The Banker (Banker 1)

Frozen in place, I couldn’t believe the simple way she kicked me out of her house.

Cato Marino.

I owned everything, and she was kicking me out?

When I didn’t speak or move, she turned to look at me, sexy with the covers barely covering her perky tits. With that sleepy look in her eyes, she looked even more beautiful tired than wide awake. The hour I spent pleasing her had drained her completely. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes. Doesn’t mean I’ll listen to you.”

“This bed isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

“You can just sleep on me.”

She propped herself up on her elbow. “Do you always try to sleep over when a woman asks you to leave?”

No. Because I’d never tried to stay. I kicked the sheets back and rose to my feet.

She stayed in bed and pulled the sheets to her shoulder. “Good night.”

I stood naked at her bedside, shocked once again. “You aren’t going to walk me out?”

“You know where the front door is.”

I always thought I was an asshole, but it looked like I met my match. “You need to lock the door after I leave.”

“I’m not scared of anyone. I have a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

I lingered at her bedside, having no reason to stay and not a word to utter. Her indifference confounded me. Her coldness seared me. Any woman would kill for my attention, but it didn’t mean a damn thing to her.

I left her bedroom and grabbed my clothes downstairs. I pulled everything on then checked my phone. Of course, there were ten missed calls from various people. One of them was Bates.

I walked out the door and got into my Bugatti, my security team spread out around the perimeter over the course of a mile. I drove away and called my brother back.

“Where are you?” he asked the second he picked up.

It was pitch black outside, and I headed back to Tuscany instead of my place in Florence. I didn’t get to drive as much as I wanted, so it was a rare treat. With no music, I could hear the sound of the powerful engine as it carried me across the beautiful landscape. “What do you want?”

“Whenever you don’t answer me, that means you’re doing something you shouldn’t—or doing someone you shouldn’t.”

“Don’t worry about my dick, and I won’t worry about yours.”

“You don’t need to worry about mine—because it’s not stupid.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Anyway, rumor has it the Beck Brothers are going bankrupt. Their adventures in oil reservoirs have gone belly up. Information isn’t public, but I always have one man on the inside.”

I’d loaned them half a billion dollars to fund the project with a hefty interest rate in return. Their agenda seemed so simple that I was dumbfounded they could screw it up. “Hopefully, your informant is wrong.”

“He’s not, Cato. They’ve spent half the investment, and apparently, it’s gone. We’ll be lucky to get the second half back.”

“They’ll recoup what they lost—one way or another.”

“That’s a lot of money, Cato—even for us.”

I drove with one hand on the steering wheel and noticed the lights from the cars behind me. It was easy to spot me in the middle of nowhere because a dozen cars packed with men and weapons accompanied me everywhere I went. Even when I was alone, I was never really alone. “People trust our money because we always make our clients pay. It keeps us liquid. We will get that money back one way or another. I’ll see to it.”

“Or we could execute them.”

“Killing them is too easy. Putting them to work is more practical.”

“But we’ve got to kill them anyway.”

Everyone knew that was a risk once they borrowed money from me. I had the cash to make their investments come true, but they were bartering with their lives. If they failed to make good on their promises, they would face torture and death. There were no exceptions. “Yes. I’ll do it myself.” I’d killed so many people it didn’t faze me. I didn’t lose a moment of sleep over it. Most of my business associates were criminals anyway, so it wasn’t like I murdered innocent people. I did business with the rest of the world, families that needed a loan to buy their first home, but that was a completely separate side of my business. That was the public version, the one that was written about in the newspapers. The underworld was where I made my real money. I was a glorified gangster in a pretty suit.

“I’ll do some more digging and let you know.”

“Alright.” The phone call seemed finished, so I was about to hang up.

“Were you with the art buyer?”

My finger hovered over the button. “I’m not sharing her, so stop asking.”

He chuckled. “I’m not interested in sharing. I’m interested in getting rid of her. If she turns out to be the worm I think she is—”