The Banker (Banker 1)

He held my gaze a moment longer before he finally made his way toward the door. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his collared shirt before he crossed the threshold and disappeared. Some of my men would escort him off the premises and follow him to see where he went.

I turned back to my mother. “Are you alright?”

A silk robe was tied across her body, and despite the late hour, her hair was still elegantly styled. A life of luxury suited her, and she kept up her classy appearance constantly. She stepped closer to me, the fatigue in the bags under her eyes. “I’m fine, Cato. Thank you for coming.”

“There should be security guarding the perimeter.” I’d offered it to her before, but she never took it. I had men watching me all the time because I had a lot of enemies—known and unknown. Any man who had my wealth was always a target.

“I don’t want to live that way,” she said dismissively.

“And I don’t want to worry about you.”

“Then don’t.” She looked up at me, her blue eyes identical to mine. “He says he regrets leaving…”

“Because we’re rich, Mother.” Sometimes my mother was naïve, despite the way she’d been betrayed. She wanted to see the good in people even when there was none there. “Of course, he regrets it. His two sons have founded the most lucrative banking company in the world.”

“You’re probably right…but he does seem sincere.”

“He’ll seem sincere until he gets a check.” I was tempted to pay him off. Give him a million-dollar check just so he would leave us alone. That was just pennies to me, and he would never bother us again. But I had too much pride to give him anything, not after he hurt my mother. I couldn’t care less there wasn’t a father figure in my life when I was growing up. My mother was more than enough. But my loyalty to her fueled my rage.

“Maybe.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You should get going, son. I know you have work in the morning.”

“Alright. Good night.”

She walked me to the door. “I really appreciate you taking care of me, Cato. Not all sons would be so generous.”

I turned my gaze on her before I walked out the door, examining the petite woman who had somehow given birth to two behemoth sons. She worked around the clock to put a roof over our heads and food on the table, and somehow, we always had a nice Christmas. When Bates and I found our success, we didn’t even need to have a conversation about our mother. We took care of her because it was the right thing to do. “It’s the least I can do, Mother.”

I had a three-story home on forty acres of land in Tuscany. The drive branched off the main road and entered a forest of trees that hid the house from view. After nearly a mile, the drive finally reached the black gates with my surname fashioned in iron. A wall made of cobblestone surrounded the entire property, covering the forty acres and making it a hidden gem in the middle of the countryside. Men were stationed all along the wall—whether I was home or not.

It was the perfect meeting place for my biggest clients.

Because it couldn’t be more private.

Clients could slip in and out without being spotted by another living soul. Transactions could be made with fifty men on duty. It was a place where men could loosen their ties and refresh their drink as many times as they wished.

Also, not all my transactions were legal. I made money in a lot of ways, and I broke the law in many ways to make that happen. I hid money from various governments for tax purposes and made a profit off those investments. Any powerful person in this world came to me if they wanted to keep their money safe—and make more money.

Bates and I just finished a meeting with clients from China. They were chauffeured out to the roundabout near the fountain and then guided to the end of the driveway and the iron gate. Photographers and journalists couldn’t follow them here, and my clients were always pleased and comforted by the extreme privacy—along with all the security that combed the property.

Nothing happened under my watch.

I sat in the leather chair near the window, my legs crossed and my fingers resting under my chin. It was a bright summer day in Tuscany, and the brilliant rays penetrated through the glass and shone across my thigh. My callused fingertips brushed against my chin, soft from shaving that morning.

Bates sat in the comfortable armchair with his empty glass of scotch on the table. He was looking through the paperwork we’d just discussed with our clients. We were being given a great deal of money for safekeeping, which would be disguised as international investments in America. We evaded foreign detection and took advantage of the interest rates. He licked his thumb before he turned the page.