by Monica Burns
A short while later, he’d just finished rolling the sleeves of his shirt up over his arms when he sensed an old presence that he knew well. Placido. Centering his thoughts, he concentrated on filling his consciousness with the tranquility he’d learned in the fifth level of the Novem Conformavi.
As a sense of calm swept over him, he offered up a brief prayer to Jupiter that he’d recaptured some of the peace he’d lost in the last twenty-four hours. It would help him match wits with the old Sicari Lord, whose intellect was rivaled only by his legendary abilities as an intuitive and seer.
With an invisible touch, Dante closed the folding doors of his closet and the drawer of his clothes chest. When he entered his living room, he mentally opened the door for the oldest living Sicari Lord before the man could knock. More than eighty years old, the ancient warrior stood in the doorway of Dante’s apartment with a smile of satisfaction on his face.
“The strength of your abilities continues to grow, my boy. One day you will be even more powerful than Marcus or myself.”
“You honor me with your presence and your words,” Dante said as he invited the man into his home with a bow of respect.
Placido had once been the reigning leader of the Absconditus, but he’d surrendered those duties to Marcus years ago. Although he still retained the honorary title of Sicari Lord, his role was that of advisor and teacher of the younger students enrolled in the Novem Conformavi.
The elderly Sicari Lord still possessed a proud bearing and strong stride, but he seemed to move slower with each passing year. Eventually the old man’s time would come to join other Sicari Lords in the Elysium Fields. It was then that the Absconditus would lose a wise counsel and mentor, while Dante would lose a good friend. As his gaze met Placido’s, the elderly man sent him a look of disgust.
“From the expression on your face, you think me not long for the Rogalis,” the ancient warrior snapped. As Dante grimaced, the old man sighed heavily. “You are not wrong to think it so.”
“I’m certain there are many years yet before we plan your funeral.”
“Many?” Placido snorted with cynical amusement as he arched an eyebrow at Dante. “I didn’t come here to discuss my future. I wish to discuss yours.”
“Mine?”
Dante frowned in puzzlement. What was there to discuss? He was Tribune, heir apparent to the reigning Sicari Lord. When Marcus stepped down from his position, Dante would take his place. It had been decided long ago.
“I understand we have a guest.” It was a statement, but Dante heard the question in his friend’s voice.
“Yes, Marcus’s daughter,” he said with a nod. “When he checked in yesterday, he mentioned Cleopatra was still in Rome. I decided to keep an eye on her for him.”
“I see.” Placido moved toward the doors of the balcony that overlooked the peristylium below. He opened them and breathed in a deep breath of fresh air. “I saw Signorina Vorenus from the library window. She is quite beautiful.”
The statement caught Dante off guard, but he managed to maintain the calm center he’d found despite his friend’s observations. He wasn’t sure why Cleopatra would interest Placido.
“She is.” He kept his response simple. He’d learned a long time ago the elderly warrior enjoyed testing him.
“I sense a disturbance in you.” Placido turned away from the open doorway and narrowed his gaze at him. “You’re troubled.”
“I am disconcerted.”
Technically, it wasn’t a lie. The first level of the Novem Conformavi was taught early, and he’d been five when he’d learned the principles of the first Tabulati. Honesty, loyalty, and generosity were the foundations for the other eight levels of training. Not that he’d practiced them last night. His jaw locked with tension. His reply had simply avoided speaking the obvious, because he was most definitely in trouble.
“Disconcerted,” Placido murmured with a sage nod of his head.
It was clear Dante’s choice of words had not fooled the old man. The Sicari Lord studied him for a long moment before turning back toward the garden view. The silence in the room edged its way across his skin like a sharp blade. For a brief moment, his thoughts raced back to the images he’d seen in Cleopatra’s head and how his release in the shower had been a temporary reprieve from the desire she aroused in him.
He was beginning to realize he was in far deeper than he’d originally thought. It explained why Placido’s intuitive nature had brought him here. Dante was in a desperate struggle with his attraction to Cleopatra, and the ancient Sicari Lord knew it. But Dante wasn’t ready or willing to discuss the matter with his friend. This was something he needed to resolve on his own. He cleared his throat.
“Marcus asked me to watch over her until she returned to Chicago, so she’ll be staying here for a while.” He was pleased his voice displayed none of the chaotic emotions from earlier.
“I sense Signorina Vorenus is the reason you’re . . . disconcerted,” Placido said with a hint of what sounded like amused satisfaction as he turned to look at him.
“Her presence has been somewhat disruptive, but it’s temporary.”
“What is? Her presence or your disconcerted state?” This time the old warrior’s slight smile made it obvious he was entertained by Dante’s current condition.
“Both.” He forced himself to remain silent in the face of the other man’s gentle mockery.
“Good. At least you admit that she affects you.”
“As I said. It’s temporary,” Dante said firmly. “She’s simply a test.”
“Ah yes, your oath.” Placido bowed his head to rub his gnarled hand over his jawline. “Do you remember when you finished the third Tabulati? Your fifteenth birthday, I think.”
“Yes. As I recall, my final test involved hunger and a chocolate fudge cake.”
“A test to see if you understood the concept of temperance,” the ancient warrior muttered in a voice riddled with something Dante couldn’t identify.
“I remember I didn’t pass the test the first time. I thought it was a test of my self-control.”
“Did you know that Marcus and I wagered as to how long you would go hungry before you succumbed to eating that dessert?”
“No,” Dante said with surprise, grateful his friend had stopped talking about Cleopatra.
“Marcus said you wouldn’t last more than forty-eight hours. I said you would go at least seventy-two.” Placido looked up at him, his smile one of pride. “You went almost five days without food. It was an amazing feat of self-control.”
“I’m surprised I lasted that long,” Dante muttered as he remembered how hard it had been to sit in that small cell.
He’d been given all the water he wanted, but no food except for his favorite dessert—a single slice of double fudge chocolate cake on the table in front of him. The dessert had been replaced almost hourly to ensure it was fresh and moist looking. It was present the entire time he was in that room—silently tempting him to eat as his hunger grew.
“The story of your ability to abstain is still whispered among the students, but your endurance grows with each retelling,” Placido said with a deep chuckle.
“But I still failed the test,” Dante muttered. It was the only test he’d failed throughout his training in the Novem Conformavi. “It took me another try to realize that it wasn’t the length of time I went hungry that mattered, but my ability to eat only part of the cake, no matter how hungry I was.”
“You’ve never had any trouble denying yourself pleasure.” The sober expression on Placido’s face made Dante frown. Was his mentor disappointed in him? The old man grimaced. “Do you remember what happened after you took your vow and rose to the fourth Tabulati a few weeks later?”
“I was made Tribune.”
“Tribune.” The elderly warrior nodded. “Marcus thought I was foolish for suggesting someone so young to be the heir apparent to his title. But Giovanni’s death left us without an heir, and despite your difficulty with th
e third Tabulati’s concept of temperance in all things pleasurable, your misguided feat of abstinence displayed a strength of control that impressed Marcus, so he agreed.”
“I didn’t know Marcus had opposed my becoming Tribune.” Dante frowned. Once more the old Sicari Lord had mentioned the word temperance. Did his mentor think him unfit to take over leadership of the Absconditus?
“He didn’t object to you becoming Tribune, only to the fact that you were so young when we gave you the title.” Placido folded his arms across his chest. “I think he might have been correct. We should have given you more time to mature. For a boy of fifteen, the burden we laid on your shoulders was a heavy one.”
“I don’t understand. Have I disappointed you in some way?”
“Not at all. I am as proud of you as I would be of any son I might have had if my wife had lived. But I’m concerned we pushed you too hard, too fast.”
“I don’t think you did anything of the kind. I have no regrets about my life in the Absconditus.” Dante suppressed the memory of how he’d wished last night that he’d not taken an oath to remain celibate.
“And your vow?” Placido eyed him carefully with a quiet expectancy.
“My vow?”
He struggled to ignore the chaotic emotions the question stirred inside him. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint the Sicari Lord. If Placido were ever to guess that Dante had experienced a slight lapse in resolve, it would cause the elderly warrior concern. He didn’t want to let either Placido or Marcus down. Other than Cornelia, they were the only family he had. Disappointing them was unacceptable.
“You took your oath of celibacy before you came of age, Dante. You know full well you have the right to free yourself from that obligation.”
“I can’t do that.”
“No, you won’t do that,” Placido sighed heavily. “Which makes it that much more difficult for me, because I can’t help but think that your choice was based in part on the expectations Marcus and I placed on you, my boy.”
“You’ve been talking to Cornelia.”
“Yes, and I think she was right all along. I see now that you took your vow too soon.”
“Fifteen isn’t that young,” he said with a dismissive twist of his lips.
“You were half the age of the few who choose to express their beliefs with an oath. And there are even fewer who take a vow such as you did,” Placido growled. “I wanted to lash Tito for even putting the idea in your head.”
“I don’t know why,” Dante said stiffly. “Tito simply answered my question. I wanted to know if he regretted not taking a wife.”
“He did have a wife, but like many Patricians before and after him, his wife died young. Tito’s oath was more about his grief and fears than a statement of his dedication to the guild.”
Placido crossed the carpet to sit down in a straight back chair pressed against the wall. His movements were weary, and Dante stepped forward to offer his assistance. The old man glared at him and waved him away. Confused, Dante shrugged slightly as he met the ancient Sicari Lord’s gaze.
“Tito’s reason for his vow might have been different than mine, but I fail to see how his choice affects me.”
“By the gods, it was supposed to be a vow of temperance, not one of abstinence,” Placido snapped as he rested his hand on his thigh and shook his head vehemently. “Temperance means avoiding excess, not the complete absence of all pleasure.”
Dante frowned at the frustration the old man was showing. The display of emotion was unlike the Sicari Lord. And it didn’t help matters that they were discussing a topic settled long ago, despite his fleeting wish last night and this morning. He winced inwardly as he admitted the desire he’d felt just within the past few hours. It was a temporary situation. A short-term lapse in control. A small voice in the back of his head laughed mockingly.
“If you felt this strongly about it, why didn’t you say something then?” Dante asked quietly, uncertain of what to make of his friend’s observations.
“Fotte. Do you think I didn’t consider it? But I knew that if I or Marcus even hinted at our doubts, you would have found something else to swear to in hopes of pleasing us.” At the Sicari Lord’s sharp words, Dante started to protest, but Placido raised his hand in an imperious gesture. “Don’t deny it, boy. We both know you would have gone to Hades and back if Marcus or I had asked it of you. Sometimes I think you still would. But we wanted you to make up your own mind. It’s one of the reasons we invited those young women to visit the compound a few days before you took your oath.”
There was a sheepish note in the man’s voice as his mouth twisted in a frown of embarrassed regret. Dante studied his friend in confusion and watched as Placido shifted in his seat, looking exceedingly uncomfortable. He shook his head at the Sicari Lord.
“Are you saying it wasn’t a test?” Dante rasped.
“Vesta preserve us, of course it wasn’t!” Placido exclaimed with disgust. “Marcus and I thought that once you got a taste of what a woman was like you’d change your mind about the vow. We had no idea you’d think we were testing you. If we had, we would have told you it was a secret ritual all Tribunes went through before the title was conveyed to them.”
Dante cringed inwardly at the memory of that day. He’d been studying in the library when Placido had summoned Dante to his quarters. The ancient Sicari Lord had been in his early sixties and was known for his bawdy appetites when it came to women. Dante had always believed it was in response to Placido’s need to fill the hole in his life left by the loss of his wife.
The women in the Sicari Lord’s apartments had been beautiful and voluptuous. Thinking back, he realized they’d not been anywhere near as enticing as Cleopatra. But to a boy of fifteen, they’d been goddesses. He’d had a hard-on the minute he’d walked in the door. It had only gotten worse when Placido had suggested Dante take one particularly beautiful young woman into the bedroom. Certain it was a test, he had done as the Sicari Lord had instructed.
He’d followed her with his heart in his mouth. Christus, the things he’d imagined that woman doing to him. How he managed to keep from coming as she’d undressed in front of him was beyond his comprehension even now. All he remembered of that agonizingly long half hour was that the test Placido had thrown at him was the hardest one he’d endured since.
It had been a lot harder to resist that woman than the thick slab of chocolate cake he’d stared at for more than four days. If he’d known it wasn’t a test, would he have given in to temptation with that young woman instead of walking away from her? It was a question he thought he knew the answer to, and yet how could he be sure when so many years separated him from the event. His gaze met Placido’s, and anger surged through his veins.
“Why come to me with your confession now? What purpose does it serve except to offer you the opportunity to clear your conscience after all these years?” His sharp tone made Placido grow pale, and Dante immediately regretted his brutal outburst. But the ancient warrior recovered quickly and shrugged.
“I think we both know that in the last twenty-four hours you’ve been questioning the decision you made so long ago.”
“You’re wrong.”
“You dare to lie to me, boy?” It was the Placido of old glaring at him. “I know your heart better than anyone, Dante. I know you’re questioning everything where this woman is concerned. I’ve sensed it ever since you returned to the Absconditus with her.”
Dante’s jaw tightened at Placido’s words. The man was right. He’d been suppressing his attraction to Cleopatra from that first emotional connection he’d felt last night. When Placido had brought up the past, Dante had immediately wondered whether he could have resisted Cleopatra if she’d been the woman that day almost twenty years ago. She was just as sensuous as that woman had been. No, Cleopatra was much more potent to the senses than the woman Placido had introduced him to that day so long ago. His muscles hardened as his head was flooded with erotic images of Cleopatra.
If she’d been the one testing him all those years ago, he would have failed the test of his virtue miserably. But he was stronger now, more than capable of withstanding the temptation she presented. Faint laughter echoed deep in his mind. He met Placido’s gaze as his mentor eyed him with deep regret.
“Marcus and I thought that if we showed you how beautiful women are, it would make you realize that you were choosing to give up something you knew nothing about.” Placido shook his head ruefully. “We’d hoped you’d see that a woman has much to offer a man. The right woman can be a lover, partner, and friend. Women soften our rough edges.”
“It was an admirable goal, but it’s in the past, Placido. I made my choice, and it was the right one. I did what was best for the guild,” Dante said in a firm voice.
“You’ve always done what’s best for the Absconditus. What about what’s best for you?” the Sicari Lord muttered with a grunt of fierce exasperation.
“You’re beginning to sound like Cornelia. Isn’t this conversation coming a bit late?”
“It’s never too late to change the mistakes of the past. And I’ve made many. But allowing you to take that vow was the worst. I let you put others in front of your own needs—me, Marcus, everyone, and even the Absconditus itself.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“Is it?” Placido’s expression was fierce as he challenged Dante.
He studied the older man’s features with a frown. Was it possible the ancient warrior was right? Dante had always strived to make his mentors proud of him, but he couldn’t believe he always put the needs of others in front of his own. It simply appeared that way because his needs were the same as those of the Absconditus. He shook his head in disagreement.
“It’s my duty to care for those in guild. It’s what the reigning Sicari Lord does, and as Tribune it’s what I’ve been training for most of my life. I knew that when I made my vow.”