Inferno's Kiss (11 page)

“She said Angotti had some information she wanted.”

“She questioned him?” Cornelia’s surprise made him look back at her as she shook her head in puzzlement. “What for?”

“She asked him about the convent. I think she’s planning an assault on the facility.”

“By
herself
?” The amazement in his friend’s voice made him grimace. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know. She wasn’t very forthcoming about her motives. All she said was that Angotti had information about the convent she wanted.”

“And she didn’t tell you what he said?”

“She
wouldn’t
tell me,” he said through clenched teeth as he remembered Cleopatra’s stubborn refusal to talk. “She tried to blackmail me into letting her join the rescue team before she’d tell me anything.”

“You didn’t
agree
to that, did you?” The appalled note in Cornelia’s voice made him send her a look of annoyance.

“You know me better than that,” he said with disgust. Regret flashed across his
Praefect
’s features as her gaze met his.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that even if she is a Sicari, she’s still a stranger. The fact that she’s even here in the complex makes it dangerous for her
and
us. We should have taken her back to the Order’s safe house.”

“She’s not quite the stranger you think she is,” Dante said quietly as Cornelia eyed him with a questioning look.

“Of course she is. We know nothing about her.”

“She’s the daughter of Marcus and the
Prima Consul
.”

“
Daughter?
” Cornelia gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “I knew Marcus had blood bonded with the
Prima Consul
and their son was taken by the Praetorians years ago, but I didn’t know he had a daughter.”

“Neither did he until a few weeks ago. He didn’t fill me in on all the details, but I don’t think Cleopatra has adjusted to the news quite as well as Marcus has.”

“What do you mean?”

“She thought Marcus had sent me to keep tabs on her, and she wasn’t happy about it.”

“Marcus? I thought you’d found out about Angotti from the tribunal records. I didn’t realize it was Marcus who told . . .” Cornelia’s eyes widened with horror. “Sweet Vesta. He’s found out what we’re planning.”

“No. He’s monitored the Order’s tribunals for years.” Dante shook his head in a reassuring manner. “But Angotti’s sentencing was the first time he’s ever cited a specific case to me.”

“Then he doesn’t know what we’ve been planning?” His
Praefect
’s expression of panic dissolved into one of relief.

“If he does, it wasn’t because I told him anything. I had a hard enough time convincing
you
that my plan to rescue Beatrice had merit,” he said in a dry voice. “Do you really think Marcus would be any easier to convince?”

“I doubt it.” Cornelia made a face as she acknowledged that Dante was right. “So how do we explain her presence here?”

“Aside from Placido and me, you’re the only other person in the
Absconditus
who knows about her relationship to Marcus. So for the time being, we simply state what’s common knowledge. She’s the
Prima Consul
’s daughter. We’ll let Marcus decide when or if he tells the rest of the
Absconditus
of his relationship to Cleopatra.”

“And how do you propose getting her to tell you what she knows about the convent?”

“I don’t know,” he grumbled with frustration. “In the span of just a few minutes, I learned she’s as stubborn as Marcus.”

“Well, you’d better figure something out, because he’s not going to be very happy if you take her with us.”

“An understatement, don’t you think?” He arched his eyebrow at Cornelia, who nodded unhappily.

His jaw tightened with determination. He’d get Cleopatra to talk. He didn’t have much choice. He’d raised Cornelia’s hopes where her daughter was concerned, and while she might not admit it to him or herself, she was counting on him to succeed. He studied his friend’s gloomy look as she turned her head to stare at one of the paintings on the wall. There was an air of hopelessness about her that illustrated just how upset his
Praefect
was.

Cornelia had always hidden her feelings well, but when Beatrice had been taken, she’d withdrawn even more. His friend had lost her husband to a heart attack two years ago, and her daughter was all Cornelia had left. Dante didn’t like seeing her this way. She’d never admit it, but she was terrified for Beatrice. She’d obviously sensed his concern, and she turned her head back to him.

“You’re doing the best you can, Dante. Even if we do get Beatrice out, you know as well as I do that most women either request the
Nex Cassiopeia
or find some other way to end their lives.” Cornelia’s eyes darkened with pain as she shook her head. “Living through that hell would challenge even the strongest Sicari woman.”

His friend averted her gaze once more, and Dante experienced a sense of helplessness. It was a sensation he didn’t like. He’d made a promise to himself that he’d get Beatrice out of that Praetorian hellhole, but Cornelia was right. Her daughter might actually ask her rescuer to end her life under the Order’s
Nex Cassiopeia
rite.

The thought of assisted suicide wasn’t an idea he relished, but Beatrice had a right to choose her own destiny. The Order’s law on that matter was clear. A swift, honorable death was the right of every Sicari. But the gods would be cruel to make Cornelia her daughter’s executioner. His stomach clenched at the thought.

While the
Absconditus
did its best to protect its members, there were times when it wasn’t possible. That had been the case with Beatrice. No one could have anticipated that an innocent visit to a small art gallery in Venice would result in her kidnapping. The Praetorian presence was almost nonexistent in the legendary city, and the gallery’s connection to their sworn enemy had gone unnoticed until Beatrice was taken.

Even then it had taken precious man-hours to link the gallery to Beatrice’s abduction. It was the only time Dante had ever seen his
Praefect
lose control. Cornelia had come close to torturing the gallery owner during the interrogation, and she’d assassinated him without Marcus’s approval. Fortunately, the reigning Sicari Lord had understood better than most the pain Cornelia was experiencing.

Dante’s second-in-command coughed, and he jerked his gaze up from the wood floor he’d been studying.

“I asked if you’d contacted Marcus to tell him that his daughter was here.”

“Yes,” he said with a quick nod. “I sent him a text message while you and Noemi were with her.”

“Did you tell him she’d been hurt?”

“There wasn’t any point. She was safe, and I knew Noemi would see to her wounds.”

“The name Cleopatra suits her. She’s quite beautiful.”

Cornelia’s statement brought to mind the first time he’d seen Cleopatra’s face in full detail. His brain had shut down to the point where he’d not been able to think straight. She’d affected every one of his senses, and a lightning strike couldn’t have knocked him off his feet any harder. Not even her namesake could have been more beautiful. He suddenly empathized with Julius Caesar and Mark Antony.

“And Jupiter’s Stone, she has a mouth like Placido,” Cornelia said with amusement, but he didn’t respond. A long moment passed before his
Praefect
released a soft snort of laughter. “You didn’t hear a word I said.”

“What?” He shook his head slightly in an attempt to clear the images of Cleopatra’s lovely face from his head. “No, I heard you. Cleopatra has Placido’s colorful way with words.”

Now that his
Praefect
mentioned it, Cleopatra’s language was definitely saltier than even some of his most hardened fighters. It was distinctly at odds with her beautiful face, but he could see where she might believe it would make her fit in better with other fighters in her guild. It couldn’t be easy being the
Prima Consul
’s daughter. And now that she’d discovered her relationship to Marcus, it wouldn’t get any easier.

“If you keep frowning like that, your eyebrows are going to fall off.” Cornelia’s voice pierced his thoughts, and he jerked his gaze toward her. She’d often used the expression when he was younger to make him laugh.

“I didn’t realize I was frowning,” he said with a slight smile.

“Quite fiercely, I might add.” Cornelia cocked her head to one side as she studied him with a look of affection. “When you were a boy, I always knew something was troubling you deeply when you frowned like that.”

The observation immediately set him on edge. It had been a long time since his
Praefect
had been able to read him so easily. He shrugged and smiled with forced amusement.

“I’m concentrating on how to make Cleopatra share whatever information she has.”

“I know you better than that,” Cornelia said quietly. “You always were a serious child, never letting others see how badly you were hurting.”

“Hurting?” Suddenly uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation was headed, he returned to the liquor cabinet and poured himself another drink. “You make it sound like I was miserable as a child. I had a happy childhood here in the
Absconditus
.”

“Did you? I sometimes wonder.” Cornelia sighed. “Marcus always pushed you so hard, and Placido . . . you worshipped him to the point that you would have cut off your right arm if he’d asked you to.”

“I wasn’t as bad as that.” Dante scoffed with a small laugh at Cornelia’s dramatic statement, and when she frowned with skepticism, he shrugged again and smiled. “Maybe a finger, though.”

His
Praefect
rolled her eyes at him, and he laughed. His earliest memories were of Placido teaching him how to hone his telekinetic abilities. They were happy memories. Placido’s love of life had always made lessons fun, and while Marcus had been the most demanding of mentors, the Sicari Lord had never withheld his praise.

Still, as a child, he knew his great respect for both men had bordered on the edge of hero worship. Perhaps it still did. He held up his glass to her, silently asking if she wanted a drink. When she shook her head no, he took a sip of the cognac he’d poured.

“All right, maybe you were willing to give up just one finger. But I always thought everything you did was done with the singular goal of pleasing Marcus and Placido, instead of what you really wanted.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing to admire one’s teachers or even to aspire to be like them,” he scolded gently.

“Of course it isn’t,” she snapped in a manner that was unlike her. “But it’s not healthy to give up everything for a cause.”

“What are you really trying to say, Cornelia?” He narrowed his gaze at her.

“What I’m saying is that I saw the way you looked at Cleopatra tonight. And something tells me you’re regretting a decision you made when you were too young to know any better.”

Cornelia’s soft words made him stiffen, and he quickly assumed an unreadable expression on his face.
Christus
, had he been that enthralled with Cleopatra? Of course he had. Otherwise, his
Praefect
wouldn’t be subtly reminding him that she’d never approved of his vow.

Although Cornelia had eventually come to respect his choice, she’d done everything possible to persuade him not to take the oath. She’d warned him that he’d come to regret it. The fact that Cornelia’s prediction had come true earlier this evening was bad enough, but for his friend to have witnessed it was humiliating.

“You’re mistaken,” he said in an icy tone of voice. One more lie and he would completely undo his entire first level of training in the
Novem Conformavi
.

“Lie to yourself if you like,” his
Praefect
said stoically. “But what I saw tonight was a man ready to stake his claim after only a few minutes in the woman’s presence.”

“If you’re suggesting I’ve forgotten my duty—”

“I’m suggesting nothing of the sort. I’m saying that tonight I saw a man meet an unmovable force. You can deny it all you want, but I know what I saw.”

“Then get your eyes checked,” he snarled. “My duty has always been, and always will be, to the
Absconditus
. I’ve not forgotten that any more than I’ve forgotten what it meant when Marcus made me Tribune.”

“Marcus made you Tribune because no one had ever seen a boy with such powerful abilities before. Even as a child you displayed signs of being a great leader.”

“And yet you’re still of the opinion I made a mistake in dedicating my life to the
Absconditus
.”

“Yes. You were fifteen years old when you made your vow. A vow, I might add, that you
know
isn’t binding because you made it
before
you came of age. And, despite your maturity even then, I think you made that vow because it’s what you thought Placido and Marcus wanted,” Cornelia said in a quiet, firm voice.

“No,” he growled, his patience thinning. “I knew I could have only one mistress, and that was the
Absconditus
.”

“
Jupiter’s Stone
.” Cornelia’s composure slipped dramatically as she stared at him in openmouthed horror. “Are you telling me you think being the reigning Sicari Lord means the
Absconditus
always has to come first, even at the cost of your own happiness?”

“I’m telling you that I
chose
to put the
Absconditus
first, because it’s what
I
wanted.”

Dante turned away from her and walked to the window to stare at his reflection. In the glass, he saw Cornelia lean forward with one hand resting on her hip and a dark frown of worry on her face. How in the hell had he allowed the conversation to get this far? Not once in all the years since he’d taken his oath had he ever shared with anyone his real reasons for committing himself to the
Absconditus
.

Marcus and Placido had grilled him about his decision. They’d carefully kept their own opinions out of their discussions, but even if they’d told him not to take the oath, he wasn’t sure he would have obeyed. He’d seen how intense emotional ties could make it difficult to lead the Sicari Lord’s guild. Marcus was a prime example of what having two mistresses could do to a man. As the reigning Sicari Lord, Marcus had been separated from his wife for years. But Dante was certain it was Marcus’s duty to the
Absconditus
that forced the Sicari Lord to stay away from Atia.