Damien gave a slow grin. “You’re lucky you’re alive right now.”
I glanced to him. “As are you.”
He widened his grin farther, hating me but wanting me at the same time. His green eyes were set in a handsome face, his masculine cheekbones complementing his full lips. He was a beautiful man, but he was tainted by such evil, his handsomeness got lost in translation.
Micah ignored his right-hand man. “If your father remains in my captivity, I will torture him and kill him.”
I maintained the exact same expression, just as I would in a poker game. My brother was part of the family business, but he hadn’t been mentioned once. He must have disappeared before they could get to him—and now they had no idea where he’d gone into hiding. He would never tell me, so it was pointless to ask. “I assumed. What do you want from me?” I didn’t have special skills or any interaction with the family business, so I didn’t have much to offer. Even my information was useless because I’d turned my back on the trade. That should be obvious to them—if they did their research.
“We’ll make a trade with you,” Micah offered. “One man for another.”
I narrowed my eyes automatically, the fear involuntarily controlling my reactions. The only person they could possibly want was my brother—and that was a trade I refused to make. They could threaten to kill me again, and it still wouldn’t make a difference. “You have a building full of capable men at your disposal. Why are you asking me?”
“This man is untouchable.” Micah pulled out a folder from the inside of his jacket and set it on the table between us.
I didn’t open it. “If he’s untouchable, I’m a terrible person to ask. I may be a good shot, but I’m no assassin.” I couldn’t pull off any kind of stunt. I lived a quiet life outside of Florence. I went to work every day at the gallery, spent time with my friends, had a few dates here and there, and then went home.
“We don’t want you to kill him.” Micah pushed the folder closer to me. “We need this man alive. Bring him to us, and your father goes free.”
I couldn’t allow myself to think about my father’s condition. He was probably locked up in a room with no windows and barely a cot. Maybe he deserved it because of his business, but it broke my heart to imagine him that way. If there were anything I could do for him, I would. “As I’ve already said, I have no skills. I’m an art buyer.”
Damien watched me with those malicious eyes. “Give yourself more credit, sweetheart.”
I kept my gaze on Micah so I wouldn’t rip out Damien’s throat. “Who is this man?”
Micah grabbed his glass again, but instead of drinking from it, he held it in his palm. “Cato Marino.”
That name meant nothing to me.
Micah must have recognized the blankness in my eyes because he elaborated. “He owns the biggest bank in the world. He hides money for the Chinese, has ties with the vaults in Switzerland, and half the debt of the United States can be attributed to him. There may be banks under different names, but they’re all owned by the same man.”
“Jesus…and you think I can touch this guy?” I laughed despite the seriousness of the situation because it was ridiculous. “He’s like the richest dude in the universe. You think I can just walk up to him and ask him to come with me?”
“No.” Damien watched me without blinking. “But you could get into his bed.”
Now it became crystal clear. They wanted me to spread my legs and seduce this man. They wanted me to bed him like a whore. Once I gained his trust, I could trick him into being caught by the wrong hands. “I’m not in that line of business.” I grabbed the bottle of scotch and refilled my glass.
“Then you better find another plan,” Micah said. “It doesn’t matter how you pull this off. As long as we get Cato Marino, your father walks free. It’s that simple. Do nothing—and I will kill him.” The gentlemanly attitude was long gone, and now his true colors rose to the surface. He squeezed his glass with his fingers. “Your father encroached on our territory and was stupid enough to cross the line one too many times. I was kind enough to give him a warning—but no more.”
My father ran a cigar business, exporting them all across Europe. They were high quality, sometimes costing eighty euros just for a single one. But that wasn’t how he made his money. His cigars were stuffed with drugs—the finest drugs in this hemisphere. He smuggled them where they needed to go under the clever disguise. The problem was, Micah was in the same line of work—and Italy just wasn’t big enough for the both of them. I warned my father that his good luck would run out, that he would take a bigger bite than he could chew. When he didn’t listen to me, I turned my back on my family—because I wanted a simple life.