Chapter Three
Dante watched the assassin disappear into the night.
So, he wasn’t the only one with power. His wind whispered she was still close, and he smelled her. An intoxicating scent, like a desert breeze carrying the sweet scent of jasmine. It seeped into him, warming his body.
“Africus will drive people to kill. It’s what he does.” Dante glanced around, wondering if the lovely assassin was listening to him. Could she make her own decisions, or was she only able to follow orders?
He didn’t have time to waste dealing with her. Every minute he was distracted was another minute Africus could use to poison and kill.
“Stay out of my way.” He called on the wind. It swirled up around him, powerful and primal. It rushed over his skin and with a single thought he let himself blend with it. His body dissolved away, leaving only his soul to travel on the air.
He soared through the Forum and back into the modern city streets. He picked up on Africus’ trail and followed it, trying to push the distracting thoughts of the woman out of his head.
Africus was a cunning bastard to send a Hashshasin after him. The organization had been created during the crusades and had built a deadly reputation for being talented killers. Luca was right. The Tempest Winds were using dangerous tactics to try and win this time around.
Dante had never expected an assassin to be quite so alluring. Samia’s face rose up in his mind. Impossibly sharp cheekbones, midnight-black hair cut short, copper-brown skin, and a lean body that ignited his interest. Her lush lips were at odds with the carved face.
And her slanted bronze eyes. They glinted with a tough, dangerous edge, but he’d seen something else in them—pain.
Merda. The Tempest Winds were loose and here he was obsessing over a woman sent to kill him.
As Dante put more distance between himself and the assassin, he heard the frenzied, nasty whispers on the air. The prideful words echoed in his head. A heavy weariness descended and made him want to give in. To just accept the pride and give up the soul-destroying battle.
He gritted his teeth. He was tired and needed to get some rest soon, or he’d be no match for Africus. Materializing in a dark alley, he strode out onto the street. Dio, he wanted to fight, not rest. But he couldn’t risk succumbing to the pride.
Reluctantly, Dante headed in the direction of the apartment Luca kept in Rome. Venti Enterprises’ head office was in the city and Luca spent most of his time here overseeing their vast business empire.
Stalking down a darkened street, Dante thought of his brothers. Did they feel their vice twisting inside them like a wild animal? Lust for Antonio, anger for Luca, and greed for Soren. Did it whisper beguiling promises and tempt them to give in?
He expelled a breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. He would beat this. Whatever it took, he’d fight to defend mankind.
Ahead, feminine shrieks filled the air. He broke into a jog and rounded a corner. Two women were screaming at each other in a barrage of Italian, tearing at each other. They were dressed up for an evening out, in pretty dresses and heels.
The stink of pride surrounded them like smoke.
They are nothing. Leave them. You have more important things to worry about. As one woman grabbed the other’s hair, tugging hard, Dante ignored the voices in his head and charged forward.
“Enough.” He pulled them apart as gently as he could.
“She thinks she’s better than me,” one woman spat. “She wants my man.”
“You think you’re better than me. Smarter, prettier, richer.”
“You’re my best friend, Valentina, I never thought—”
“I said enough.” Dante eyed them both. “Tonight is not the night for this. Both of you, go home. Things will look different in the morning.”
The women blinked, like waking from a dream.
Valentina blinked. “You’re Dante Venti.” Her gaze moved over him. “I’ve seen you in the magazines.”
He didn’t need this. “Go.” He circled around them and kept going. He hadn’t gone far when something tickled along his senses, like the familiar kiss of the wind.
His assassin was back.
He continued walking, not giving away that he knew she was there. Damn the woman for not listening to him.
Why are you worried? She is no match for your strength.
He wasn’t worried about her killing him. What worried him was that she was a tempting complication he didn’t have time for. He tried to spot her in the shadows, but her camouflage skill was too good.
A small smile edged his lips. But she couldn’t hide from the wind.
Dante kept his power gentle, just a small stir of the air. It brought him her scent, sweet and luscious. And her location.
Slowly, he pulled his hands out of his pockets. Then he spun and reached into the darkness.
His hands closed around slim biceps. He heard Samia gasp.
Her slim, strong form appeared and before he could say anything, she swung her arm, her fist slamming into his face.
“Cazzo!” He staggered and she jumped up and swung her leg in a roundhouse kick.
Her boot snapped his head back. Even with pain exploding in his nose, he somehow managed to stay on his feet.
With a growl, he charged at her. She tried to hit him again, but Dante wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he also didn’t want her beating the hell out of him.
She was strong—stronger than a woman, stronger than most men.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he ground out against her ear.
“Let me go.” She jerked against him.
“Nope. Not interested in you planting your damn boot into my face again.”
“Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours,” she snapped.
Dante managed to spin her. They were pressed together—high, firm breasts plastered to his chest and her defiant face lifted to his. Her lips were only a whisper from his.
Staring into her dark eyes, the voices in his head receded. Pride, for once, was silent.
“I told you to stay away.”
“You didn’t expect me to listen, did you?” she said.
He saw the anger burning in her eyes. The little assassin didn’t like losing the upper hand. But other emotions swam in those dark eyes. Dio, had he ever seen anyone so lonely, so haunted?
He understood what it was to hold yourself apart from others. He and his brothers did business, mingled at parties, took lovers, but they never let anyone truly close. No one understood what it was to hold power and have a duty to protect. Or to have to keep that power in check every day.
But Dante suspected this woman knew what it felt like.
Wondering how many weapons she had hidden under her form-fitting black clothes, he pushed her up against the wall of a nearby building.
He ran his hands down her sides, over her gently curved hips. He pulled a long knife from her belt. His palms slid across a toned belly and down the sides of lean thighs. He detached another knife strapped to her thigh. “Can’t have you stabbing me again.”
She jerked, trying to lift a knee. He twisted his hips to block the blow. Continuing the search, he tugged a slim garroting wire from her pocket.
“Finished?” she said angrily.
“Yes. Are you going to try and kill me again?”
“Probably.”
Dante stepped back and they stared at each other. What the hell was he going to do about her? He couldn’t afford to have her darting out of the shadows, distracting him from his hunt. She might get him killed. Or get herself killed.
“Why did you separate those women?” she asked.
So she’d been watching him. He heard curiosity in her voice. “They were infected with Africus’ pride. They were friends and didn’t mean the things they were saying. They were going to hurt each other.”
The assassin blinked. “A black eye, pulled hair, and wounded prides are worth your time?”
“I won’t let anyone be hurt by the Tempest Wind. It is my duty to stop him.” Dante’s wind blew up, circling around them.
She tilted her head. “I can’t work you out, Venti.”
“I thought you assassins didn’t question your orders, just followed them blindly.”
Her lips flattened and Dante guessed he’d hit a nerve. “I’ll ask you again. Leave me alone and let me do my job.”
“I can’t do that.”
He muttered a curse. “You don’t leave me much choice, assassin.” In a swift move, he wrapped his hands around her waist and tossed her over his shoulder.
She kicked and beat her hands against his back. “Put me down!”
He slapped her shapely backside. “I don’t think so.”
“I will make you pay for this.”
The venom in her voice made him believe it. But not until he’d taken care of Africus. Dante strode down the street.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
“Somewhere I can keep you out of trouble.”
He heard her spit out a curse in Arabic. He strolled into the Campo de’ Fiori, a beautiful piazza lined by historic buildings. The cafes and wine bars were still busy and a few diners cast startled glances at them.
A statue dominated the square, the shadowy figure of the monk Giordano Bruno. It stood in the spot where the monk had been burned at the stake for heresy—his captors infected by the vices of the Tempest Winds during one of their rampages.
It was a reminder to Dante just how important it was that he didn’t fail.
“Buona sera, Signor Venti.” An eager young doorman held the door to his building open. His white smile was wide as he took in the woman draped over Dante’s shoulder. “A beautiful evening, no?”
Samia gave another kick and Dante subdued her, his hands biting into the backs of her thighs. “Ciao, Paolo. And yes, it is.”
“It. Is. Not,” Samia ground out. “Help me. This crazy man has abducted me.”
The young man smiled. “Dante Venti has no need to kidnap beautiful women. They flock to him like bees to pollen.”
Samia made a choked, angry sound and Dante gave Paolo a wink. He moved across the elegant foyer and into the elevator. Paolo was still smiling as the elevator doors closed.
Moments later, Dante strode into the apartment, his boots clicking on the glossy marble tiles. Luca owned the spacious penthouse, and had modernized it without losing the historic charm. Dante didn’t stop in the stylish living room to admire the stunning view of the dome of St. Peter’s framed by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
Suddenly, his tiredness crashed down on him. He continued down the short hall and into the bedroom.
He dumped Samia on the bed and watched her bounce.
It was then he noticed a startling fact. As soon as he was no longer touching her, the pride-filled whispers crowded his ears again. They bombarded him with nasty suggestions that a part of him wanted to believe.
Reaching down, he gripped her arm.
She tried to jerk out of his hold and kick him.
He held fast and deflected her kick. The voices dimmed and faded away.
Incredible. Somehow, touching this woman held the pride at bay.
***
Samia watched Dante looking at her like she’d just smacked him in the side of the head.
She had no idea what was wrong with him, but she was getting out of here. Out of the corner of her eye, she searched for a weapon. There was nothing in arm’s reach except the silk covers on the big bed.
She couldn’t believe he’d captured her. She’d made mistakes tonight even an apprentice assassin wouldn’t make. She could picture her father’s tight, disappointed face if he knew.
All because doubt had wormed its way inside her. She wasn’t sure what was going on with Dante Venti, but until she knew the truth, she sure as hell wasn’t going to kill him in cold blood.
Samia squeezed her eyes closed, very afraid that she was losing her edge. She’d lost it in the blood of a sixteen-year-old boy, in the doubt and hesitation that filled her. If she couldn’t kill, she’d be tossed out of the Hashshasin. And the brotherhood was all she had.
Fingers pressed against her cheek and she opened her eyes. Dante’s handsome face was inches from hers. A dark curl had fallen over his forehead, making him look younger. He cupped her jaw, concern in his eyes.
What if he’s as innocent as that boy? She’d watched from the shadows as he’d pulled apart the fighting women. He hadn’t hurt either of them, or let them hurt each other. What kind of killer did that?
She knew killers. Hell, she saw one in the mirror every day. Everything inside her was telling her this man wasn’t one.
Dante shifted and sat beside her. His warm thigh pressed against her leg.
She felt the air thicken. Damn the man for looking and smelling so good. “If you kill me, they’ll only send another to finish the job.”
He snorted. “I’m not planning to kill you, Samia.” His gaze turned considering. “They won’t send someone out to find you?”
She shook her head. “That’s not our way.”
Dante’s fingers stroked over her hand. “Are you that expendable to them?”
She glanced up. “Yes.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I’m just a weapon. The killing machine you accused me of being.” Nothing more, not even to her father.
Dante’s jaw tightened. “You’re a human being.” His finger skimmed a lock of her hair. “And your eyes are so sad.”
Samia’s stomach clenched and she turned her head. The man saw too much.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Nowhere.” The brotherhood was based in Morocco, but she traveled the world and didn’t have a home.
“And what are you, Samia Hassan?”
She frowned. “You already know I am Hashshasin.”
He leaned closer. “No, I mean what kind of being.”
She had no idea what she was, and over the last three months, there were days she wasn’t even sure who she was. One slip of the knife and the identity she’d clung to all her life had slipped away. “My father is human. Born and raised by the brotherhood.”
“And your mother?”
Samia dropped her gaze. “I don’t know. I never knew her.”
“But the Hashshasin have a tradition of breeding with beings of power.” Dante forced her to meet his golden gaze. “You have an exceptional ability to blend into the shadows. Your father must have mentioned what she was.”
All Samia knew of her mother was that she’d gladly accepted the money Samia’s father had paid her to have sex, give birth, and hand her daughter over without a backward glance. Samia tried to pull away from Dante. “Why is my heritage so important to you?”
He held her close, intensity burning in his eyes. “Because every time I touch you, I feel the vice that torments me every day fade away.”