by Monica Burns
When nothing happened, Tony nodded at Dante then swung across the fifteen-foot divide and quickly scaled the solid stone railing of the balcony until he disappeared over the top. Seconds later the other fighter tossed his grappling hook over the stone railing and repeated Tony’s movements.
Nothing happened for a long moment until she saw Tony straighten upright. An unseen hand swung the rope back toward the tunnel entrance, and Cleo tried to step forward, but Dante’s arm pressed her back into the wall for a second time.
“You and I go last.” His abrupt thought filled her head, and she frowned. The man was going to be difficult tonight. He returned the look, his expression harsh with determination.
“I’m not being difficult. I told you from the start that if you wanted to be a part of this team you had to obey my every command.”
“Well, I don’t need a babysitter. Just let me do my job,” she whispered tersely as one fighter after another swung over to the balcony. When they were the only ones remaining, Dante passed her a rope.
“You’re to wait for me once you’re on the balcony.”
“Fine,” she muttered.
A moment later she landed in a crouched position over the rail of the balcony. She glanced around, expecting to see every fighter still on the balcony, but to her surprise the door of the convent was open. Several of the team members had already entered the facility, and she chafed at not being able to move forward.
“You’re about to get your wish, but stay behind me. And stay close to the edges out here. Tony says the center of the balcony is unstable.”
She nodded at his mental instructions as she followed him to the partially opened door and slipped through into a darkened corridor. The shadowy figures of the rest of the team lay ahead of her. A thin stream of light appeared in front of her, and she realized someone had opened another door, this time into an occupied part of the convent. With bated breath she waited for the sound of fighting to begin, but nothing happened.
“This is too easy,” Dante’s thoughts whispered through hers. “How many men did you say Angotti told you were in the convent at any given time?”
“Twenty to twenty-five on the inside,” she responded silently. He didn’t comment as he jerked his head in the direction of the door in an obvious command for her to follow him.
As they stepped out into the dimly lit hall, she saw Tony disappear around the corner of the short hallway. A sharp clang echoed in the air followed by a soft scraping sound as the fighter reappeared dragging a limp body after him. Unceremoniously dumping the body, he gave a thumbs-up and with a grin darted back the way he’d come.
“Right. Let’s move,” Dante commanded in her head, and as the entire team immediately moved forward, she realized he issued the order to everyone.
Without thinking, she pulled the sword from the scabbard on her back and retrieved the stiletto she’d placed inside its protective sheath in her boot. As she moved forward, the only thing she could hear was Dante’s cloak whispering against the stone floor. He was the only member of the team who wore one, and she found it a comforting sound for some reason.
Once more Tony disappeared around another corridor, and again there was a soft scuffling noise before he pulled another Praetorian out of sight. Dante was right. This was too easy. But then maybe they really did have the element of surprise.
“I’m not betting on it.”
His words intertwined with her thoughts, and for once in her life it didn’t bother her that someone had read her mind without permission. If anything, it felt natural when he did it. The moment that thought filtered its way through her head, she felt him withdraw from her mind.
Instantly, she felt as if a piece of her had gone missing. It was an acute sensation that made her heart skip a beat. She glanced in his direction, and his face looked as if it were chiseled out of the stone that lined the hallway. Was he feeling the same sense of loss? It might explain his stony expression. She was being ridiculous. As planned, the team explored first one corridor and then another as they moved in the direction of the control room.
The sudden sound of raucous laughter and a woman’s screams made Cleo’s stomach churn. She automatically turned toward the sounds, and Dante’s physical touch startled her as he gripped her arm tightly.
“Not yet. We secure the perimeter first, Cleopatra. Then we rescue. If they get word out of an attack, Nicostratus will send every available fighter he has.” The quiet words in her ear made her jump. She glanced up at him and nodded.
Together they moved forward with fighters in front of and behind them. Somehow she was certain it wasn’t the usual order of things. She didn’t know whether to feel cherished or irritated by Dante’s protective manner. They were within a hundred feet of the control room door when a screeching alarm went off in the building. In seconds, three Praetorians appeared at one end of the corridor while five more launched themselves into the hallway behind them. Dante looked first one way then the next.
“Fotte. There’s not much room for swords, people. Tony, you deal with those bastardi.” Dante nodded toward the Praetorians at one end of the corridor. “Cornelia, take up the rear.”
With Dante’s attention occupied, Cleo bolted toward the control room. Her hand gripped the slender door handle and she pushed down. Locked. One look at the deadbolt told her there was only one way to open the door. She sensed Dante behind her, and she stepped aside as with a wave of his hand he unlocked the door. The moment Dante threw the door open, a sword split the air inside the doorframe.
Fingers splayed, Dante threw his hand out, and there was the sound of a body crashing into a piece of equipment. As he lunged into the room, a Praetorian charged at him from behind the door. While the two of them struggled, Cleo darted forward to finish off the Praetorian that Dante had sent flying into the console. She shoved the dead man to the floor in order to study the monitors above the equipment console.
The camera focused on the front gate showed the second Sicari team meeting little resistance from the five Praetorians guarding the entrance. Quickly scanning the console, which some anal-retentive Praetorian security officer had clearly labeled, she pressed the button that sent the gate sliding open. Her senses on full alert, she felt rather than saw the Praetorian she thought dead pull himself up off the floor. Her movements swift, she drove her stiletto deep into the man’s chest straight into his heart. As she watched, the light went out in the man’s eyes, and he sank to the floor without another sound.
“Damnit, Cleopatra, watch out.” Dante’s words were followed by a loud grunt, and she whirled around to see the Praetorian’s sword slice into his shoulder.
“Fuck, will you stop worrying about me and start paying attention to what you’re doing?” She shouted over the siren still wailing in the hallway as she realized he’d been concentrating on her and the Praetorian at the same time. “Finish that bastardo off.”
Turning back to the console, she quickly silenced the alarm. As the shrieking siren went dead, the sound of the battle in the corridor was easier to hear. She looked up at the front gate monitor and saw that the second Sicari team was already driving the van into the front courtyard. Her gaze shifted to the other monitors where she saw Cornelia and the Sicari with her fighting their way out of the hall into other corridors.
The monitor flickered as it changed views, and she froze at the sight of two Praetorians entering a room of cribs. The nursery. A sharp, stabbing pain sliced through her belly, and she looked downward expecting to see blood. When she didn’t, ice slugged its way through her veins. Whirling around, she charged out of the control room and turned left.
A map of the complex filled her head, and she leaped over fallen Praetorians as she raced toward the nursery. In the distance, she heard screams, but her stride didn’t falter. Ahead of her the sound of babies crying tore at her. A sound that grew softer with each pounding step she made. Two more strides carried her into the nursery, where she saw a Praetorian send his sword downward into
a crib.
The cry of fury she released was like that of a wild animal. The Praetorian jerked his head up, the surprise never leaving his face as Cleo used her momentum to leap into the air and plant her feet in the man’s chest. As he hit the floor, she buried her sword in the man’s throat.
Her breathing ragged, she stood up and stumbled from one crib to another. With each step she took, the horror of it numbed her until she couldn’t feel anything. Even worse was the silence. After passing the sixth crib, she turned and stumbled out of the nursery unable to bear any more. In the hallway, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Her hand clutched at her churning stomach as she heard the sound of her heart bleeding in her ears.
Suddenly, a woman’s scream and a baby wailing made her go rigid. Her nausea subsided almost instantly as she pushed herself away from the wall and ran toward the sound. At the end of the corridor, she heard another scream and followed it into a room where a young woman lay in a hospital bed sobbing wildly as a Praetorian tried to pull a crying baby from her arms.
“Why don’t you try me on for size, Praetorian?” Cleo said quietly. “Or are you a coward who only kills those who can’t fight back?”
The Praetorian jerked his head up, and her body tensed as she remembered him from the monitor as the second man who’d entered the nursery. He released his grip on the baby then lunged in her direction with his sword. Cleo darted to the left, her blade lightly grazing the man’s arm. She shook her head.
“You’ll need to move a little faster than that.”
The quiet, emotionless sound of her voice surprised her. Inside she was screaming, but on the outside it was business as usual. No. Not quite. The wails reverberating in her head created a chaos she knew would hide her thoughts from her opponent. Her eyes met the Praetorian’s, and she could see the frustration in his gaze. The man couldn’t probe past the screams of chaos in her head. He grunted with anger and thrust his sword at her again. She leaped back as the tip of his weapon sliced a hole in her black knit shirt.
“I can tell right now you’re going to be a good fuck, bitch.” The man’s smile was cruel as he chuckled.
Any other time she would have found his confidence irritating. Now she felt nothing. Deep inside, the newborn wailing in her head was a finely honed blade cutting away at her heart. She ignored the Praetorian’s glee and lunged forward to send the sharp edge of her blade across the man’s side. It wasn’t a deep cut, but she knew it had to sting.
A cold rush of emotion streamed through her body as a grimace of pain replaced the Praetorian’s smile. He uttered an oath and swung his sword in a vicious arc toward her head. In a flash of movement, she did a quick somersault past him then sprang to her feet in one smooth move. As she whirled around, she dragged the tip of her sword across his back.
She knew she’d barely grazed him with her blade when she could have easily finished the man off with one stroke. But she didn’t want to finish him that quickly. The cries in her head urged her on. She took a step backward as the Praetorian whirled to face her.
The fury on his face didn’t faze her, and she crooked her finger at him in a gesture for him to attack. Rage darkened the Praetorian’s expression as he threw himself forward to wield several fierce swings of his weapon at her. Cleo easily blocked his blows then countered with a flurry of strikes that drove the Praetorian several feet backward. He recovered swiftly to slam his weapon into hers.
Sparks flew off their weapons as the blades skated downward against each other until the hilts of their swords were locked. Triumph lit the man’s features at the same time a cold malice swept through Cleo’s limbs, and she viciously drove her knee up into the man’s groin. The Praetorian released a shout of anger and pain as he struggled to remain standing.
For a long time there had been a thin veil between her and the darkness buried deep inside her. Over the last three years she’d fought the enjoyment of killing when she assassinated her targets. This time there was nothing keeping her dark pleasure at bay. It was a seduction she welcomed as she sent her fist slamming into the man’s face.
Blood gushed from the Praetorian’s nose, and with a deft twist of her hand, Cleo unlocked her sword from his. She saw him tighten his grip on his sword, but he never got a chance to do anything, as she brought her sword up and sliced through the man’s wrist.
Another roar of pain flew out of the Praetorian as Cleo tugged the weapon from his useless fingers and flipped it so as to catch the sword in her free hand. One more time, Cleo kneed the man in the groin, and with a guttural sound her opponent fell, his hand clutching at his crotch. She bent over to grab his chin, forcing him to look at her.
Silently, she showed the Praetorian his sword then lightly dragged its blade across the side of his neck. The wailing in her head continued as a thin but steady stream of blood rolled downward and spread across the Praetorian’s skin. She saw fear flicker in his eyes, and for the first time, she smiled. Cleo straightened upright then kicked the man in the jaw. His head snapped back, and he crashed backward to the floor with a moan.
“How many babies have you killed in your lifetime, Praetorian?” she asked softly as she threw the man’s sword off into the corner of the room and stared down at him. “How many Sicari women have you raped?”
When he didn’t answer her, she jammed her sword into his shoulder. The shout of pain he released made her smile grimly, but the Praetorian’s agony didn’t help silence the cries echoing in her head. She withdrew her blade from her opponent’s shoulder and took a step back. For the first time she remembered the young woman and her baby. Cleo glanced in the direction of the woman, who was staring at her with a stunned look on her face.
“Is the baby okay?” Cleo asked in a mechanical voice.
“Yes,” the woman whispered.
The Praetorian shifted on the floor, and Cleo drove her sword down into his leg just below the kneecap. He writhed on the floor and screamed with agony. She took a step back from the Praetorian and looked at the woman again.
“Do you recognize this bastardo?” She waited as the woman nodded. “Did he ever touch you?”
“Yes, he was . . . he . . .” The woman’s voice trailed off as a blank look swept across her face. Cleo’s gaze scanned the room, and she pointed to the door.
“Wait for me in the hallway.”
“I will serve as a witness,” the woman said.
“No. Outside. Now,” Cleo said emphatically. The younger woman blanched as she met Cleo’s eyes, then, clutching the baby to her chest, she turned and left the room. Now alone with the Praetorian, Cleo returned to his side and dragged her blade up along his leg to his thigh. Gently, she used her sword to nudge at the apex of his legs. A moan rumbled out of him.
“Shall I castrate you, Praetorian?”
“Do what you want,” he spat at her with renewed strength.
The son of a bitch had told her to do what she wanted. She wanted to make him and every Praetorian die a long, slow death. She stared down at him as she remembered the nursery. The blood. Precious lives extinguished because of this monster and the one she’d killed before him. ”You sound like you might recover,” she murmured. “We can’t have that now, can we?”
Again her sword made contact with his balls, and in a split second, she sent the sword barreling downward. The man’s agonized scream didn’t give her the satisfaction she was looking for. She drove her sword into his other testicle, or perhaps it was his cock. She didn’t care. It still didn’t ease the torment consuming her. He gurgled something, and she arched an eyebrow at him.
“What? Do you object to my method of execution?”
“Sicari . . . Code . . . wrong . . .” His voice trailed off as he stared up at her with a pleading look on his face.
“Ah . . . but there you’re wrong,” she said with a bitter laugh. “I’m not Sicari at all.”
“But—”
“No buts,” she snarled. She had no intention of showing this monster any mercy.
She drove her sword through his arm until the blade hit the stone floor. The man’s cry of pain still wasn’t as loud as the screams echoing in her head. Cries of horror that had started the minute she’d entered that nursery.
Her sword sliced through the man’s side, and he started to sob. The sound simply hardened her heart. The Praetorian’s cries were a vivid reminder of the night she’d woken up in a hospital bed knowing her baby was gone. She pulled her sword out and plunged it into his other arm.
“Cleopatra.” The quiet sound of Dante’s voice made her freeze, and she jerked her head toward the door. She didn’t want him here. Didn’t want him to see her like this. Trembling, she stared at Dante’s outstretched hand.
“He killed them,” she said. Somewhere beneath the wails inside her mind, she heard how cold and mechanical her voice was. Heartless.
“I know, carissima.” Dante’s expression was tender and compassionate as he gestured for her to come to him. “But this isn’t you. Don’t let them eat your soul, bella. Show him the mercy he didn’t show the little ones. Let Tony put this sorry bastardo out of his misery.”
She stared at Dante for a moment then looked back down at the Praetorian. Mercy? The son of a bitch had shown no mercy, so he deserved no mercy. The Praetorian began sobbing with pain as she jammed her sword into untouched parts of his body.
“Burn in hell, you sorry fuck,” she said as she bent over and spat in the man’s face.
With swings sharp and vicious, her sword sliced its way through first one side of the man’s cheek then the other. His screams echoed in the room, and her own cry of fury merged with the Praetorian’s as she drove her sword down into the man’s chest and he went limp.
Straightening upright, she pulled her sword out of the Praetorian and meticulously cleaned the blade on the sheet of the hospital bed. Inside her head the wailing ebbed to a dull roar, allowing her to feel the familiar frisson of Dante’s body close to her. The weight of his hand fell on her shoulder, and she shrugged him off.
“Have they found Marta?” She turned to face him, expecting him to tell her the worst.