"How do you know that?" He eyed Verdi closely.

"We've been searching for the Tyet of Isis for as long as the Sicari, and it's well known that the artifact is believed to make the holder more powerful." Verdi eyed him with a look that said the man was even more astute than Nicostratus had thought. "I don't believe in magic, so it seems logical to assume that the artifact holds either a recipe for something to ingest that will make the owner more powerful or at the very least a map showing where the recipe can be found."

"I see." Nicostratus steepled his fingers again to study Verdi over the top of them. "So you think there's a recipe for a magical elixir in the Tyet of Isis?"

"A magical potion?" Verdi shook his head. "No, Excellency. If it's a recipe for anything, it's a matter of biology."

"Biology? What does biology have to do with the artifact?" he scoffed.

"It's strictly a hypothesis of mine, Excellency, but I believe the artifact contains a recipe, a blueprint if you like, for changing an individual's DNA to give the person telepathic and telekinetic abilities."

Nicostratus slowly took in the man's words. He'd always believed the Tyet of Isis contained a map leading to some important treasure. He'd been a fool never to have considered the possibility that it might be something that would physically transform a person. If the artifact did contain a recipe for a potion that changed a person's DNA, it made the situation that much more dire. The Order of the Sicari had a research-level medical facility that could easily test any potion made from a recipe such as Verdi had suggested.

"Interesting, Draco. I suppose you've some research to back up your theory?"

"I gave one of the brothers who practices medicine some DNA samples to study. His conclusion was that Praetorian and Sicari DNA have markers that point toward different abilities. It's a mutation that might possibly be replicated."

An icy chill swept over Nicostratus as he stared at the man opposite him. It was critical that they reclaim the Tyet of Isis from the Sicari. He rose from his chair and began to pace the floor. There was no telling how long it would take Vorenus and his people to solve the mystery of the artifact.

"We must get it back. And quickly," Nicostratus said.

He stopped at his chair and dug his fingers into the soft leather padding of the headrest. If his mole in the Order failed to retrieve the Tyet of Isis, he wasn't sure what else- He slowly released his grip on the chair. Oh, it couldn't be that easy. Could it? The idea bouncing around in his head made him smile. Hands clasped behind his back, he resumed his pacing. He saw Draco's quizzical look and chuckled.

"We shall kill two birds with one stone, my dear Draco."

"Excellency?"

"I want every resource we have scouring Rome for Cleopatra Vorenus. The moment they find her, I want her brought to me." He waved his fingers in a cavalier fashion. "Alive, of course. And unmarked. The privilege of marring that pretty face of hers is mine. Once we have her, I'll offer her to Vorenus in exchange for the artifact."

"Will the Sicari Lord agree to such a trade?" Draco asked in a skeptical tone, and Nicostratus smiled.

"I'm certain he will. Even if he doesn't, the Prima Consul herself will trade the artifact for their daughter."

"How can you be so sure, Excellency?" Draco eyed the Patriarch with more than a hint of foreboding.

"How can I be so sure?" Nicostratus chuckled softly. It was a sinister, menacing sound. "Because I stole their son years ago and gave him my name."

"Gabriel Russo?" the Prior said with obvious surprise.

"Exactly. Gabriel was my creation and my enemy's torment. So you can see why both Vorenus and that Prima Consul bitch of his will be more than willing to give up the Tyet of Isis to me. Although, if my man inside the Order does his job right, I shall have the artifact and Signorina Vorenus without any bargaining at all."

"I knew we had spies inside the Order, but one deep enough to get close to the artifact, Excellency?"

"You sound surprised, Draco."

"I confess I am."

"I've been the Patriarch for almost thirty years, and in that time I've cultivated many . . . relationships. I even have two resources in the upper echelons of the Order itself," Nicostratus said. "The Prima Consul could be assassinated if I so decreed."

"I am honored that you've entrusted that knowledge to me, Excellency." Draco bowed his head in a slight nod of deference.

"And now you know something that can get you killed," Nicostratus said with malicious glee as the man started at the subtle threat. "As my right hand, you'll be privy to many things. But if you betray my trust, your life is forfeit."

"Yes, Excellency." At Draco's response, Nicostratus nodded his approval.

"Now then, there are some things we need to accomplish right away if we're to retrieve the Tyet of Isis." Nicostratus sat down in his chair and pulled stationery from his desk along with a stick of wax and a small box. "This is an authorization for you to have limited access to the Collegium's banking account. Give this note to Signor Maida. He'll see to it that you're able to withdraw and deposit funds. All investments and transfers are at my discretion and that of the Monsignor."

He quickly folded the handwritten letter and sealed it in an envelope then lit the wick at the end of the short stick of wax. The melted wax splashed onto the flap of the envelope and began to set. As the wax was cooling, Nicostratus pulled a seal from the desk drawer and removed his ring to slide it into a notch on the seal. The moment it snapped into place, he used it to make an impression on the wax. He offered the sealed envelope to Draco. The expression on the man's face amused him.

"The seal is a remnant from years past when sealed documents meant they were genuine. A bit dramatic, but it appeals to the romantic in me," he murmured with a smile, knowing full well that there wasn't a romantic bone in his body. The seal represented his complete authority. "When you give this to Signor Maida, he'll know it's an official authorization from me."

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed Draco then immediately turned his attention to the paperwork in front of him. The Prior quickly got to his feet and bowed slightly before heading toward the door. The man had just reached the door when Nicostratus came to a decision.

"As an afterthought," he said without looking up from his paperwork. "I think your initial assumptions about Angotti's mistress were correct. Make her disappear. Quietly."

No sooner had he spoken than something malevolent scraped across his mind, and he jerked his head up to look at the Prior's back. Almost at the same moment, Draco wheeled around, his expression still stoic, but his posture that of a warrior prepared for the unexpected.

"Is everything all right, Excellency?"

"Of course, why wouldn't it be?" Nicostratus lied as he studied the Prior closely.

"There for a moment, I thought . . . forgive me. I'm mistaken."

Nicostratus frowned as the man bowed again then left the study. Clearly the Prior had felt something as well. If it weren't for the man's reaction, he'd be inclined to think the sensation he'd experienced had come from Draco himself.

His fingers drummed a soft rhythm on the desktop as he wondered if he'd made a mistake where the Prior was concerned. Normally he would have researched a potential successor to Gabriel quite extensively, and yet he'd chosen Draco without any forethought at all. Nicostratus grunted.

He lifted the lid of his laptop and clicked the e-mail icon. He'd have James run a full profile on Draco starting tomorrow. If anything out of the ordinary showed up, then Draco Verdi and he would have a discussion that would end nice and neat.

Chapter 7.

CLEO stood in the salon staring up at the portrait hung on the wall over a half-moon table. From his manner of dress, she wondered if the man in the painting was a Sicari Lord. He wore the same type of attire she'd seen her fa-She'd seen Marcus and Dante wear. She ignored the Freudian slip.

As she studied the portrait more closely, she drew in a quick breath of surprise. She wasn't well versed in Italian artwork, but there was one artist she knew well. Sofonisba Anguissola. As far as she could tell, the portrait on the wall was an original. Her gaze focused on the man's face.

She wondered if he might have been the leader of the Sicari Lords in his time period. Just like her father-Marcus was today. Another Freudian slip. She frowned and released a harsh sigh. Eventually, she would have to face the man. It wasn't something she really wanted on her bucket list, but in all fairness to Marcus, it wasn't like he was a deadbeat dad.

Her mother had lied about his existence to Cleo and had kept Marcus in the dark as well. The thought made her tighten her mouth with anger. If there was anything her mother should never have lied to her about, it was who her father was. She understood the reasons for her mother's actions, but it was the past three years of silence that she was having trouble accepting.

Atia should have told her the truth after Cleo had lost the baby and the doctors had confirmed she'd never be able to have children. Her hand automatically went to her stomach. She'd always wanted kids, and now . . . she closed her eyes for a brief moment. It was over and done with. Dwelling on it wasn't going to change anything. But it should have changed her mother's decision about keeping her father a secret.

Cleo's gaze returned to the portrait on the wall. It was bad enough learning that her real father was alive, but the fact that he was a Sicari Lord only raised the bar for her. The Sicari Lords had always been an elusive part of the Order's long history. Until that night in the Pantheon, she'd not really believed they existed. Now, she was knee-deep in Sicari Lords.

Her lack of skills had always made her feel like she was standing on the outside looking in when it came to the Order. It was why she pushed herself so hard to be one of the best-trained fighters the Order had. But the Absconditus . . . this was something altogether different. She'd never felt so completely out of her depth in her entire life. So far this morning she'd seen more than a dozen people during her quiet exploration, and she had no idea who was a Sicari Lord and who was Vigilavi. And she sure as hell didn't want to ask.

Just being here made her nervous, and she didn't like the feeling, especially when her host had deserted her last night. The man had disappeared moments after their arrival, leaving the stoic Cornelia to arrange for Cleo's Curavi and a room for the night. On some inexplicable level, the way Dante had abandoned her ticked her off.

On the other hand, she wasn't sure she was quite ready to face the man just yet. Particularly when there was something about him that made her body tighten with pleasurable tension. When he'd pushed back his hood last night, her heart had skipped a beat. She'd always appreciated the beauty of the human face, and Dante's was no exception.

Despite the darkness, he'd been close enough for her to see his sharp, angular features. It had been impossible to tell the color of his eyes, but his dark hair had a slight curl to it, and Deus, that mouth. He could easily pleasure a woman in so many ways with that beautiful mouth of his. Her stomach did a slight flip-flop at that last thought. What would he be like in bed?

She frowned. Somehow Dante didn't seem like the type who'd easily fall into bed with just any woman who crossed his path. If anything, he seemed a little uptight. Although she had to give him major points for having the kind of voice that could give a woman an orgasm without even touching her.

She drew in a quick breath then blew it out just as quickly. Christus , the man wasn't just a Sicari-he was a Sicari Lord. And ever since Michael, she'd made it a point to only get involved with Vigilavi . They understood the Order, and like her, they didn't have any special powers. They wouldn't reject her because she was a freak.

"Signorina."

She jumped as someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she whirled around to assume a defensive posture. The young man facing her eyed her with amusement until she scowled at him. In an instant, his expression became one of polite respect. He couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen, but he had the air of someone much older.

"Signorina, I am here to take you to the Tribune Condellaire."

"Tribune?" She narrowed her gaze at him in puzzlement as a small, indefinable thought fluttered around in the back of her mind like a mad butterfly. "You mean Dante?"

"Yes, signorina. The Tribune would like you to join him in the garden."

Now the man wanted to see her. He'd left her hanging all morning feeling lost and out of place, and he'd finally decided he was ready to see her. Instead of coming for her, Dante had sent someone else to fetch her. And it was a summons, which was like adding insult to injury. He needed her, not the other way around.

She had the information from Angotti, and she wasn't about to let Dante off the hook when it came to her involvement. She was going into that convent whether he liked it or not. She jerked her head at him.

"Lead the way," she said.

The boy's manner changed immediately at her authoritative tone of voice. It was as if he'd suddenly realized she wasn't just another pretty face and he'd underestimated her. It didn't surprise her. A lot of people, mostly Praetorians, did that. It was the downside to being pretty. First impressions often resulted in others thinking she was a helpless, brainless female. The truth was she'd easily give up her looks if she could have a Sicari ability. The young man bowed slightly in her direction then gestured for her to follow him.

He led the way out of the salon and down a corridor she'd not explored yet. It brought them into another salon like the one they'd just left. This room was similar to all the others she'd visited this morning. It was elegantly furnished, and artwork filled the walls, tables, and anywhere there was space available. Despite her limited experience, she was certain most, if not all, of the artworks were priceless pieces. The house was a virtual living museum.

No. The word house was a misnomer. It was actually a palace. Small, but a palace nonetheless. Surrounded by a tall, unassuming stone wall, the Sicari Lord installation didn't look like much from the street. But once you were past the gates and inside, it was breathtaking. She'd spent all morning walking through at least six different rooms and studying the opulent decor and each room's artwork.

They moved from one room to the next via the corridor that connected them until they reached a stained glass door. The young man opened the door without touching the handle. He stepped aside and waved his hand toward the open doorway.

The late-morning air was pleasantly warm despite the fact that it wasn't quite April yet. A lattice walkway covered in grapevines provided shade from the sun beaming down on a large ornamental garden situated in the middle of the house. She'd gotten glimpses of the sizable courtyard from one of the windows earlier, but as she stepped out from under the covered walkway, she took her first good look at the garden.

As she studied her surroundings, she realized the house was designed like an ancient Roman residence, centered around a peristylium . The stone columns she'd seen lining the hallway had to be the remains of a colonnade walkway. The breezeway had since been closed off, making it one long hallway that wrapped its way around the garden.

She stepped out from under the covered walkway and welcomed the warmth of the sun on her face before a movement she saw out of the corner of her eye diverted her attention. Across the expanse of the stone-paved courtyard, she saw Dante going through the slow movements of a martial arts exercise. Immediately, she experienced a quiet tranquility that relaxed her. It was an unfamiliar sensation, almost as if she was experiencing his calm state of mind. Fuck, what was she thinking? She couldn't sense emotions. But physical chemistry? That, the man had in spades, and she loved looking at him.

The only thing he wore was a pair of black, loose-fitting trousers. Entranced, she watched his leg come up in a slow high kick, his foot flexing inward with his toned arms extended in perfect position. The muscles of his back rippled as he slowly descended from the high kick and sank down toward the ground.

In a controlled movement, his leg slid out to one side, while his entire body dropped into a low crouch until she couldn't see any space between his extended leg and the ground. As he moved, his hand followed the line of his inner thigh, gliding toward his foot then up into the air. The slowly defined movements of his exercise displayed the power of his muscular arms and emphasized the strength of his legs.

She didn't budge an inch as she watched him move fluidly from one position to the next. It was like watching a large tiger in a confined area. Raw, lethal power hidden beneath the skin, and the promise of blazing speed. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't have turned away, because he was beautiful to watch.

Her gaze followed the path his arms made through the air, and she couldn't help remembering how he'd carried her to the car last night. She'd liked it. Maybe a little too much. And now, seeing him like this . . . Her mind shifted gears as she imagined running her hands over his delicious-looking chest, shoulders, and back. From there her thoughts went a little wild as she pictured what else she'd like to do to the man.

The way he suddenly stiffened then jerked out of his exercise to whirl around and face her made her frown as she walked toward him. Christus, was the guy blushing? No, he couldn't be. Exertion. That's what it had to be. Of course, if he'd been reading her mind- Okay, that thought didn't make her happy.

Telepathy was an intimacy that required permission among the Sicari, and she'd not given it. She didn't care how glorious his body was. On second thought, she might be able to give a little for that reason. And Deus, he did have a body.

The color in his face seemed to deepen, and she eyed him suspiciously as she came to a halt in front of him. Hell, he looked like she'd caught him with his hand in a cookie jar. Then again, maybe it was because she was still drooling over him like a woman who hadn't had sex in a while.

She ignored the voice that emphasized precisely how long it had been. Instead, she reminded herself that he'd abandoned her last night and taken his sweet time summoning her this morning. Not to mention how he'd sent junior for her rather than coming himself.

"You wanted to see me?" Her irritation at the way he'd left her hanging for the entire morning came through loud and clear in her voice.

"Yes, we need to talk about what Angotti told you." Dante turned away from her and picked up a black martial arts jacket off the grassy area where he'd been exercising.

"Not until I have some assurances from you about including me in the rescue mission," she said as she watched him shrug on the jacket then tie it closed.

As he knotted the sash around his waist, she noted his strong hands and long fingers. In the next breath she envisioned his hands caressing her breasts, his thumbs rubbing across her nipples until they ached for him to suckle her. The image made her wet, and she drew in a deep breath then released it in exasperation. Merda, she needed to stop thinking about the man's body and focus on the topic at hand. But damn, the man really was delicious eye candy. He was a red-hot waiting to dissolve on her tongue. An odd expression crossed his face as he met her gaze. For a second time, she got the impression he was embarrassed.

"I have some concerns about letting you go to the convent."

"Like what?" Cleo narrowed her gaze at him. If he even mentioned her lack of special abilities, she'd deck him.

"You carried out an execution without a partner, despite knowing what the standing rule is in Rome." There was a sharp edge to his voice that said he wasn't going to give way easily.

"I told you why I didn't take a partner," she snapped. "I would have needed to explain my reasons for grilling Angotti, not to mention my methods."

"It was reckless."

"Reckless implies that I rushed into the assassination without a plan, which isn't true. I planned Angotti's assassination carefully, and while the Praetorians were a bit of a surprise, I knew it was more than possible they might turn up," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. "I weighed all the options, and my plan was a risk I was willing to take. Angotti had the information I wanted. If there had been another way to get what I wanted, I would have taken that route. There wasn't."

She worked hard to keep from appearing defensive as he studied her with a careful look she was already starting to recognize despite having known him less than a day. His expression of assessment and calculation reminded her of Lysander when he was evaluating a decision he had to make. He even tilted his head in the same way Lysander did when considering something.

Now that she could see Dante in the full light of day, the resemblance between the two men was pretty remarkable. She scoffed at the notion. She was going off the memory of what Lysander used to look like. It had been more than a year since that night in a Chicago warehouse when they'd found Lysander with half his face peeled off.

Still, there was something similar about the man who was like a big brother to her and the Tribune standing in front of her. The two men looked enough alike to be brothers. She brushed off the thought as her imagination was running wild this morning. As she studied his face, she could tell he was thinking long and hard about how to respond to her. Did he know she had no special Sicari abilities? It was common knowledge in the Order that she was different. She flinched at the thought.

Dante folded his arms across his chest and eyed her carefully. He knew. Cleo was certain of it. It was why he was looking at her like that. Lysander always had that look when he was about to tell her something she didn't want to hear. Now Dante was going to tell her she couldn't go with him on the mission because she wasn't a true Sicari.

"An assault on the convent is far too dangerous-"

"Don't. Don't even think of going there," she snapped fiercely. "Just because I don't have any Sicari abilities doesn't mean I can't fight. Like this."

With a quick move, she kicked her foot out to hook it around the back of Dante's leg and tugged hard. He easily thwarted her attempt to drop him to the ground by twisting his body in midair as he fell backward. In less than a second he landed in a push-up position, and his foot lashed out at her leg. She drew in a sharp breath as she quickly jumped to one side. She was crazy. She'd just attacked a Sicari Lord.

Instinctively, she danced backward as he sprang upright. The expression on his face said he wasn't happy. No big surprise there. Invisible fingers wrapped around both her arms as he slowly used his telekinetic ability to draw her toward him. She knew better than to resist, and instead, she deliberately threw herself forward.

The move surprised him, and as she slammed into him, her momentum threw him off balance. An instant later, he was on his back and she was on top of him. With her face inches from his, she was able to see the color of his eyes for the first time. They were the shade of an angry sea at night. Dark blue and mysterious. Christus, his voice wasn't the only thing about him that would easily make a woman forget who she came to the party with.

As their gazes locked, she breathed in the tangy aroma of spice. The potent male scent of him stirred up an image of a warm night, hot skin, and tousled silk sheets. Beneath the palm of her hand, she could feel the racing beat of his heart. The sound of ragged breathing caught her attention. Was that sound coming from her?

No, not only her. His breathing was just as harsh and shallow. The tension in him was palpable, and her own heartbeat quickened as the sudden pressure of his erection swelled against her inner thigh. Her gaze drifted downward to his mouth, and an impish desire to break through that restrained manner of his swept through her.