But what else was she supposed to do? Van would never have let her go if she’d waited to talk to him first, she knew that for a fact.
No, he was going to have to trust her to deal with this.
Still, her mind kept replaying over and over again Van striding toward her, lifting his hand and smashing first one guy over the face, then punching the second in the gut. He’d barely looked away from her as he’d felled three men as easily as a woodcutter felling trees with a razor-sharp ax. Then he’d lifted his gun and pointed it at de Santis’s head, and her whole body had gone cold because she’d seen murder glittering, a pure, deep green in his eyes.
She’d hesitated in that moment, and not because she’d been afraid for the man standing behind her, her biological father, but because she’d seen desperation in Van’s eyes. So desperate that he might risk shooting another man in cold blood, in the middle of a public square, just to get to her.
That had meant something, though she wasn’t sure what. Had it only been about keeping her safe? About the woman he’d lost? Or had it been about more than that?
“He wouldn’t have done it,” de Santis had whispered to her, as if he’d known exactly why she was hesitating. “He’s too much of a good soldier.”
But no, she couldn’t think about that right now. She had a mission she had to complete and that’s what she had to focus on. Get answers from Cesare de Santis and somehow get those answers back to Van.
Taking a breath, she lifted her lashes again then turned to glance at the man sitting next to her.
He was different in real life than he was in the pictures she’d been studying the day before. There was a powerful charisma to him, a magnetism that was more to do with the force of a strong personality than it was with his intense blue eyes and the set of his handsome features. He was looking at her very intently, which was slightly disconcerting.
“You look like her,” de Santis said unexpectedly.
A little shock prickled over her skin. “Who? My mother?”
“Yes.” There was an expression in de Santis’s eyes she couldn’t interpret. “I loved her, you know. But I was married and I already had three sons. Anything more between us would have been impossible.”
Okay, so that was unexpected.
She stared at him. “I was told it was a one-night stand.”
“Is that what Noah told you?” De Santis shook his head slowly. “No. It was more than a one-night stand, Chloe.”
Yet another lie her father—Noah—had told her …
“You said you were married. Is that why you never contacted me?” she asked.
“Partly,” he admitted, “but then maybe you already know the other reason.”
“My father?” She stumbled slightly over the word. Saying it out loud right now, here, in the presence of her actual biological father felt strange.
“Yes. Dear Noah liked a threat and as threats go, using you against me was a good one.” He tilted his head, studying her. “How much do you know? I assume you found out I was your father only after Noah died?”
She didn’t want to admit how in the dark Noah had kept her, but there was little to give him other than the truth. “That’s right. Van told me.”
“Ah, yes, the indomitable Mr. Tate. He’s really quite persistent, isn’t he?”
Defensiveness curled inside her, though she tried not to let it show. “He’s a SEAL. What do you expect?”
“True.” Something flickered in de Santis’s blue eyes. “Though, you have to know that I would never hurt you, Chloe. You’re my daughter. Family is important to me.”
It sounded good, but as she already knew, some men’s promises were empty. There was also the fact that as she’d discovered in the course of her research, de Santis had had another son. A fourth son, also the product of an affair. A son he’d hadn’t acknowledged until he was forced to. So much for family there.
“You have four sons,” she pointed out. “Not three. Or is family only important in certain situations?”
Again that flicker in his eyes. “So you’ve been investigating. And why shouldn’t you?” He gave another slight smile. “Nero was a special case. But then we’re not here to talk about my sons. We’re here to talk about you.”
“So talk then. Why were you trying to find me? What do you want with me?” The questions came out too sharp, but she made no attempt to soften them, too busy trying to hide the churning sensation in her gut.
If her tone bothered him, de Santis gave no sign. “By all means, let’s get straight to the point. But not here. We’ll wait till we get somewhere a little more comfortable I think.”
A sharp jab of trepidation pricked her. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” His smile this time was broader and he leaned forward, patting her hand. “Don’t look so scared, Chloe. I don’t know what lies Noah fed you, but like I already told you, you’re my daughter and I would never hurt you.”
Crap. What had she told herself about not letting her emotions show?
Chloe shoved her trepidation away, giving him a belligerent look instead. “I’m not scared. Don’t flatter yourself.”
He gave a soft laugh, but didn’t say anything as the limo glided through the Manhattan night traffic. In fact, he didn’t speak again until the limo slowed down on a very grand street on the Upper East Side, pulling up to the curb outside an old, stately looking building.
“This is our stop,” de Santis said, glancing out the window. Then he looked back at her. “Welcome home, Chloe.”
She didn’t know what to make of that, so she merely lifted a shoulder as if she wasn’t terribly impressed, saying nothing as the limo door opened and she was ushered out onto the sidewalk then up the stairs to the front door of the building.
De Santis showed her inside into a massive flagged entryway and from there into a very formal sitting room. The walls were white, as was the furniture, the color a lot colder and harder than the pleasant cream of the Tate mansion. And unlike the Tate home, there were no family photos on the walls or on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Just a few intensely colored abstracts, the white walls making the paintings look like they were hanging in an art gallery rather than in someone’s home.
“I’m going to get a drink,” de Santis said as Chloe sat tentatively on the edge of the white linen couch. “Do you have any preferences?”
She shook her head, the churning feeling in her gut making the idea of alcohol unpleasant. She was going to need her wits relatively unclouded if she was going to win this little battle anyway. “No thanks.”
He shrugged and moved over to a long, slim sideboard where a crystal whisky decanter sat along with a few crystal tumblers. Pulling the top off the carafe, he apparently ignored her request and poured a couple of measures of whiskey into two tumblers. Then, picking them up, he came over to where she sat and held one out to her. “Go on,” he said gently. “You’ll need this.”
Chloe eyed him. It probably wasn’t worth the effort to argue solely to make a point, especially not if she wanted him to be receptive to her questions.
Taking the glass reluctantly, she cradled the heavy crystal in her hands. The room was warm, but her fingers still felt icy cold. “That sounds promising,” she said, hoping sarcasm masked the faint note of trepidation she could hear in her own voice.
“Well, if you’re expecting for this to be all hearts and flowers, you’re going to be disappointed.” De Santis moved over to an armchair and sat down, leaning back into it and taking a sip of his whiskey as he surveyed her. “Noah and I were enemies, after all.”
“I do realize that.” The edges of the tumbler dug into her palms. “He did talk about you, you know.”
“Did he now?” There was a certain sharpness in de Santis’s voice. “Can’t imagine what lies he filled your head with.”
Many lies as it turned out. Yet she didn’t want to reveal that to the man sitting opposite her. Some shreds of loyalty were still there inside her, making her
oddly defensive of Noah. “He may not have been the best father in the world, but he did the best he could.”
De Santis raised a dark eyebrow. “And were you happy with him, Chloe?”
For some reason the question only made her feel even more defensive, which was strange given how she and Van had spent the last couple of days agreeing that Noah had been a shitty father.
But still. He might have been distant and emotionally unavailable, yet he’d brought her up in the world’s most beautiful place. Allowed her a lot of freedom. Taught her how to be self-sufficient and self-reliant, how to be a good manager, how to keep one eye on the big picture and the other on the detail.
Those things weren’t inconsiderable.
“Yes,” she lied without any hesitation at all. “I was.” Then she added, before he could continue on the subject, “But I’m not supposed to be the one answering questions here. That’s supposed to be you.”
He inclined his head as if conceding a point. “Yes, I did promise you that, didn’t I? First of all, do you have your phone?”
She nodded. It was in the pocket of her jeans.
“Good. Then can you please send Mr. Tate a message telling him you’re safe and well, and that you’ll be coming back to him within the next twenty-four hours.” He paused, blue eyes glinting. “And that if he tries to come for you before then, I’ll make good my threat to Tate.”
Another sharp prick of trepidation.
Making no move to grab her phone, she stared at him instead. “Oh, you mean the takeover bid? You do know that it’s not really a takeover if you haven’t got enough shares to actually take over, right?”
The glint in his eyes deepened. “Oh, so we have a bit of spirit, do we? Good, I like that. Reminds me of your mother.”
“I’m not issuing threats to Van,” she said flatly. “Especially when we both know you’re bluffing.”
“Yes,” de Santis said slowly, “I suppose it does look that way, doesn’t it?” He swirled the whiskey around in his glass, studying her all the while. “How about this then, message Mr. Tate and tell him not to look for you and that you’ll be back in twenty-four hours.” He gave her a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I merely don’t want us to be disturbed. Especially when you’re after answers.”
Chloe narrowed her gaze at him. She didn’t trust this man. Not in the slightest. Even though he was her father and even though he’d told her he didn’t mean to harm her. Even though logic had told her he probably wouldn’t.
It was a stupid decision to come here.
Maybe it was. Still, she was here now and there was nothing she could do but keep going and hope he’d give her the answers she was after. In the meantime, she definitely didn’t want Van to worry. He needed to know she was okay, that she was handling things.
She put her whiskey on the small side table near the arm of the sofa then took her phone out of her pocket. There were no messages and it didn’t look like anyone had tried to call her, which she found vaguely disappointing. But she pushed aside the feeling and texted Van before sliding the phone away again.
Then she looked at her father, sitting in the armchair opposite her. “Okay,” she said flatly. “So, talk.”
* * *
Van banged open the door of Lucas’s apartment and strode in, grabbing his phone from his back pocket as he did so. He punched in his brother’s number, moving into the living room and over to an armchair that sat by the windows. Hooking his foot under the chair, he jerked out his little black bag of tricks. There were things in it he could use to make Cesare de Santis wish he’d never been born.
“What is it?” Lucas answered without any preamble.
“De Santis.” Van saw no reason to beat about the bush. “He’s taken Chloe.”
There was a silence.
“What do you mean he’s taken Chloe?” Lucas voice was cold but calm.
“What the fuck do you think I mean?” The rage inside him was clawing at the walls, desperate to get out, and he was only holding on by the skin of his teeth.
Not so perfect these days are you? What would Dad say?
He bared his teeth at the bag on the floor. Dad would say nothing, because he was fucking dead, and why was he thinking of the old man anyway? He knew he wasn’t goddamn perfect. He knew. And he should never have agreed for Chloe to meet de Santis. Never have left her by the rail alone. Shit, he should never have taken her out in the first fucking place. He should have locked the fucking door and thrown away the goddamn key, that’s what he should have done.
You were supposed to trust her to handle it.
Yeah, shit, he knew that. He was also a fucking SEAL, not some stupid civilian panicking at the first sign of trouble. He commanded his own team. And the one thing a commander certainly didn’t ever fucking do was panic.
“What happened?” Lucas asked sharply.
Christ. He hadn’t wanted to tell the others about Chloe and de Santis, not yet. He’d wanted to do it when all of this was over, but it looked like he wasn’t going to be given a choice about it.
“It’s a long story.” Van crouched down beside the bag, pulling it open and rummaging around inside the contents as he talked. “The letter I got from Dad, the one that told me I had to protect Chloe from de Santis, also said that he wasn’t her father.”
“What?” The edge in Lucas’s voice was lethal.
“Yeah, it’s a shock, I get it. But there’s no time for long and involved explanations. All you need to know now is that Dad has proof Chloe is de Santis’s daughter and Dad adopted her to keep de Santis out of Tate business.” There was silence down the other end of the phone, so Van kept on going. “De Santis is after Chloe because he wants to see his daughter, but the guy’s a manipulative asshole and I don’t think that’s the whole story. Anyway, we decided to contact de Santis to talk. Problem was, he wanted Chloe there alone, so I had to—”
“You went ahead and met with de Santis?” Lucas interrupted, his voice cold. “What the actual fuck, Van?”
Van fought to keep a hold on his patience and failed. “We still don’t have all the info about the takeover situation and besides, if I want to neutralize him as a threat, I need to know what the fuck it is that he wants. Anyway, I don’t have time to go through that bullshit with you right now, asshole. The issue is Chloe, getting into de Santis’s fucking limo.”
Proving he knew what was good for him, Lucas again was silent. Then he said, “What do you mean she got in? No one forced her?”
Van scowled at the bag then picked up a grenade. They were nice in certain circumstances, but probably too much of a blunt instrument for a rescue operation in the middle of Manhattan. “There wasn’t a gun on her if that’s what you meant, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t being forced.”
Maybe she went willingly. Maybe she’s handling this.
Christ, he didn’t know which was worse. That Chloe had deliberately put herself in harm’s way and was, in actual fact, dealing with it, or that she’d lost control of the situation and this was now a kidnapping scenario.
You need to trust her.
But the last time he’d done that, a woman had died.
Or perhaps you need to stop jumping to conclusions when you don’t have all the info, asshole.
Yeah, that too.
“Did you take action?”
Lucas’s voice interrupted his thoughts, forcing him to concentrate on the here and now. “Of course I fucking did. Tried to grab her, but by the time I saw her she was almost in the car. De Santis had protection too. Three assholes tried to slow me down and while I was taking care of them, Chloe was taken away.”
His hand tightened around the grenade at the memory, which was a pretty damn stupid thing to do so he forced himself to put it back in the bag.
“So was all this in full view of the public?” Lucas did not sound impressed. “And you were worried about fucking Wolf punching up a bunch of marines in Leo’s?”
Van gritted his teeth, fight
ing the inexplicable urge he had to drive his fist into something. “Maybe you didn’t quite get the message, asshole. Chloe’s been taken. By that prick Cesare de Santis. Our fucking enemy. Which means I couldn’t give a shit about the goddamn public.”
“You should,” his brother said flatly. “We don’t need the police coming down on us, and neither does the Navy.”
For once in his life, Van didn’t give rat’s ass about the Navy. “You worry about the fucking Navy then,” he snapped. “I need to go rescue Chloe.” Because regardless of how she’d handled this, the chances of her being able to extricate herself were slim. Especially if de Santis didn’t want to let her go.
“Hey.” Lucas’s tone was hard but steady. “You want to rescue her? Then we’ll go rescue her. But we need a plan that doesn’t involve either the police or the military.”
His brother was right. Jesus, what was wrong with him that he was hell-bent on charging in there with grenades and automatic weapons? This wasn’t a mission to the jungle. This was fucking Manhattan. And what he needed to do was to keep all these fucking feelings on lockdown before they started affecting his ability to make good decisions.
Slowly, Van rose to his feet and kicked the bag back under the chair. “We need to find out where she is first of all and whether she’s okay.”
“I’m not sure de Santis would have taken her in full view of the general public if he was going to do something to her,” Lucas pointed out dryly. “Murder is difficult to get away with in front of a crowd.”
His brother’s calm tone was infuriating, making Van want to hurl his goddamn phone through the plate glass window in front of him. “You don’t seem to realize how fucking serious this is,” he growled. “This prick is—”
“And you’re not thinking straight,” Lucas interrupted. “We have no reason to believe Chloe will be physically harmed, especially not if de Santis is her father.”
Van stared out at the night beyond the windows. He could see himself reflected in the glass, a feral snarl twisting his features.
The Dangerous Billionaire Page 23