence. The word made Marcus sound even more important. While the woman at the console worked quickly to connect them, Dante stood beside her with his arms folded across his chest like a silent guardian waiting to be summoned back to duty. She was certain he expected Marcus to override her protests. Ironically, so did she. The silence in the room was almost suffocating as they waited, but she refused to let her anxiety show.

She was about to go head-to-head with a powerful Sicari Lord, and even if he was her birth father, it was still an intimidating thought. One of the monitors flickered with movement, and her throat closed tight with fear. Hell, facing those two Praetorians last night hadn’t scared her like this. The realization made her angry.

She didn’t have anything to fear. This was her life, and she was entitled to live it as she pleased. As Marcus’s face appeared on the screen, Dante gestured toward the headset the young woman at the console offered her. Cleo hesitated for only a second before she stepped forward to take the mike and sit down in front of the video screen. She wasn’t quite sure how to begin, and Marcus cleared his throat.

“I’m glad to see you’re safe and well, Cleopatra,” the Sicari Lord said quietly. “I understand you ran into a slight bit of trouble.”

Cleo glanced over her shoulder at Dante, whose expression hadn’t changed. She looked back at the monitor and nodded. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, but the Tribune’s assistance made it easier for me to get to a healer.”

“Healer?”

She saw Marcus frown darkly, and Dante growled with displeasure directly behind her. So the Tribune hadn’t told Marcus everything about last night. Was it possible Dante hadn’t mentioned his plan to rescue the women in the Convent of the Sacred Mother either? She was suddenly certain he hadn’t. She liked that. It gave her leverage. She shook her head.

“Just a cut on the leg. I was fine.”

“Good.” Although a hint of suspicion still remained on his features, Marcus seemed reasonably satisfied with her answer.

“We do have a slight problem, though,” she said in a firm voice. “I have some personal business here in Rome that I’d like to wrap up before I return stateside.”

“Personal business?” The questioning note in his voice matched the wariness of his expression.

“A friend of mine I want to spend time with,” she said smoothly. It was true. She did want to see Marta again. “While I was here, I thought I could offer up my skills to the Rome guild, but the Tribune here seems to think my bloodline should limit me to duties that involve less . . . risk.”

“I see,” Marcus murmured.

Cleo locked her jaw as she watched the monitor screen closely. For the first time, she could see a resemblance between herself and the man who was her father. He was clearly calculating a response designed to keep her in check without appearing to be manipulative. She wasn’t about to give him time to back her into a corner.

“I’m glad you understand, because I’m certain my mother will have informed you by now that I do not like to be treated any differently than anyone else.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you should be, Cleopatra.”

The Sicari Lord’s use of her formal name grated on her nerves. She really didn’t like it when people called her by her full name. It always made her feel like she was a kid again, about to be scolded by her mother. Although, come to think of it, she didn’t really mind when Dante used her full name. It sounded soft and lovely when he said it. She focused her attention back on the conversation at hand.

“Good. The Tribune here had me worried that I was suddenly on lockdown just because we happen to . . . know each other.” She stared hard at the screen in front of her and saw a flash of frustration darken her father’s face.

“No. You’re free to carry out your duties,” Marcus replied with a growl. “All I ask is that you keep in mind that the Prima Consul will blame me if anything happens to you.”

At the mention of her mother, Cleo grimaced. The man wasn’t playing fair. Just because Cleo was still angry about being lied to didn’t mean she didn’t love her mother. And she knew her mother loved her. But she still wasn’t ready to deal with the issue yet. It remained a raw wound that needed a little more time to heal. She tilted her chin slightly in defiance before nodding sharply.

“Understood,” she bit out. “Although, we both know the Prima Consul has no one to blame but herself.”

“You judge her too harshly, Cleopatra,” Marcus said quietly.

The observation was the exact same one Ignacio had made when she’d first learned the truth about her father. Merda, was Marcus still in love with her mother? She drew in a deep breath. She sure as hell didn’t want to face that question at the moment. It was hard enough coming to grips with the fact that she had a Sicari Lord for a father, let alone the possibility that he might become a permanent presence in her life.

“I judge her no less than I would myself. I just need time.” Her quiet response pulled a reluctant nod from Marcus.

“As you wish. When you’re ready, come home to White Cloud. I know your mother misses you.”

Cleo nodded then tugged the headset off and tossed it at the woman manning the console before she hurried out of the control room toward the courtyard. Deus, why in Jupiter’s Stone was she suddenly feeling lousy about this whole situation with her mother? It wasn’t as if she’d done anything wrong.

The moment she stepped out into the sunlight, she closed her eyes and lifted her face up to the sun. Something damp hit her cheek, and she blinked trying to see the blue sky that was nothing but a blur. Fuck, she was crying. Viciously wiping tears off her face, she dragged in a deep sobbing breath and paced the stones leading into the center of the peristylium.

She hated it when she cried. It was bad enough that she did it watching sad movies, but over her own troubles? Hands on her hips, she closed her eyes and willed the tears to vanish. She didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her, least of all Dante. She didn’t need or want anyone’s pity no matter the reason.

The back of her neck suddenly started to tingle before the sensation spread. Dante. What was it about this guy that made her whole body go off like a metal detector? She quickly brushed aside the remnants of her tears and turned to face him. He stopped in front of her and studied her for a long moment.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said as she bobbed her head in the affirmative.

“Good.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this awkward. Not only had she dropped him to the ground, but she’d kissed him. Deus, she’d reacted like a third grader on the playground, while Sir Galahad here had done the gentlemanly thing and just brushed it off. She owed him an apology. Hesitating, she nibbled at her lower lip. Did she really want to open up that can of worms again? She tightened her jaw. Yes, she really did.

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”

“I don’t need an apology.”

“Maybe not, but you’ve got one anyway,” she said in a voice tight with embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have dropped you to the floor like that . . . and I . . . well, the kiss just seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

“Are you finished?” His question made her jerk her head up to see an odd look on his face. So help her, if he were laughing at her, she’d drop him to the ground again. Sicari Lord or not.

“Yes, I’m finished.”

“Then let’s move on,” he said quietly. “I might not want to take you with me to the convent, but something tells me I don’t have much choice.”

“You mean the fact that you haven’t mentioned your little project to Marcus?”

“Correct.” His mouth tightened as he scowled at her. “The minute you skirted that issue with Marcus, I knew you’d hold my feet to the fire.”

“And you were right.” She offered him a small smile of triumph. “So how do we proceed?”