The Dangerous Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  “I knew you were smart.” He moved toward the door without any hurry. “Maybe if you’d been brought up with your own flesh and blood, it might have been different, but”—he sighed—“you weren’t. You’re Noah’s child, which, in a way, makes this easier.”

  The churning in her gut intensified, but she fought it back. “I know what you’re going to do,” she said flatly. “You don’t have enough stock for a takeover bid and you’re going to use me to get Van to hand the company over, aren’t you?”

  Cesare put his hand on the doorknob and turned to her, giving her a slow, critical look. “Hmmm. Very smart girl. Maybe you’re one of mine after all.”

  “So I’m your prisoner? Is that what this is?”

  “Of course you are. I need some leverage after all.”

  “You think what you’re doing makes it better?” She stared at him, refusing to give him any sign of the fear that had started to worm its way through her. “That using me makes it right?”

  “No,” he said coldly. “But then I don’t care if it’s right. The only thing I care about is taking back what’s mine. And make no mistake, Tate Oil is mine.”

  What could she say to that? Noah had stolen from him, which made Tate Oil very definitely his.

  Her jaw felt tight with the effort it took to keep her rage in check. “And me? You don’t care what happens to me? Not at all?”

  “Good question.” His forehead creased. “I did love your mother. Very much. But you…” The crease disappeared, his forehead smoothing out. “Well, I don’t know you. And Noah felt no compunction about using you as a pawn to get what he wanted, so why should I?”

  She refused to let it hurt, concentrating instead on the last thing that had made her feel good, made her feel wanted. Van’s kiss beside the rink, hard and possessive and hot. And that look in his eyes, furious and intent, and the sound of it in his voice, telling her to stay safe.

  “You’re a fool, Mr. de Santis.” She enunciated each syllable of his name mockingly. “Van won’t let you use me. He won’t give you the company.”

  “Yes, he will,” Cesare said, almost gently. “Because he’ll do anything to save his foster sister.” Something cruel crept into his face. “His lover.”

  Shock uncurled down her spine in a slow, icy lick. How the hell could he know? No one knew that she and Van had slept together. Absolutely no one.

  That kiss beside the rink … in public …

  Oh God.

  And like he’d read her mind, Cesare said, “You think no one saw that kiss he gave you? My dear, everyone saw it.”

  The urge to put her fist through de Santis’s smug, handsome face was suddenly overwhelming and she had to drive her nails hard into her palms to stop herself from doing so. “That’s got nothing to do with anything.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it’s another nice little weapon to add to my arsenal. And I do like weapons, Chloe. Especially explosive ones. Which is what makes this so perfect.” He leaned against the door. “Hell, I don’t even need to threaten you physically. One of my men had a camera on you the whole time, which means I can just threaten to post that footage online. The idea that the head of Tate Oil has been fucking his foster sister.… Well, think of the scandal.”

  She could feel herself flushing red, but not with shame. Because she’d never thought that what she’d done with Van was wrong, not once. She’d never thought of him as a brother and it was clear he’d never thought of her as a sister. But the rest of the world didn’t know that.

  And neither did everyone who worked for her at the ranch. Or for Van at Tate Oil. Or with him in the military. If word of this got out, both of them would be screwed.

  She ignored the fear that gathered suddenly inside her, freezing her solid. Lifted her chin instead, stubborn to the last. “Even if you do post that footage, Van will figure out some way to spin it. He’s not going to let some piece of shit blackmail him. You’ve got nothing.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll soon find out, won’t we?” Cesare gave her a pleasant smile. “Until then, I’m sure you won’t mind sitting in here for a while.”

  Turning the knob, he let himself out, shutting it very firmly behind him.

  Leaving her alone.

  * * *

  “Jesus Christ,” Lucas muttered, his head bent over Van’s laptop, studying the paternity test results he’d demanded Van show him. “She’s really his daughter.”

  Van stared down at the various pieces of the assault rifle he’d just stripped down and cleaned sitting on the table. They all looked good. Time to reassemble it. “Yeah,” he said, picking up a couple of pieces and fitting them together with practiced ease. “She really is.”

  Lucas shook his blond head. “Why did Dad tell her she was his then?”

  “Fuck knows.” Van fitted the stock into place. “He didn’t see fit to reveal that little piece of information.”

  “Obviously de Santis knows.” Lucas looked up from the screen, his silver-blue eyes sharp. “Whose great idea was it to meet him?”

  “It was a mutual decision.”

  “Hers then.” Lucas’s tone dripped with scorn. “What a fucking stupid thing to do. You should have talked her out of it.”

  Van’s anger simmered away like a stream of hot lava under a crust of rock, making him entertain pleasant thoughts about what it might feel like to punch his brother in the face.

  Because, Christ, hadn’t he spent the last few hours pacing around the apartment thinking exactly that? Still, getting openly furious on Chloe’s behalf would not be a good move right now, not when it would no doubt reveal way more than he was comfortable with. Lucas would have an aneurysm if he knew what Van and Chloe had been doing in his apartment and he was not going to be revealing that to his brothers anytime soon.

  “Short of putting a bullet in his brain, we didn’t have many options,” Van said shortly. “We needed more information, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to talk to me.”

  “Why did you assume he’d talk to her?”

  “Because he’s her father.” Van picked up another piece of the rifle and fitted it with a snap. “And he made it very clear he wanted to see her.”

  Lucas stared at him, his gaze narrowing. “Since when have you been talking to him?”

  Shit. His brother wouldn’t know about the ultimatum because Van hadn’t told him.

  You want to handle this. You want to keep her all to yourself.

  He did. He couldn’t deny it. But it was too late to do it on his own now. Lucas was involved whether Van liked it or not, and just to be clear, he did not like it. And when Lucas heard what Van hadn’t told him, he wouldn’t like it either.

  Van put the half-built rifle back down on the table and met his brother’s gaze. “I met with de Santis a couple of days ago. I wanted to know what he wanted. Long story short, he wanted Chloe and threatened to go ahead with the takeover if I didn’t give her to him.”

  Lucas’s blond brows arrowed down. “A bluff, clearly.”

  “Yeah,” Van said heavily, “well we didn’t know that for sure. Plus we also needed to know exactly what he was planning and it wasn’t like he was going to spill his guts to me. Chloe thought he might talk to her.”

  “So you just said ‘Sure, go ahead’?”

  Van put his hands on the table and leaned on them, mainly to stop himself from throwing that punch he’d just been thinking about straight into Lucas’s pretty face. “We can’t neutralize de Santis if we don’t know what he wants.”

  “I thought it was pretty damn obvious what he wants. To take down Tate.”

  “If it was as simple as that, then he wouldn’t have bothered with Chloe. No, he wants more. And we need to find out exactly what that is.”

  “You keep saying ‘we.’” Lucas’s tone was utterly neutral. “I presume you’re not talking about Wolf and me.”

  Now they were getting on dangerous ground.

  Van straightened, then reached for the last few piece of the rifle, fitting them ba
ck together before checking over the weapon. “We went over that. You both told me you had shit to take care of. So no, I don’t mean you and Wolf.”

  Placing the rifle back down on the table, he glanced across the table at his brother.

  Lucas had come over immediately after Van had called him so they could discuss what they were going to do about the Chloe situation. They had, indeed, briefly considered bringing Wolf in, but then decided against it. Their youngest brother was back on base and since he’d cut short his bereavement leave, he probably wouldn’t be able to get leave to come back to New York anyway. Telling him Chloe was in danger when he couldn’t do anything to help would only needlessly frustrate him.

  No, they were going to have to do this on their own.

  Correction. Van was going to have to do this on his own since apparently Lucas had a “situation” that required his constant presence.

  “Unless you’ve changed your mind about coming,” Van added, studying his brother’s face, trying to get a clue as to what the fuck was going on with him.

  Lucas’s pretty-boy features hardened. “I can’t. I told you. I’m dealing with some pretty serious shit right now.”

  “More serious than Chloe’s life?”

  Unexpectedly, Lucas turned away. “I’m not answering that question. If you don’t trust me—”

  “Of course I fucking trust you,” Van growled, irritated by his brother’s recalcitrance. Christ, he’d been hoping the asshole might actually tell him what the deal was, but it looked like he wasn’t going to get lucky today. “Don’t get all up on your high horse. If you say you’ve got some serious shit, then you’ve got some serious shit. Like I need your pussy ass along for the ride anyway.”

  Lucas glanced at him and there was something intense in his gaze. Something that wasn’t—for a change—all ice. “Believe me, if it wasn’t life or death, I’d be coming. But I can’t leave the situation I’m dealing with right now. In fact”—he glanced down at his watch and cursed under his breath—“I’d better be getting back right now.”

  “Getting back where?”

  “You got someone to protect? Well, so do I.”

  Ah, so it was that kind of situation. Interesting.

  “Anyone I know?” Van asked casually.

  Luca’s piercing silver-blue gaze was completely opaque. “No.”

  “Don’t get pissy with me. I might be able to help.”

  “You can’t. It’s also none of your fucking business.” There was a note in his brother’s tone that Van hadn’t heard before. Almost as if the guy was worried or something. Which couldn’t be right, surely? Lucas didn’t care enough about anything to be worried about it.

  Unless the someone he had to protect was a woman?

  Yeah, you don’t want to get into that kind of shit with him right now. Not when you’ve got your own situation with Chloe to deal with.

  Good fucking point.

  “Fine.” Van put the rifle back down on the table and looked pointedly at the computer. “Any luck with finding her?”

  Instantly Lucas was back at the laptop, pushing a button and staring down at the screen. They’d been trying to track Chloe down using her cell-phone signal, but it had been taking a while to lock onto her location for some reason.

  “Okay,” Lucas murmured, narrowing his gaze. “Looks like she’s on the Upper East Side.”

  Van moved around the side of the table to look at the screen himself. “Yeah and that’s de Santis’s address.”

  He knew the place. His father had pointed it out to him on a number of occasions.

  “Doesn’t mean she’s there,” Lucas pointed out. “Only that her phone is.”

  “Yeah, I know that. But it’s the only lead we’ve got, so I guess I’m taking it.”

  His brother gave one sharp nod then turned to the doorway. “Call me if you need anything. I can’t promise I’ll come, but if I can make it, I’ll try.”

  “Got it.”

  “Oh, and Van?”

  “Yeah?”

  Lucas’s eyes were suddenly intensely blue. “Try not to fuck it up, okay?”

  Van let out a short laugh, ignoring the icy dread that was collecting in his gut. “That sounds like you don’t trust me to do my job, baby bro. But no, fucking up is not in the mission briefing. Neither is getting caught or having this blow up in the media.”

  Lucas didn’t smile. But then, he never did. “De Santis will know it’s you if you come after her. And if he does, he’ll make sure everyone else knows it too.”

  “Yeah, but first he’ll have to catch me and then he’ll have to get proof. And like I said, see the above mission briefing.”

  Lucas stayed silent, staring at him.

  Yeah, well, he could understand his brother’s qualms. They’d briefly discussed taking it to the police, since it was a civilian matter—or at least, Lucas had, since Van had told him to fuck off with that kind of thinking.

  As far as the police were concerned, this wouldn’t be kidnapping, Van was pretty sure. Especially since Chloe had gone with de Santis willingly. Plus, there had been no ransom demand or anything similar, which meant the police couldn’t make a move since there was no evidence Chloe was in actual danger.

  That left Van with only one choice. If he wanted to retain the element of surprise over de Santis, he had to move and move now. Before the guy could get Chloe somewhere more secure.

  It was a risk, no mistake. If he was caught, he could face prosecution and certainly his superiors would have something to say about taking the law into his own hands. There would also be a media storm, which wouldn’t do Tate Oil any favors, that was for sure.

  But he had no other choice. He had to get Chloe out of there somehow, and he was pretty much the only person who could do it.

  A SEAL going up against a weapons billionaire seemed like a fair fight.

  As the door to the apartment closed behind Lucas, Van lifted his black bag of tricks from the seat he’d put it on earlier and dumped it on the table.

  He began to sort through the stuff inside, stopping when his fingers closed around something hard, and way too small to be any type of grenade.

  Frowning, he drew it out and opened his hand. Sitting on his palm was a smooth, black stone. It was familiar, the stone Chloe had given him years ago to remind him of home.

  Van stared at it. Jesus, he’d almost forgotten he had it.

  At that moment, his phone began to buzz. Without knowing quite why, he curled his fingers around the stone and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans before grabbing his phone. And the instant he looked down at the screen, he promptly forgot about the stone.

  “Chloe,” he said roughly, before she had a chance to speak. “Where the fuck are you?”

  “It’s not Chloe, Mr. Tate,” Cesare de Santis said smoothly. “But obviously I have her, don’t worry about that. In fact, she kindly lent me her cell phone so we could have this little chat.”

  A wash of red descended over Van’s vision, the lava bubbling up from underneath. “If you fucking hurt her, I swear to God—”

  “I wouldn’t swear on anything if I were you, Mr. Tate. Or make any rash promises, not when I have a very serious business proposition to put to you.”

  Van contemplated telling the asshole exactly what he could do with his serious business proposition, especially when he had a feeling he already knew anyway. “Don’t tell me,” he growled. “You’ll give me Chloe if I give you my Tate Oil stock.”

  “Actually,” de Santis said, “it’s even worse than that. Not only do I have your foster sister, I also have proof that you two are lovers.”

  Shock bolted down Van’s spine like electricity grounding itself, the plastic casing of the phone creaking as his grip tightened, threatening to crush it.

  “What proof?” he demanded, not bothering to deny it since no one would use that threat if they didn’t already have some basis for suspecting it.

  “Need-to-know basis only, son. And you don’t need t
o know. Suffice to say that should you take it into your head to conduct a rescue mission and Chloe somehow disappears mysteriously from my custody, I will have no choice but to release my proof to the media. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to have their minds taken off the current political climate by a nice little sex scandal.”

  “Show me,” Van hissed through gritted teeth. “Show me your fucking proof.”

  There was no response to that, and then Van’s phone beeped with a text. He looked down. On the screen was a video clip. It was focused on two people, one tall, one small. They were standing in a crowd, the rail of the ice rink next to them, and Van couldn’t look away as he watched himself take Chloe’s face between his hands and tilt her head back, and cover her mouth in that desperate, hungry kiss. A kiss that no one with any brains would ever mistake for platonic.

  The video was very clear and it was very obvious who they were.

  The clip ended.

  Van raised the phone to his ear. “I’ll kill you,” he said pleasantly.

  De Santis merely laughed. “Checkmate, Mr. Tate.”

  The call abruptly disconnected.

  With exaggerated care, Van put his phone back in his pocket before he could hurl it through the window.

  He’d never seriously wanted to kill someone before, but if Cesare de Santis suddenly appeared before him, he’d have had no problem picking up that assault rifle and pulling the trigger with a glad heart.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  There was a seething mass of fury in the center of his chest and he knew that if he wasn’t careful, it was going to eat him alive.

  So, not only did the bastard have Chloe, that footage was irrefutable. If that went out to the media, he was screwed six ways to Sunday. The situation with Tate Oil’s management was already volatile and that piece of film would light it on fire and burn the whole fucking thing to the ground.

  The Tate heir sleeping with his younger foster sister? Oh yeah, that would set the whole internet blazing. He would be vilified and even apart from how it would cause huge problems with the company, the ensuing shitstorm would screw his Navy career too. The COs didn’t like it when their men drew attention to themselves. Christ, he was a liability by dint of being the Tate heir already and this would make it a thousand times worse.