Michael had been her last chance at happiness, and even he'd deserted her at a time when she'd needed him the most. He'd left her to deal with the pain of her loss all alone. She swallowed the knot lodged in her throat as Mario frowned at her. It wasn't something she could make her friend understand. She doubted there were any Sicari who could understand how she felt.

"Damnit, Cleo." Mario gave her a slight shake. "You've got incredible fighting skills, you're intelligent, and you're drop-dead gorgeous. If you had anything else, you'd be a goddamn Sicari Lord."

The words made her grow cold. Her expression must have revealed her pain, because Mario eyed her with puzzled concern. Not about to explain, she forced a smile to her lips.

"I'm too sweaty to be drop-dead gorgeous," she said. From the look on Mario's face, her effort to sound cheerful fell short, and she turned away. "I'll talk to you later."

"How about I take you to dinner at that little place we went to last month? The one with the ziti you liked." At his offer, she glanced over her shoulder at him. The boyish grin on his face suddenly made her want to cry.

"You're just not going to let me have a self-pity party, are you?" she asked with a watery smile.

"Nope." Mario chuckled as he jerked his head toward the locker room. "Hit the showers like Ignacio said, then meet me in the salon this evening at six."

His gaze held hers for a moment before she nodded and made her way to the showers.

The ladies' locker room was empty, and Cleo winced as she tugged off her sweatpants. Every one of her muscles ached from the brutal workout she'd put herself through since early this morning. She glanced at the clock over the entryway. Seven hours.

It had been little more than seven hours since her mother had revealed the truth about who her father was. As if it wasn't bad enough to discover she had a brother. Correction. She had had a brother. What would things have been like if the Praetorians hadn't taken Gabriel? Would she have been as close to him as she was to Lysander?

She felt funny not mourning Gabriel like her mother was grieving. It was hard to be sorry he was dead when he'd been a Praetorian. Maybe not by birth, but in everything he'd done, Gabriel had been one of the enemy. For her mother it was clearly different. The Prima Consul mask was on, but Cleo had seen her mother's sorrow underneath. And despite the way her mother had lied to her, Cleo didn't like seeing her in pain. Then there was Marcus Vorenus. He'd been grieving, too, but his grief was buried even deeper than her mother's sorrow.

The image of the man fluttered through her head as she tugged off her shirt and stuffed it viciously into her gym bag. Here she was, saddled with a father she'd thought was dead, and a dead brother she never knew. It was like she was living some twisted Shakespearean tragedy.

She grabbed soap and shampoo from her locker and limped her way into the shower. The hot spray went a long way toward easing some of the tightness in her body, but the heat only alleviated the physical pain. It did nothing to ease the ache in her heart.

Her mother had lied to her. No, she'd simply not bothered to correct Cleo's assumption that her father was dead. It was a lie of omission and a betrayal of trust. Her mother had promised to always tell her the truth, no matter how much it might hurt.

Cleo had extracted that bargain from her mother as a child. She didn't doubt it had been a childish promise to demand, but even then her mother had known her father was alive. How was she supposed to forgive something like this, let alone believe anything her mother ever said again? And what about Marcus? A Sicari Lord. Deus, the irony of it was almost hysterically funny. She was the daughter of a man who had the strongest abilities of any Sicari, yet she had none. Zilch. Niente.

It only emphasized her feelings that she was an outsider among her own people. Not even Mario's comment about her not needing special powers could ease the sensation that she didn't fit in and never would. That feeling was something Michael had helped cement when he'd walked away from her three years ago. It wasn't just their child that had been lost to a Praetorian sword. Her ability to have children was lost, too, and Michael hadn't wanted to adopt. He'd wanted a child to carry on his lineage. She closed her eyes and willed the heartache to ease out of her. It didn't work, so she buried it and focused her thoughts on her shower.

A little more than twenty minutes later, she walked into the changing room to see Violetta sitting on the bench centered between two sets of lockers. The first time they'd met had been when they'd both been assigned to the team searching for the Tyet of Isis. She liked Violetta, but she wasn't someone Cleo felt close enough to confide in. She ignored the woman and went to her locker to dress. As Cleo pulled on a clean shirt, she heard Violetta clear her throat.

"Why don't you let me take a look at that leg of yours?"

"I'm fine."

She didn't look at Violetta as she pulled on a pair of jeans. Reaching for a comb, she viciously dragged it through her hair. When she'd finished, she gathered her long hair up in one hand and secured it in a ponytail with a scrunchie.

"Mario's worried you might have some nerve damage after the blow he gave your leg."

"I don't need the Curavi for sore muscles."

She knew healers sometimes saw things during the healing process. And even though healers swore to hold in confidence whatever they experienced in a healing session, she didn't want to risk Violetta discovering something Cleo wasn't willing to share just yet. Some small nugget of information like her long-lost father showing up, and that he just happened to be a Sicari Lord.

"Then you'd better tell that to Mario. He's convinced your leg is going to be permanently damaged if I don't heal you." There was a prickly tone to the woman's voice, and Cleo realized she'd been too sharp with the healer.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bitten your head off like that," Cleo said with regret. She turned her head to look at the healer. "Mario's a worrywart. I don't deny that my leg still hurts, but I'll be fine."

"Most people are irritable when they're in pain. No apology needed." Violetta offered her a smile. "But I'll be honest. The way you walked in here a little while ago, you sure looked like someone who could benefit from a healer's touch."

"I'll be fine, but if the pain worsens, I promise I'll come see you."

"All right, but just so you know, Mario isn't the only one worried about you," Violetta said as she stood up. "Ignacio is waiting for you outside."

"Fuck." Cleo's response made the healer laugh.

"I think that was his response when Mario explained how you got hurt. So be prepared to have him read you the riot act. And you know where to find me if you change your mind about that leg."

Still laughing, Violetta turned and left, leaving Cleo to stew about Ignacio waiting for her outside the locker room. Damn, she didn't want to deal with Ignacio's fatherly concern at the moment. She frowned. How was he going to feel when he learned Marcus Vorenus was her real father?

He would probably be just as blown away as she was. With a sharp movement, Cleo tossed her gear into her gym bag and slammed her locker shut. As she emerged from the locker room, she saw Ignacio leaning against the wall just outside the door.

"You should have put ice on that leg right away."

"It's sore muscles, not a sprain." Her response made him mutter something under his breath.

"Come with me."

It wasn't a request, it was an order, and he didn't bother to hide his angry frustration. With a sharp movement, he pushed himself away from the wood paneling outside the locker room and headed out of the gym. She followed him in silence, certain he was going to grill her as to why she'd spent seven hours working out to the point of exhaustion. And pain.

She probably should have let Violetta heal her. No, she wasn't ready to deal with all the questions and curiosity. Keeping up with Ignacio's long stride wasn't easy, but she just clamped her jaw tight and limped after him. She wasn't going to protest. Complaining would have been pointless as far as Ignacio was concerned.

Her mentor wouldn't feel sorry for her one bit. Not that she wanted his pity. They reached the library, and Ignacio gestured toward one of the room's big, comfortable chairs.

"Sit down."

It was an order she was happy to obey, because her leg hurt like hell. She eyed her mentor carefully as he sank down into the chair opposite her. From the look on Ignacio's face, she could tell she was in for a grilling or a lecture, one or the other, and she didn't want either one. She tried to put off the inevitable.

"Is there any word about Phae?"

"Ares sent word that she's stable, but the doctors don't know when she'll come to." Ignacio leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, and stared at her for a long moment. "I didn't order you in here to talk about Phaedra. Now, talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Don't give me that crap. Do you really think after all this time you can fool me? I've known you since you were born," Ignacio scolded. "I know something's bugging you, and I've got a pretty good idea what it is."

"How the fuck would you know what's wrong?"

"Shall we rehash what happened last night in the Pantheon?" Ignacio eyed her with a stern look.

"What? My shock at finding out I have a Praetorian brother? No. Had a Praetorian brother. Something my mother never told me. Not exactly the kind of news you can swallow in just an hour or two."

"Your brother's situation is a terrible tragedy."

"Yeah, I know." She bobbed her head as she remembered her mother's frantic cry last night in the Pantheon as they fought to keep the Praetorians from taking the Tyet of Isis. No matter how angry Cleo might be with her mother, she still hated to see her suffering.

"But that's not what's really wrong, is it?" Ignacio's voice was firm and unflappable.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I know you met with Atia and Marcus this morning."

"So?" she bit out fiercely.

"She told you the truth, didn't she?" His softly spoken question stunned her. He grimaced. "Don't look at me like that."

"My mother told you about Marcus? Before she told me?" The woman hadn't just lied to her. She'd told Ignacio who Cleo's real father was. She wasn't sure what was worse, being lied to or that the man she thought of as a father had known the truth before she did.

"She didn't tell me willingly."

"So, what, you twisted her arm? Give me a fucking break. You can do better than that."

"No one has ever twisted your mother's arm, bambina," Ignacio said with a light snort of amusement before his expression grew somber. "The truth is she was backed into a corner."

"By him?"

A sudden wave of anger swept over her at the thought of the Sicari Lord intimidating her mother. Cleo might be angry at being deceived, but she didn't like the idea of someone pushing her mother around. Her mentor shook his head slightly.

"I always thought he'd walked out on you and Atia. When I insulted him-" Ignacio rubbed his hand against his throat. "He wasn't happy about it. Your mother convinced him that she'd not betrayed their blood bond with me, and she told me . . . the truth."

"Right, she told you the truth, but not me, her daughter," she bit out in a sharp voice.

"You judge her too harshly, Cleopatra." He always used her full name when expressing his disapproval of something she'd done. That he continued to defend her mother irritated her and made her want to lash out at him.

"And you judge her too gently because you're in love with her." Her fierce words made Ignacio jerk upright in his chair as she released a harsh noise of disgust at her tactless observation.

"I see," he murmured. "So I'm an object of amusement in the Order for loving a woman who has never given much thought to me, other than as her Celeris. Her bodyguard."

"No." She shook her head. "I've never heard anyone say anything about the two of you. Not even that worm Cato has suggested it, and if anyone were going to say something, he'd be the one."

The man she thought of as a father frowned as he nodded and leaned back in his chair to contemplate her words. Her heart ached for him. Not once had she ever seen her mother give Ignacio any indication that there might be hope for him. In fact, she wasn't even sure her mother realized her Celeris was in love with her.

For as long as she could remember, Ignacio had been there for her and her mother. Ignacio was the one who'd taught her how to fight, how to stitch up a wound. He'd been there when she'd lost in the final round of the Invitavi, and he'd been there when the doctors had told her the baby was gone and she'd never have children. And it had been Ignacio who'd been there for her when Michael had walked away less than a month after her injury.

Ignacio had always been there when she needed him, and she loved him like a father. But he wasn't her father. Marcus Vorenus, Sicari Lord, was. No, reigning Sicari Lord, according to her mother. Fuck. He couldn't just be a Sicari Lord? He had to be the goddamn commander in chief.

"Fuck." She exploded out of her chair in a swift leap then collapsed back into her seat with a sharp cry of pain. Ignacio leaned forward with the obvious intent to examine her leg, but she dismissed him with a vicious wave of her hand.

"Goddamnit to hell. She should have told me the truth."

"It couldn't have been easy for her, Cleo. Telling you the truth three years ago or today had to be a terrifying thought for her."

"So she said, but I'm having a hard time buying it," she responded bitterly.

"When I brought her back here the morning your . . . your father found out about you, she was badly shaken up." An odd expression crossed her mentor's face. "Your father had demanded to meet you, and the thought of telling you the truth terrified her."

"My mother isn't afraid of anything."

"She's definitely afraid of losing you." Ignacio shook his head in sharp disagreement.

"Why do you keep defending her? Besides the obvious." She glared at him. Ignacio sent her a patient look.

"Because I've known your mother for a very long time, and after last night, I understand her even better than I ever have before." He leaned forward again, his hands spread in a cajoling gesture. "Atia isn't invincible. None of us are, bambina. Your mother has lost a great deal in the last twenty-four hours. She's pretty fragile right now, whether you want to believe it or not."

Cleo leaned back in the chair to rest her head on the soft cushions. Eyes closed, she released a harsh breath. "But she lied to me."

"Yes, but you should be asking why she lied to you. The Praetorians took her son when he was barely old enough to know his own name. Then you came along. Can you imagine how terrified she must have been every time you were out of her sight? I can easily understand why she'd keep the identity of your father a secret. From everyone, including you."

"Stop making it sound so goddamn logical." She opened her eyes to meet his sympathetic gaze. "Okay, so she lied to protect me, but sweet Jupiter, she could have said something three years ago when those Praetorian bastardi . . . she could have told me then, Nacio. She didn't have to wait until today to tell me my father is alive. And oh yeah, by the way, Cleo, he's a fucking Sicari Lord."

She saw him flinch slightly as she used her childhood nickname for him. Christus, was he thinking Vorenus would take his place? That she'd just forget about him and everything he'd been to her?

"Sicari Lord or not, he is your father, Cleopatra." Again with the disapproval.

Leaning forward, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. The sharp edges of the ring he wore bit into her palm. She'd given him the jewelry for his birthday when she was just twelve. She'd earned money cleaning swords and other weapons over a period of several months so she could save enough to buy the ring.

When he'd read the inscription, From your daughter, Cleo, it had made his eyes water. That moment was as vivid now as if it had just happened. Ignacio had always been there for her. She would never desert him.

"He's not you, Nacio. He never could be," she said fiercely. He patted her hand, and there was a glitter of emotion in his eyes that sent the hair on the back of her neck dancing before she dismissed the sensation. Whatever it was she thought she'd seen, it was gone as he sent her a tender smile.

"He might not be me, but he is your father, Cleo. He deserves your respect not just because he's a Sicari Lord, but because he's your father."

Cleo didn't answer him. She simply pulled her hand from his and got to her feet. The ache in her leg deepened to a sharp pain. "Sweet mother of Juno."

"That does it," Ignacio said in an authoritative tone as he came to his feet. "You're going to let Violetta perform the Curavi on that leg if I have to hold you down myself."

"I don't need it. All I need is some heat to loosen up the muscles, a little liniment, and I'll be good as new in a couple of days. A good soak in the tub will do wonders." She hobbled toward the door. "Besides, a healing will put me out like a light, and I have a date with Mario and a bottle of wine in a few hours."

"Va bene, but it will take at least two weeks for that leg to heal, so I'll send Emilio after Angotti next week instead of you." His words made her stop where she was to turn her head toward him.

"Jupiter's Stone, you mean they actually made a decision about that son of a bitch?" She stared at her mentor in surprise. Every territory in the Order had a tribunal that reviewed the cases of targets designated for execution. The three judges in Rome's tribunal were notorious for their slow review process.

"All the evidence checks out, and the tribunal issued its verdict this morning. Of course, since you'll not be up to the task for at least . . ." Ignacio cocked his head to study her leg. "What? Two or three weeks? I'll-"

"You're not giving this assignment to anyone but me."

"You realize your mother and . . . Vorenus will probably object. Rome has never been a safe place for a Sicari, but when people find out who your father is, and it will get out, it could be deadly for you."

"There isn't any safe place for me," she said with quiet exasperation. "As for my mother and Vorenus, you don't have to tell them anything. I'll deal with them. But Angotti's mine. I'm the one who brought him to the attention of the tribunal a year ago when I was here on assignment."

"I'm beginning to wonder if allowing you to carry out Angotti's assassination is a good idea," Ignacio said as he studied her with quiet assessment. "You sound a little too involved for my liking."

"I know not to make this personal," she said in a level voice, but deep inside a tiny nugget of satisfaction warmed her. It had taken several months to find out where Marta was, but she was finally going to get a shot at freeing her friend.

"Do you? I'm not so sure. In the past three years, almost every one of your assignments has involved targets connected with children who've been harmed. It's starting to look like you have a vendetta." Ignacio gave her a forbidding look. "You know the tribunal doesn't take kindly to fighters breaking the Code. If anyone even thinks your targets suffered a slow or painful death, they'll bring you up on charges. The gauntlet isn't an easy punishment to survive."

"I haven't broken the Code, Nacio, and I won't. But if I can't have kids, then the least I can do is protect other children from all the bastardi out there."