The Dictator (Banker 2)

“I do know you, actually. And you aren’t a monster.”

“No. I’m worse than a monster.”

When the war began, he struck me in the car and made my head slam into the window, but it was a tame hit compared to what Bates had done to me. It was nothing in comparison. If that was the worst he could do, then I was in good company. “Cato—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” He must have picked up on the emotion in my voice. He must have predicted the words about to tumble out. “Save your apology. I don’t want to listen to it.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize.”

He turned back to me. Now he looked like he really wanted to hit me.

“You want to know where this scar came from?” I touched my left shoulder.

He followed my fingers but didn’t ask the question.

“Damien broke in to my house, hunted me down, and when I refused to surrender, he shot me. Then he dragged me to Micah and told me they had my father. If I didn’t bring you to them, they would kill him. And if I failed, Damien would get me all to himself—to play with his food before he ate it. It was nothing personal, Cato.”

“And I’ve never taken it that way. You did what you had to do—and I’ll do what I have to do.”

“In the beginning, I didn’t feel guilty about betraying you. I heard you were a terrible man.”

“And I am.” He faced forward again.

“It was when I got to know you that I realized you were a lot more than that. When it was just the two of us, you were charming, playful, and kind. The more time we spent together, the softer you became. I never expected to like you. I never expected to respect you. But once those feelings developed, I felt so terrible. I argued with myself for hours, trying to decide between you and my father. In the end, I turned that car around. I chose you.”

He wore the same indifference, like my speech meant nothing to him. His hand remained on his knee, and he looked out the window as the city of Florence became visible. “Here’s your answer. We’re checking to make sure that baby is mine.”

I ignored the insult that swept over my body. “It is, Cato.”

“I think so too. But I learned my lesson. Never trust anything that comes out of your mouth.”

2

Cato

The doctor handed me the results in private.

We were a match.

That baby was definitely mine.

“You’re certain?” I asked as I folded up the paper and placed it in my pocket.

“These kinds of tests are never wrong, Mr. Marino.”

I walked into the patient room and saw Siena standing there. She had put her dress and shoes back on now that the procedure was finished. Her brown hair was pulled back in a clip, and her eyelashes were thick with mascara. She’d done her best to cover the bruises on her face, but no amount of makeup could hide the damage.

I’d watched my brother beat her mercilessly, and despite my rage, I respected her for the way she handled it. Not once did she scream. Not once did she cry. She didn’t allow any audible sound to give my brother satisfaction.

And when I pointed the gun in her face, she didn’t piss herself.

She looked at me through those full lashes but didn’t ask what the results were.

She already knew.

I’d had her tested for diseases just to make sure. Her results were clean. I tested myself and got the same results. Maybe that was overboard, but I didn’t know this woman at all. I found it unlikely there was another man in the picture, not when I fucked her so well and so often, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Wordlessly, she walked out with me and returned to the car.

We left Florence and headed back to the house. Bates would meet me there so we could discuss the Beck brothers. They’d started drilling in a new location, but it didn’t seem like they’d made progress yet.

I hoped I didn’t have to kill his family.

She crossed her legs and sat quietly beside me, her hand resting across her flat stomach. Her gaze was directed out the window, and she wasn’t as talkative as she was earlier. Her black dress fit her curves nicely, and the pearls around her neck made her look like royalty. Whenever she was at the house, she dressed conservatively, like a librarian, but I found the look strangely arousing. She commanded respect with her clothing, and that forced me to respect her—to some degree.

I hadn’t had the chance to let the truth sink in. I’d been too angry to understand how drastically my life would change in nine months.

I would be a father.

I never wanted kids. I never wanted to be a father. This was the last thing I had any interest in.