“All I need is a few chips and a chair, and I’m certain I can recoup my losses.” Leo held out his glass as Matteo poured, and as he watched the dark red liquid fill the goblet, he chewed his bottom lip pensively. “You know, for a price, I would let a little information slip your way.”
A desperate man’s final plea. Pitiful. “What price, and how am I assured this information pertains to me?”
Leo glanced back to the table at the bank of faro. “I assure you, if I were you, I would want to know.”
The piles of coins by Matteo’s seat glittered, and Leo looked on longingly. The thing about desperate men was they were often willing to go to extreme lengths to save their necks. Matteo studied Leonardo for a moment: wide, earnest eyes, sweaty brow, trembling hands. He was afraid of his wife, definitely, and was frantic to get back into the game, but was not likely lying about having information. Matteo was curious enough to wonder exactly how little Leo would take in exchange for his tidbit. “Two sequins.”
“You insult me. Twenty.”
“Ten, and nothing more.”
“Twelve, and I will divulge names.”
“Done.”
Leo sent a searching look around them, making certain none of the other men listened. It was painful for Matteo to watch him; every thought, emotion, need, and desire stood out in plain relief on his thin face. It really wasn’t a wonder as to why he’d been reduced to selling information.
“Gia, the daughter of Paulo DelAmicio, has gone to her father and revealed that a certain man seduced her and left her with no virtue and no promise of marriage.”
Cold dread formed in Matteo’s gut. Paulo DelAmicio was a dangerous man. But his lusty daughter had been irresistable.
“Whomever that man was,” Leo said, his tone indicating he knew precisely who wooed the beautiful young girl, “might want to consider leaving Venice before he is divested of his head. I hear there’s been a high price lain upon it.”
“Interesting information, indeed, though useless. Shame on me for falling for your ruse.” Matteo bowed slightly, his demeanor unaffected despite the apprehension that gripped him. He turned to the other men. “As always, our time was enjoyable, but I must cut it short. As you know, I have an appointment.” He swept his winnings into a leather pouch, counted out twelve sequins and pressed the payment into Leo’s waiting palm.
Matteo excused himself and left the grand room of his burchiello to seek out his boatmen. Within minutes the vessel was brought to the side of the canal, the gamblers were asked to leave, and a man was discretely dispatched to send word to the man who was expecting Matteo.
Signore de Gama, it seemed, had pressing matters that required immediate attention.
Kieran slipped down the servants’ stairwell and wended her way through the palace until she reached the library. From the sounds and smell of it, men were still enjoying their brandy and cigars.
She opened the door and peeked inside again. She saw Samuel at a table, playing cards. He had a brandy snifter by his side, stacks of chips in front of him, and cards in his hand. He laughed and made a bet.
Kieran thought of the dagger she wore strapped to her thigh, and was suddenly set with the urge to thrust it between his ribs. Such longings were not unusual, but they were rarely so potent. She could feel his hot blood on her skin, and it sent a shameful, exciting surge to her loins.
Nilo waited for her, thinking she was seeing to her physical needs. Knowing her time was short, Kieran did not linger in the doorway. She opened the door and entered, swept across the room as she had before, as if she were above the rules of decorum.
As Kieran neared Samuel, she steeled herself. Using every ounce of her nerve, she approached him. She could smell his scent, expensive musk and spices. It turned her stomach.
Kieran leaned down and spoke to him through her mask. “Your Grace, my brother has sent me with a message for you.”
Samuel’s gray eyes glittered with interest as he cocked his head up to look at her, his recognition apparent on his unmasked face. “Is that so? Well, give it to me.”
“Come with me, Your Grace. ’Tis a private matter.”
Kieran turned and walked briskly from the room. Behind her, she heard him rise and make his excuses before following. She led the way through the palace until she found a quiet corridor. Nervousness had her in a tight grip, and she forced herself to focus. She needed to make certain that Samuel dropped his business offer, and stayed away from her.
Kieran had her dagger beneath her skirts; she was not the defenseless, naïve girl Samuel had taken advantage of, assaulted, and abused.
Samuel had donned his costume in keeping with Venice’s laws, and approached her wearing a plain white mask, its mouth curved in an eerie grin.
He drew close, his manner far too casual and confident for Kieran’s comfort.
“What is the message?” he asked without preamble.
“The message is mine. Stay away from my family, and abandon this business venture with my brother. I will not tolerate your presence in my life.” Kieran heard her voice tremble, but she kept her chin raised, so he would not read her posture and know her fear.
Samuel considered her words before responding. “And if I do not?”
“I will do whatever I must to ruin my brother’s opinion of you. As you might recall, that shouldn’t present too much trouble for me.”
Her voice was gaining strength, and the chilly tone of it resembled the frigid girl she’d become, the one that caused suitors to name her ice princess when she spurned them.
“This is due to our previous encounter, is it not?” Samuel sighed as if he were deeply troubled. “Please, accept my apologies for my behavior that night. I was quite drunk, and decidedly out of line.”
Behind her mask, Kieran wore the expression of one stunned. “You dare to stand before me and offer an apology? Firstly, there is no forgiveness for what you did, and second, if there were, ’tis three years late.”
“Well, I cannot undo what I’ve done. All I can do is say that I’m sorry for my part in it.”
“You are disgusting,” Kieran hissed. “My brother would kill you if he knew ‘your part.’”
“Kieran, please, I beg you,” he began, using the sort of tone one reserves for squalling babies and agitated horses. “Try to remain calm. For three years I have seen you, at the theater, at balls, and for dinners of mutual acquaintance, and you seem to look right through me, almost as if you did not remember. Why the sudden concern over a business venture that will not involve you?”
Kieran did not speak, for no words could escape the knot in her throat. How could he be so casual about something so horrid?
“I was drunk,” he continued, shrugging his shoulders as if that excused his actions. “What I recalled when I woke, however, had me expecting a visit from your brother or the magistrate the next day, the next week, the next month. I rushed to secure alibis
