Page 113 of A Dangerous Bargain

I get to my feet. Golden sunlight slants into the office now, falling upon the empty ornate gold portrait frame with nothing but ripped canvas stuck to its edges. The water is already receding in the piazza below, the flood backing off as suddenly as it came.

Piero de’ Medici’s body is still lying face down in a burst of blood. Red and not gold. I touch the body with the toe of my boot, just to confirm he’s well and truly dead. I’m not taking any goddamn chances. “ ’Tis a pity he fell on his dagger, is it not?”

Leonardo startles, blinking in confusion. “What?”

I lift my eyes to his, enunciating each word clearly. “I said ’tis a pity he fell.”

His eyes widen, then narrow, finally figuring out what I’m trying to say.

If neither of us saw who killed Piero de’ Medici, then neither of us killed him.

“Yes, a shame,” Leonardo says. “He was quite the patron of the arts.”

I can’t hold back a snort this time. “He had terrible taste, though.”

In the piazza, guards wade through the water and head for the palazzo. It’ll take them a while to get up here, but I have no doubt Piero’s office will be one of the first rooms they check. We need to be gone before they arrive.

I turn back to Leonardo, wipe my bloodstained hand on my thigh, and offer it to him. “I’m Virgil.”

He stares at my hand like he’s never seen one before. There’s that divot again. “Leonardo. I’m an apprentice at Master Verrocchio’s workshop.” He glances around the blood-soaked room, shaking his head. “And I have no sodding clue how I got here.”

I bite back a laugh. I know what you do, I want to whisper. I was an apprentice with you.

He finally grasps my wrist and pulls himself up. “Sorry, but… do I know you? It feels like—” He bites off the rest of the sentence with an embarrassed laugh, dragging his other hand through his hair.

I smile, and the expression is so big, so dazzling, I can feel it lifting up my entire soul. “No, but you will.”

I hold his hand a second longer than necessary before letting go.

FLORENCE, ITALY

OCTOBER 1469

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Casa delle Volpi is utter chaos the day Niccolo and I sit for our portraits.

Footmen race up and down the stairs, arranging the flowers and paintings and candelabras just so. Mamma follows them with her list, cheeks rouged with excitement.

One of the first things Niccolo decided to do when he came home was redo every room in the place, and to my shock, Mamma committed to the plan like a knight on a crusade. Every reminder of Niccolo’s absence, of Father’s thunderous, commanding ghost, has been replaced with something different, something that feels more like us. The house is unrecognizable from the building I grew up in. It’s almost starting to feel like home.

The last things to change are the three horrible portraits in the foyer. Father’s will be brought to Mamma’s parlor, and as much as I tried to dissuade him, Niccolo insisted that mine needed to hang next to his, right there where everyone can see it.

“I might be head of the household, but we do things together. I always want you at my side.”

After years apart, I didn’t want to argue with him anymore, so I just smiled and said yes.

On one condition.

A very specific condition.

I hold my breath when the footman announces the arrival of the painter.

He steps inside and stops beneath the three portraits. He frowns at the name placards—likely thinking to himself, Surely there’s been a mistake. There couldn’t be three Niccolo Pittis in the same house, could there?

He stares the longest at mine, eyes getting wider and wider. He tears away with a snort, clapping a hand over his mouth, but helpless giggles spill out the side anyway.

“See something interesting?” I ask.