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“They think he’s been planted by the Russians.”
The best way to get to me was through my security team. It was my strongest asset but also my greatest vulnerability. I paid my men the kind of salaries that would make them loyal to their last breath. If any of them were suspicious of anyone else, they were encouraged to come forward. “Which one?”
“Jeremy. They found unauthorized wiring in his uniform. He’s also made unrecorded calls during his shift. The location of his calls can’t be traced. He’s clearly communicating with someone he shouldn’t be.”
Any suspicious activity was guilty activity in my eyes. I made it clear to my men I would execute them myself if I ever suspected any foul play. There was no such thing as a trial or an opportunity to make a case for freedom. I just didn’t have time for that. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.”
10
Siena
“Let me give you a hand with that.” Giovanni appeared out of thin air and picked up the painting carefully wrapped in plastic sheathing. “Are these for Mr. Marino?”
“Yes. I wanted him to see them in person before he made his decision.” I picked up the next biggest one and carried it into the drawing room. One by one, we stacked them against the walls near the window so the natural light hit the colors on the canvas.
I walked back outside to gather my things from the passenger seat when another car pulled up. With black windows and a black exterior, it resembled a tank more than a car. Bates got out of the back seat, dressed in a black suit with a hostile expression on his face.
He didn’t look at me once.
There was bad blood brewing. I could sense it in the air, smell it on my nose. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with me, but whatever was about to boil over was very near. I was tempted to get back into the car and drive away, but now the passage was blocked.
By two men dragging another in front of the fountain. They pushed him to his knees and stepped back.
What the hell was going on?
Bates stood off to the side and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes reserved for the man sitting on his knees on the concrete.
Giovanni came back to my side. “Miss Siena, you should go inside.” He gently touched me by the elbow and escorted me up the steps. “This isn’t any of our business.”
“What’s going to happen?” It looked like an execution was about to take place.
Giovanni never answered me.
At that moment, Cato stepped out of the house—a pistol in his hand. He was dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, and his muscled frame looked even thicker today—because he was clearly pissed. Blood lust was in his eyes, and his finger was already on the trigger.
Oh no.
He didn’t look at me as he passed and made his way down the steps.
Giovanni led me inside.
The man about to be executed started to beg for his life. “Cato, please—”
A gunshot went off.
The sound of a falling body came a second later.
My back was to the door so I didn’t see the execution happen, but I could picture it vividly in my mind.
Cato didn’t hesitate. He didn’t let the man beg. He just pulled the trigger and got it over with.
I controlled my breathing, but I felt the adrenaline sear my veins. Bones warned me this man was dangerous—and that warning wasn’t an exaggeration. Cato shot that man for whatever reason, and he didn’t hesitate. When he realized I was a fraud, what would he do to me?
“Clean this up,” Cato ordered. “And burn the body.”
I waited in the drawing room for fifteen minutes before Cato appeared.
Perfectly calm, like he hadn’t just executed someone, he stepped inside and glanced at the paintings I had unwrapped. His eyes took in each one for only a few seconds before he sat down and looked at me. “Yes.”
Just when my heart had slowed down, it sped up again. The palpitations had nothing to do with his good looks, but rather the memory of what happened on his doorstep not even twenty minutes ago. He knew I’d witnessed the entire thing because he’d walked past me with the gun in his hand. “Yes, what?”
“Yes on the paintings.” He was in the same clothes as before, but his gun was missing.
I’d been around guns my whole life and even stashed a few in my own home. They didn’t make me uncomfortable. But being in the presence of someone who could wield one so mercilessly certainly made me uncomfortable. “Great.” I’d been expecting a lengthier discussion, but after the execution, it seemed strange to discuss something as frivolous as artwork.
He must have detected the unease in my gaze. “Trust me, he deserved it.”
