Page 27 of A Dangerous Bargain

Giovannia makes a soft, wondering noise and leans closer.

I jerk away from the book like it’s a serpent. “Where did you get this?”

“It was delivered to the house a few months after Niccolo disappeared,” Giovannia says. “It was addressed to him, so I opened it. I was going to give it to you last year, but…”

She trails off, both of us remembering how I refused to come home for my birthday. I was too filled with shame and self-loathing to look my family in the eyes, knowing more than they did about why Niccolo was gone.

The book feels iron-heavy, crushing. Niccolo must’ve asked the printmaker to create it months in advance, filled with all the memories of us reading the poem together, how we would share the same blanket and take turns reading the verses, our voices melting together until I wasn’t sure if I was speaking or listening.

And then we fought days before my sixteenth birthday, and I never saw him again.

I slam the book shut and push it into my sister’s hands. “Give this to Mamma. She’ll love having a reminder of him.”

Giovannia’s mouth flattens. “He bought it for you.”

“I don’t want it.” More like I don’t deserve it.

Her face softens. “I know you don’t.” Her eyes are doe-dark and more perceptive than they have any right to be. “But he wanted you to have it, so I think you should take it. All right?”

She shoves the book into my arms and darts inside before I can return it again.

Grimacing, I move to stuff the unwanted book into my cloak, but a squall kicks up and peels back the cover. Rips out a page of loose parchment. I catch it before it dances down the street, heart hammering at the thought of losing more of my brother.

But when I turn the paper over, I nearly drop it again.

In familiar handwriting—spikier and even messier than before—there’s another message.

Stay away. I know you’ll try to follow, but I need you to leave me alone.

—N

It’s dated two months after he disappeared.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Niccolo didn’t only leave me a book; he left me a message.

One he intended I receive when he was already gone.

Which means wherever he went—whatever happened to him—he had a plan and knew what he was doing. At least in the beginning.

And wanted you to leave him alone. The thought knifes through me. He didn’t want you with him.

A familiar helpless ache curls around my ribs. Is this message a warning or a command or angry hurt spilling over in the wake of our fight?

How do you read a message from a ghost?

I’m so stuck in my thoughts, I don’t notice I’m being followed.

It’s a shadow in the corner of my eye, there and gone so fast, I could’ve imagined it. A hushed shh shh of footsteps that mirror my own.

I suck in a soft breath. I lingered at Casa delle Volpi longer than I should’ve, and twilight drapes the corners with deep shadows. ’Tis a bad time to wander without a weapon, and of course I don’t have one, because I sold off everything I didn’t need ages ago. My shoulders hunch, and I walk faster, taking a different route back to the workshop than I normally do.

The footsteps follow.

But when I glance over my shoulder, no one’s there.

My pulse skitters. At the end of the street, golden light flickers: the braziers warming the Piazza Santa Croce. It feels like a game of tag. If I can reach the light, I’ll be safe. Another block, and I’ll be surrounded by the open space and the people already there. A dozen more steps—