Cosimo glanced around at the tables, but the patrons were mostly students and tourists. There wasn't a flicker of magic among them. He ordered an espresso and went outside to sit under one of the black umbrellas, turning his back to the café in favor of staring up at the Palazzo Vecchio's clock tower.
The dragon inside his chest sat up in alarm a second before the scent of blood oranges, roses, amber wood, and something that screamedwomanreached his nose. Cosimo froze, his fingers gripping his coffee cup.
The telltale click-click sound of heels on stone signaled her arrival before she moved into his line of vision. Her long, dark hair was pinned up in a messy bun on one side of her neck, curling bangs loose over her forehead. Sharp dark eyes lined with kohl looked him over, her full mouth a slash of red paint and disapproval.
"So you're the mysterious Greatdrakes man that keeps snatching my books before I buy them," she demanded, her rich accent a rolling purr. She put her hands on her hips, curves deadly in a tight pencil skirt. "Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Mine, said the dragon.
Fuck, said the man.
4
Cosimo stared at the woman, dazed like someone had hit him in the back of the head.
"Mi dispiace, signora," he stammered. "Do I know you?"
The woman sat down opposite him and crossed her legs. Cosimo couldn't help but notice the roses and small skulls tattooed on one ankle above her dark heels. The roses were bright red under her dark stockings, and he had to tear his eyes away, a hot thrill sweeping over his skin.
"I thought Henry would have told you," she said, her burgundy nails tapping impatiently on the tabletop. "I'm Marcella Sforza."
"Sforza..." Cosimo murmured, his eyes going wide.
Thiswas the woman who had been beating him to bookshewanted? He was always getting there a moment too late. She had been sabotaging his research from afar for months. He was going tokillHenry. All his warnings and hesitations suddenly made sense.
"Si, that Sforza," Marcella said, reading his face. Her own dark eyes were filled with malicious glee. "Now, the mighty Greatdrakes needs my help. Imagine my surprise."
"It can hardly be greater than mine right now," Cosimo replied. He was still struggling that this was the same woman he had been ranting about all year when a waiter brought out a double espresso and set it down in front of her. He smiled bashfully when Marcella thanked him. As he hurried away, Cosimo noticed the napkin under her saucer had a phone number written on it.
"Why do you keep staring at me like that?" Marcella asked, stirring the creme in her espresso with her spoon.
"You aren't what I pictured when I was imagining the person who was sabotaging all my research attempts," Cosimo admitted. He had to get it together. He gave her the Greatdrakes smile. "My apologies, can we start again?"
Marcella raised a brow as she licked the creme from her spoon. Sweat gathered at the back of Cosimo's neck.
"No," she said simply.
"Then why did you bother coming here?" he asked, his smile vanishing.
"Curiosity. I wanted to put a face to a name, and Henry mentioned you know what happened in France," Marcella said, setting the spoon down.
He was definitely going to kill Henry.
"France? You are going to have to be more specific," Cosimo replied, leaning back in his chair. He knew he should leave, but his legs wouldn't obey. His dragon had locked him in place, the predator dazzled by the shiny creature in front of it.
Marcella picked up her espresso and blew on it. Cosimo debated the merits of jumping off the side of the balcony.
"I was there at the auction held byChrysopoeia. I had won a beautiful copy of Zosimos from Catherine Medici'spersonal library. Imagine everyone's surprise when they went to remove the object, and it wasn't there," Macella said, her eyes narrowing. "There was quite an uproar, especially because everyone with a drop of magic in the room realized someone had cast an illusion spell without any of us noticing. Masterful."
"And you think I had something to do with that?" Cosimo asked innocently. That book was currently sitting on his desk in Ireland, but Valentine had been the one to 'liberate' it from the alchemists, not him.
Marcella's shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. "Henry seemed to think so."
"So you didn't come because I want a negotiator?" Cosimo asked, needing to shift the conversation. She was too sharp not to pick up on the smallest of his tells. He was good at lying, but he was struggling to keep looking her in the eye when the rest of her was so intriguing.
Marcella Sforza was dangerous; there was no doubt about that. She appeared to be anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five years old and was settled in her beauty in a way that was striking and deadly, like a bolt of lightning that fried everyone around it from the inside out.
From what Cosimo knew of her reputation, she was savagely smart and competitive. He could feel power humming off her, despite the charms on her silver and gold bracelet that were shielding most of it.
