Inferno's Kiss (2 page)

“Cleo . . . I need . . .”
Deus
, she didn’t know how to do this. Telling Cleo that her father was alive was the hardest thing Atia had ever done. “There’s something else I have to tell you.”

“What?” Cleo turned toward her mother, and the puzzlement on her beautiful face quickly became an expression of horror. “No. Please don’t tell me my father was a Praetorian.”

“No,
carissima
, no.” Atia reached out and caught Cleo’s hands in hers. “Your father isn’t a Praetorian.”

“Isn’t?” Cleo frowned. Atia tried to swallow the lump of fear closing her throat.

“Your father isn’t dead.”

“
What?
” Cleo’s voice was so soft, Atia almost wondered if her daughter had said anything at all.

“I know I should have told you, but—”

“You
knew
?”

A dark silence filled the room as Atia studied her daughter’s stunned expression. With a slow movement, Cleo pulled her hands out of her mother’s, and Atia drew in a sharp breath. Fear speared its way through her as the shock on Cleo’s face slowly gave way to a cold, marblelike expression. Not even the sunlight streaming through the French doors eased the chill seeping its way through the study of the safe house. She’d expected outrage. Fury, even, but not this icy silence.

Cleo was never at a loss for words. Never. Even as a child, she had openly expressed her enthusiasm or dislike for anything and everything. Not even when Cleo had been hurting so badly over Michael’s betrayal had she been like this. Silent and completely emotionless. Atia swallowed the bile rising in her throat and frantically tried to form a plan of action. Her daughter’s silence was the one thing she’d not expected.

Desperately, she tried to think of something that would force Cleo to say something.
Deus
, how she wished she’d done things differently. No. She’d done the right thing. Cleo’s safety had been the only thing she’d cared about. She would give her life for her daughter.

The mantel clock over the fireplace announced the morning hour with six melancholy chimes. The sound penetrated the room like a soft death knell. Beside her, Marcus assessed Cleo’s mood with a deliberate patience that was frighteningly familiar even after all the years they’d been apart.

The tendrils of his thoughts mixed with hers for an instant before she recoiled from the gentle mental probe. He pulled his thoughts from hers with an unspoken apology. Fingers interlocked in a tight grip, Atia fought not to reach out and pull her daughter into her arms. She was certain doing so would only make things worse.

“Cleo, I wanted to tell—”

“
Don’t
.” The command was an angry hiss of fire on ice, and Atia flinched beneath Cleo’s harsh stare. “You lied to me.”

“
No!
” Atia exclaimed.

“Exactly what do you call it,
Mother
?” The sneer in Cleo’s voice was a blade striking deep into Atia.

“I never said your father was dead. I simply allowed you to believe it. It was to protect you.” It was a pitiful defense, and she knew it.

“Protect me from what, exactly?” Cleo said coldly. “I
have
no abilities. Not even the fucking Praetorians would know what to do with me.”

“They could . . . you could have passed on your father’s abilities to a child.”

“Well, those
bastardi
fixed
that
problem three years ago, didn’t they?”

Atia didn’t look at Marcus, but her body was so attuned to his that she could tell the instant he went rigid at their daughter’s words. She knew she should have explained Cleo’s tragedy to him before now, but she’d been consumed with the fear of what would happen when she told Cleo the truth about her brother and father. She’d felt too fragile to deal with anything else. Now it made her look even more deceitful.

Her gaze shifted back to Cleo’s face, and she caught the brief flash of despair crossing her daughter’s face. Atia’s stomach lurched. Her beautiful daughter would never know the joy of motherhood. That had been snatched from Cleo’s hands the minute a Praetorian blade had killed Cleo’s unborn child and left her barren. But Cleo wouldn’t know the pain, either. The pain that came from trying to protect your child. And Atia had done everything she could to protect Cleo.

She’d lost her head more than thirty years ago, when she’d succumbed to Marcus at La Terrazza del Ninfeo. But Atia had never regretted having Cleo in her life, and everything she’d done for her daughter had been out of love. She pushed through her grief to find the strength to reach out to her daughter once more. Her son was lost to her forever, and now she had to fight to keep her daughter.

Cleo hated it when anyone lied to her, and Atia had done that, albeit through the sin of omission. She’d allowed her daughter to believe her father was dead. And it was a lie Cleo might never forgive her for. Marcus’s tall, imposing presence at her side only emphasized how much Cleo had to forgive.

“I did it to protect—”

“Who is he?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a command. Atia’s voice died in her throat as she saw the contempt on Cleo’s face. With a shake of her head, she fought to find her voice, and the seconds expanded into a long silence before Marcus cleared his throat.

“I am.”

The quiet authority in Marcus’s statement made Atia sag slightly as Cleo’s anger and contempt gave way to shock again. Surely now she could make Cleo understand that as the daughter of a Sicari Lord, her safety had been Atia’s only thought. Hands trembling, she reached out to Cleo, but her arms fell to her sides as Cleo took a step back from her. The silent move of rejection was like a poison that spread its way through her limbs, leaving pain in its wake.

“Your father and I—”

“
Don’t
say that.” As if suddenly remembering her place, Cleo turned and bowed her head stiffly at the Sicari Lord. “Forgive me,
il mio signore
. I mean no disrespect.”

“We realize this is a shock, but I understand your mother’s motives,
carissima
.” Marcus’s voice was soft and level, but Atia heard the note of regret in his words.

He had nothing to be remorseful for. This was all her doing. Atia briefly closed her eyes against the painful thought. If only things had been different. She looked at Cleo again, and the stubborn gleam in her daughter’s violet eyes only heightened her fear. Atia didn’t want to lose her. She’d already lost one child tonight. To lose another would be unbearable. Somehow she had to make Cleo understand her reasons for hiding the truth.

“I didn’t tell
anyone
who your father was. Not even Ignacio. And I didn’t tell your . . .” She saw Cleo’s expression harden. “I didn’t even tell Marcus.”

“So you
chose
to let me grow up without a father.”

“I
chose
to keep you safe. And I’d do it again,” Atia snapped, her fear and frustration getting the better of her.

“Safe from what? Every goddamn member of the Order is always at risk. What makes me so special?”

“You are the daughter of a Sicari Lord. The Praetorians would have stopped at nothing to take you like they did Gabriel.” Atia stepped forward to reach out to her daughter again. She tried to touch her cheek, but Cleo smacked her hand away.

“I still had the right to know,” Cleo said in a tight voice.

“And I had a duty to protect you,” Atia replied with determination.

“Duty or not,
Madame Consul
, you lied to me. You lied to me about my brother, you lied to me about who my father is, and you allowed me to believe he was dead.”

The formality of Cleo’s address made Atia sway slightly. An unseen hand settled on her shoulder to steady her. She waved her hand at Marcus to dismiss the touch. His offer of comfort couldn’t ease her fears.

“I was terrified of something happening to you,
carissima
. The thought of the Praetorians taking you the way they took Gabriel . . . it was unbearable.” Atia’s quiet statement sent a flash of understanding across Cleo’s face before her expression hardened again. It was so reminiscent of her father’s.

“I can understand why you’d keep me in the dark when I was a child, but when I was older?” Cleo said fiercely.

“I wanted to tell you, but with each passing day it became harder to do so. I knew you’d see my silence as having lied to you, and I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” Cleo snorted with angry disbelief. “You’re fearless, Mother. You take on Council members like a lioness does her prey. You chose not to tell me the truth because it was easier not to.”

“It was
not
easier. From the moment you were born, I’ve lived in fear. If the Praetorians had known who your father was, they would have stopped at nothing to take you like they did Gabriel.”

“So why now? Why not three years ago?” Cleo bit out. “You couldn’t tell me the truth then? The Praetorians don’t have any use for women they can’t breed.”

“If I had told you then, would it have changed anything?”

“
Yes
. No. I don’t know. But you should have told me.” Cleo’s voice echoed with confusion, and Atia ached to reach out to her daughter and fold her into her arms, just as she had when Cleo was younger.

“Please, Cleo. I want us to—” She started to close the physical distance between them, but Cleo jumped back.

“
No
,” Cleo snapped. “Not another word, Mother.
Now
, unless there’s some
other
dark secret you’d like to reveal, may I leave?”

Once again, Atia leaned toward her daughter, but Marcus stepped forward to intercept her. The physical touch of his fingers digging into her arm silently ordered her not to continue.

“We understand you need time to adjust to everything your mother has shared with you this morning.” Marcus’s voice was one of serene calm, but Atia couldn’t tell if it had any effect on Cleo. His voice softened even more. “I know how difficult this must be for you, Cleopatra. It wasn’t easy for me when your mother told me about you only two weeks ago. But if you’ll give me the opportunity, I’d like to get to know you. All I ask is that you think about it.”

Cleo acknowledged him with a sharp nod. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Atia thought she might say something, but Cleo simply wheeled about on one heel to stalk out of the study without a glance in Atia’s direction.

The moment the door closed behind her daughter, Atia jerked away from Marcus and slowly circled the corner of the desk to sink down into the leather office chair. She’d lost her. Cleo would never forgive her for not telling her the truth. Head bowed, she closed her eyes and tried to think, but she couldn’t. For the first time in a very long time, she didn’t have a plan. Didn’t have any sense of what direction to turn. It made her feel lost and alone.

“She’ll eventually see her way to forgive you.” At Marcus’s quiet statement, she lifted her head up to look at him.

“No. She won’t,” she said bitterly. “You don’t know her like I do.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” There was no accusation in his words. It was just a simple observation, but it filled her with guilt all the same.

“She hates being lied to. It started when she was a child. Her best friend fell three stories when the two of them were playing on the rampart of the east wing at the White Cloud estate. I told Cleo her friend would live. The child died. She’s demanded the truth ever since. She can be very unforgiving.”

“Then we’ll make her see you had no other choice.”

“And do
you
believe I had no other choice?” She met his gaze steadily, remembering how furious he’d been when he’d learned of Cleo’s existence.

“You did what I would have done. You protected our daughter,” he said quietly, but there was a flash of emotion in his vivid blue eyes that worried her. “I can’t fault you for not telling her the truth.”

“But?”

“You should have told
me
, Atia. I had a right to know that I had a daughter. I could have watched her grow up from a distance. You denied me even that small joy.”

“If you want me to say I’m sorry, I can’t.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t risk you taking her from me.”

“And yet you risked her life in attempting to raise her alone, thinking no one would discover your secret. I could have helped protect her.”

“Her life was at risk no matter what course of action I took.” She bristled with resentment. “I did what I thought best for my daughter. I won’t apologize for that.”

“Our daughter.” The fierce intensity of his words emphasized that he was still angry she’d hidden the truth from him. Like Cleo, he would have a hard time forgiving her. And the fact that she wanted his forgiveness frightened her. It showed how quickly he was becoming a part of her life again.

“Our daughter.” She nodded with resignation.

Eyes closed, her fingers rubbed at her temple. Another headache. They seemed to come so often these days. A gentle, unseen touch stroked her forehead, and she sighed at the invisible caress.

“Why are you so certain Cleo won’t forgive you?” At the quiet question, she raised her head to meet his puzzled gaze. “Her concern for you last night at the Pantheon demonstrated how much she loves you.”

“Cleo is like you. She has a stubborn streak. When she makes up her mind about something, it’s difficult to convince her otherwise.”

“Then perhaps she’s met her match in me.”

Although his gaze was somber, there was just a hint of amusement curving his lips as he watched her. It stirred something deep inside her that helped ease some of the grief still assaulting her body. She closed her eyes at the memory of Gabriel’s death and how close Marcus had come to joining their son.

A tear squeezed its way out from under her eyelid, and a harsh oath escaped Marcus. Her eyes flew open in surprise at the sound, and she saw Marcus move quickly to pull her up out of the desk chair. The moment his arms wrapped around her, she burst into tears. A shudder went through him, and she knew she was shedding tears for both of them.

The grief she’d experienced the day the Praetorians had taken Gabriel from them had been different from the pain she was feeling now. Then, she’d been filled with terror for Gabriel’s life and her own. She’d killed one Praetorian before the second one had dealt her what should have been a deathblow.