The Banker (Banker 1)

Siena.

She told me off like no one else. She threw me away like she had nothing to lose. She treated me like I was nobody, not the handsome billionaire every woman wanted in their bed. To her, I was just another guy in the crowd. All she wanted from me was a job, and now that she had it, she didn’t want anything else.

Why did that make me admire her?

Why did that make me obsess over her?

No idea.

When my cigar burned out, I had nothing else to look forward to. Lighting another was tempting, but having Siena in bed tonight was even more tempting. I didn’t want to bend my rules for anyone, but I bent them for her already.

If not, I would be fucking two women right now.

I didn’t think twice before I’d pumped a bullet into that traitor’s skull. My hand didn’t shake, and my finger didn’t feel hot after pulling the trigger. But now I kept replaying my final conversation with Siena like I was filled with regret.

She had a date tonight.

Because she would rather do that than bend over backward for me.

I wasn’t used to that.

I stared at my cold cigar for a few minutes before I rose out of my chair, suffocated by my thoughts. I’d never been the kind of man to sit back and do nothing when something bothered me. If someone crossed me, I hunted them down and killed them. If there was someone I wanted, I didn’t stop until I had them.

So why wasn’t I doing something now?

When nearly the entire country was at my disposal, I could find a needle in a haystack instantly.

I found Siena in five minutes. She was having dinner at a bistro in Florence. Her date was an accountant. His background was squeaky clean, so clean that it was dirty. Only pussies had nothing to hide. Real men had skeletons to be proud of.

It would be easy for me to have her date dragged out of the restaurant. Or I could just drop an envelope of cash in front of him. He would take the bait just like anyone else. But Siena wouldn’t be impressed by any of that. She would probably slap me.

Might slap me anyway.

I spotted them together at a table in the corner. She looked beautiful in a red dress with a single strap. It was short with a slit up her thigh. Her hair was pulled back the way it was when we worked together, and the entire look made her the most beautiful woman in the room.

I took a moment to stare at her before I looked at her date.

He was a good-looking guy. Solid build with masculine features. He had a light beard and bright eyes. His t-shirt fit his ripped arms, and he had a muscular back that suggested he hit the weights hard. She definitely didn’t struggle to pick up handsome men for the night.

Maybe she really didn’t need me, after all.

I approached their table and pulled a chair with me, putting it in between them before I sat down.

Siena turned to me, and her look of terror was undeniably sexy.

Her date stared at me blankly before he looked at her again, clearly seeking an explanation.

I leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg, letting my ankle rest on the opposite knee. My hands came together in my lap, and I kept my attention on her, even though her date’s look of bewilderment was probably entertaining. “You look beautiful tonight, Siena.” I liked the dark tones she wore at my estate, but the vibrance of that dress really complemented her coloring.

Her eyes narrowed in ferocity. “What are you doing here, Cato?”

“Getting a drink.” I placed my hand in the air, and instantly, the waitress arrived and took my order. “Scotch, one ice cube.” I kept my eyes on Siena because no one else in the room was important.

Her date was obviously a pussy because he hadn’t said a word to me.

Her beauty was even more apparent when she was pissed. Her eyes lightened noticeably, her cheekbones became more pronounced because she pursed her lips so tightly. Her thick lashes opened and closed quicker with her frustration. “I’m in the middle of a date, Cato. You don’t belong here.”

The waitress returned with my drink, and I brought the glass to my lips. “The more, the merrier, right?”

“No.” Siena’s eyes flashed with threat. “How would you feel if I crashed one of your dates?”

I grinned. “I would love that, actually.”

Quick like a snake, she pulled her hand back and slapped me across the face.

Slapped. Me.

The hit didn’t hurt, but the shock slowly circulated in my veins until my adrenaline boiled over. No one had ever pulled a stunt like that besides my mother—and that was twenty-five years ago.

I set my glass down and examined her harder, pissed off and aroused at the same time.