Inferno's Kiss (6 page)

A sigh parted her lips as she realized her mother had only been doing what any good mother would do. Atia had been protecting her. Would she have done any less if she were a mother? Her heart clenched painfully in her breast. She certainly hadn’t been thinking about her unborn child the night she’d gone out on assignment. She could have easily asked for reserve duty until after the baby was born. She hadn’t, and she’d paid the price. It was the last thought she remembered as she slipped into the darkness of sleep.

Shafts of moonlight streamed down through the girders of the abandoned bridge overhead as she quietly moved forward. A few feet away to her left, she could barely see Lysander’s tall form. That was a good thing. The longer they went undetected, the easier it would be to execute their target. Assassinations weren’t easy. Most of their targets had a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later.

“Just like we planned, okay?” Lysander’s command echoed quietly in her earpiece.

“I’m ready if you are.”

Her whisper seemed to echo all the way up to the train bridge above her head. It made her uneasy. The whole situation didn’t feel right. And that was saying a lot, since she wasn’t like most Sicari females who could sense danger.

She put the sensation down to an overactive imagination and moved toward the black sedan that was parked at the opposite end of the bridge. She’d gotten halfway to the car when it roared to life and gravel sprayed everywhere as the car spun out from underneath the bridge and onto the nearby pavement.

“What the—? Cleo, we’ve got company.”

Lysander’s clipped words were followed by the sound of a sword hitting metal three times in rapid succession. Instinct made her pull her sword out of the sheath on her back and whirl around all in one fluid motion. Even as fast as she moved, she still failed to block the sword coming at her. The Praetorian’s finely honed blade sliced into her raised forearm as neatly as if he were slicing a piece of steak.

“Goddamnit. Son of a bitch.” A soft chuckle followed her cry, and her gaze met the menacing amusement in the man facing her.

“You’re quite right, Unmentionable,” the Praetorian murmured in a silky tone that was all the more unsettling because of its pleasant sound. “My mother was a bitch. A Sicari bitch who had the decency to die giving birth to me.”

The callousness of the statement made Cleo’s blood run cold. This guy was more malicious in his hatred than most Praetorians she’d encountered. His sword headed toward her again, and she quickly shifted her weapon into her opposite hand to block and parry. The instant her blade cut into the man’s chest, she saw the surprise on his face. She managed a tight smile of satisfaction.

“Didn’t expect to meet a switch-hitter with a sword, did you, you sorry ass
bastardo
?”

With a vicious oath, her opponent swung his sword in a furious round of strikes that had her stumbling backward. His skill was on the same level as hers, but it was the strength of his blows she couldn’t match. And the option of darting out of his reach wasn’t really a viable one when the guy was almost two times her size. The Praetorian’s sword sparked against hers as the two weapons slid downward against each other to lock at the hilt. The gleam of triumph in the man’s eye vanished as she kneed him in the groin. With a loud cry of pain, the Praetorian’s sword hit the ground’s mix of dirt and gravel as he dropped to his knees, clutching his jewels. The tip of her sword immediately pressed into his chest, ready to drive through the man’s heart.

“You fought well, Praetorian. I now ask for your forgiveness,” she said quietly. “Do you give it?”

“May your soul rot in hell, Unmentionable,” the man snarled, and with a flash of speed that surprised her, his forearm came up to viciously slam into the edge of her blade.

The move knocked the sword away from his chest, but the price the Praetorian paid was her blade slicing deep into his arm until she struck the bone. With a fierce noise of anger, she grimaced as blood spurted its way onto her hand. In the next instant, an icy chill streaked across her skin as the Praetorian retrieved his sword and dragged it deep through the layer of skin beneath her belly button.

“Oh fuck,” she whispered as her brain reacted frantically to the injury and began to shut down everything but the most important organs necessary for survival. “Lysander . . . I’m sor . . .”

The Praetorian’s vicious laugh rang in her ears as her hand pressed against her wound. She heard the man’s laughter cut short just as she sank to her knees and tumbled to the ground.

Gasping for air, Cleo shot upright on the couch.
Christus
, she hadn’t dreamed about that terrible night in more than a year. She pushed her dark hair back off her face. Where the hell had that come from? Right. Feeling empathy for her mother. Cleo raked her fingers through her hair then shook her head and closed her eyes. She understood
why
her mother had kept her in the dark about her father. She just needed to process it. What she hated the most were the cruel things she’d said to her mother. Cleo and her mother were all each other had. Not exactly true when she thought about it.

An image of Marcus Vorenus flitted through her head. He’d said he wanted to get to know her. And, one thing was for sure, the Sicari Lord didn’t act like he was going anywhere anytime soon. In a way, she wasn’t really surprised by it. Atia and Marcus were blood bonded. That wasn’t the sort of thing you walked away from.

Fuck, was he really trying to get back together with her mother? She winced. She wasn’t going there. The first thing she needed to do was deal with her mother. She could figure out how to deal with Marcus Vorenus’s return to their lives after that.

Deus
, she wished Lysander was here. He was the closest thing to a brother she had, and if anyone could make her see the logic in the situation, it was him. Thinking of her friend reminded her of Angotti. The
bastardo
had been inside the convent, and he was going to tell her what she needed to know. She’d use his knowledge of the building to get Marta out of that hell hole and help Lysander at the same time.

Of course, when Lysander heard what she’d done, he’d thank her, then kick her ass, then thank her again. As for Marta—who knew what her friend would do. Cleo swallowed hard. Marta might wish she were dead. Even worse, her friend might beg Cleo for the
Nex Cassiopeia
. She shuddered. No. Marta was stronger than that. Besides, killing her friend just wasn’t part of the plan.

Chapter 3

A sliver of light from a window above the alleyway made the slimy cobblestones glisten. The rank smell of the sewers made Cleo wrinkle her nose as she waited patiently in the dark. Like most old cities, Rome’s current drainage system had been in place for a very long time, and the smell reflected that fact. Even despite the amount of time she’d been standing here, she still wasn’t used to the stench.

The sooner she returned to the safe house for a good soak in the tub, the better. For the past week, she’d been so busy planning Angotti’s execution that she’d not been able to take any time for one of her favorite activities. A bubble bath followed by a glass of Lambrusco, Italian opera, and her one guilty pleasure—a romance book. The combination had a way of easing all the tension from her body.

At least her involvement with Angotti’s fate had enabled her to avoid her mother and Marcus Vorenus before they’d left for the White Cloud estate a week ago. It hadn’t surprised her that the Sicari Lord had gone with her mother, although the idea that her mother might renew her relationship with Marcus Vorenus was unsettling for some reason. A small part of her was feeling jealous that she’d have to share her mother all the time. It was selfish to feel that way, but for years it had been just the two of them, and Ignacio. Now, Cleo was faced with having a father in her life when she’d gone so long without one. Concentrate. She didn’t need to be thinking about her mother’s confession. Angotti was her concern at the moment.

Her gaze focused on the door a short distance from where she stood. Hopefully the
bastardo
wouldn’t be long now. Angotti had gone into his mistress’s house a little more than two hours ago. More than enough time to fuck the woman two or three times. The
Vigilavi
police officer assigned to watch Vincente Angotti had detailed the son of a bitch’s varied schedule for almost twelve months. It had taken the tribunal almost that long before reaching a judgment.

Roberto, Isabella, Giovanni, Rosa, and Lorenzo were the primary reason she’d insisted on this assignment. She remembered the pictures of five kids mixed in with the paperwork on Salvatore Conti’s precinct desk in Rome. The oldest one had been eight, but it was six-month-old Isabella that locked a vise around her heart. Five lives snuffed out by Angotti’s greed.

For once she was glad Rome’s three-man court had taken their usual amount of time debating Angotti’s fate. It had given the
Vigilavi
more time to continue their observation of Angotti. Time to turn up an unexpected present. Angotti was in bed with the Praetorians.

It was why she’d come alone tonight. She didn’t want another fighter questioning her actions with Angotti. Of course, when Ignacio found out she’d come without backup, he was going to put her on the bench for at least a month. Well, it couldn’t be helped. She wanted the information Angotti had, and she was going to get it before she executed the
bastardo
.

The sound of a door opening drew her up straight as her gaze narrowed on the short, stocky figure that turned around to speak to someone shielded in the darkened doorway. She heard a feminine laugh and grimaced. How in Juno’s name could the woman even allow the man to touch her? Cleo gritted her teeth. This was one target she wouldn’t feel any remorse over killing.

Deep in the back of her mind, she heard Ignacio’s warning to make sure Angotti’s death was a merciful one, as the Sicari Code forbade revenge killings. She almost snorted with derision. This wasn’t revenge. It was justice. She ignored the small voice in her head that suggested maybe her motives were less than honorable. Dishonorable? There wasn’t a goddamn thing wrong with executing a baby killer.

As the man stepped away from the doorway, Cleo heard the door shut, and she looked toward one end of the alley and then the other. Angotti always traveled with a small entourage, but she’d entered the alleyway after his soldiers had scouted out the dark corners from both ends of the narrow backstreet.

Sometimes Praetorian tactics were a good thing, especially when it meant rappelling off a roof to escape detection. Of course, that sort of entrance made dressing for tonight a little more challenging. Angotti loved beautiful women, and looks she had in spades.

She’d known how important it was to dress as seductively as possible. She had to silence Angotti quickly, and the only way to do that was to appeal to his baser instincts. The downside to everything had been the limits to what she could wear, since she was jumping off a building.

So she’d had to settle for a low-cut red shirt with a pair of soft black leather pants. While she had a couple of dresses, she was utilitarian by nature, and her closet was mostly filled with serviceable outfits. Although she did have a secret weakness for slutty underwear and shoes. Particularly boots like the stylish ones she was wearing tonight.

When she’d seen the flat-heeled boots with their cuffed tops and intricate pleating in a Rome storefront window, they’d appealed to both her utilitarian and feminine sides. The boots were perfect for a mission like this. Spiked boots made it virtually impossible to defend herself if she ran into any trouble.

Not to mention the noise spiked heels would have made on the side of the wall as she dropped three stories down into the alley. It was bad enough that the two long scarves around her neck kept fluttering up into her face as she’d rappelled off the roof. But she needed a gag and something to bind Angotti’s hands with. She snorted a whisper of disgust at her analysis of her attire. If the son of a bitch remained true to his profile, his eyes would be on her chest and her cleavage.

She pushed herself away from the side of the building she’d been leaning against to quietly follow the man, who proved to be far more aware of his surroundings than she’d expected. She saw him turn around brandishing a weapon. The handgun had a silencer on it. Goddamnit.

“Please,
signore
. Please don’t hurt me.”

Lysander would have laughed at the way she feigned being a helpless female, but Angotti seemed to buy her act. He peered at her closely in the dark, relaxing his posture slightly. He didn’t speak but flicked his wrist and used his gun to order her out into the small stream of light she’d been avoiding. The man’s eyes widened as she came out of the shadows, and he smiled with more than a hint of lust.

Angotti’s reaction didn’t surprise her. His taste in beautiful women was going to be his downfall tonight. She’d dressed specifically for his benefit. A going-away present for him, of sorts. The amusing thought made her smile genuine as she stepped into the light for him to get a good look at her.

The leather pants she wore were skintight, while the short, black leather jacket she wore over her dark red shirt emphasized her waist and full hips. The snug top she wore dipped low and would have been far more revealing if not for the brooch nestled in between her breast and the scarves fluttering around her neck. The man licked his lips as if she were a dessert on his plate. His expression made her skin crawl. Suddenly the scarves around her neck were well worth the hassle they’d given her while rappelling off the roof. At least the silk covered up most of the skin her low-cut shirt revealed, along with the ornate brooch that hid her weapon of choice.

“
Bellissima
,” Angotti said as he eyed her with a mixture of lust and suspicion. “How did you get past the men at the end of the alley?”