Ravenna gritted her teeth and brought her knee up sharply. Signor Sforza’s eyes widened and his grip slackened. She pulled free and then shoved him backward, her magic roaring to life inside her. He stumbled but was able to stay on his feet. His face rippled with fury; he took a menacing step toward her—
A sharp hiss rent the air as something long and thin flew past Ravenna.
An arrow struck Signor Sforza near his heart. The force of the hit sent him crashing to the ground. Blood poured from the hole in his chest and gurgled out of his mouth. He pitched himself to his side, and then struggled to get to his knees.
He let out a watery gasp, and spat out, “Bastards.”
Ravenna screamed as another arrow blurred across her vision. Signor Sforza was flung backward, his head cracking hard against the slab of stone. She went to him, dropping to her knees. He stared up at her, his eyes wild and unseeing.
He reached for her hand, his own stained from the pool of blood gathering underneath him, but it went limp before she could grip it.Panic bubbled in her veins, making her head swim. She curled forward, breath heaving, fighting her racing heart as it pounded against her ribs.
The memory of the quarry rose up in her mind, its craggy walls seeming to surround her as she watched her magic devour the poor man who had tried to help her. His screams swam in her blood, drummed in her ears, as loud as a thunderclap.
Ravenna shoved the memory aside, tried to focus on the man dying in front of her.
His death was slow and terrible. He gave one last shuddering breath, a deep rattle. The Duke of Milan stilled. The finality of it scared her—the man had beenaliveonly moments earlier, murdered before her eyes. She couldn’t make sense of his pale form, the way his chest no longer rose and fell. Hot tears dripped down her cheeks, splattered onto the stone beneath her palms.
From behind her, Ravenna heard footsteps.
Whoever was coming wasn’t alone. Her body trembled, but she forced herself to shut Signor Sforza’s eyes as her mind spun. This was a powerful friend of not only the Medici family but of the Luni family as well. She had mistakenly believed the pope would try to turn him against his allies, using whatever methods at his disposal, and she was sure there were many. But instead, he’d had the courier assassinate him. Hunted down like an animal.
Ravenna prepared herself for a conversation with the courier, knowing that her own life was in the balance. If the pope could dispose of someone as powerful as a duke, then he was more than likely to look atheras replaceable.
Exactly the way Saturnino viewed her.
“What were his last words?” a gruff voice asked.
She stood, her knees shaking, her gown soaked with Signor Sforza’s blood. Cold air whipped around her, and her teeth chattered as she slowly turned to face the courier.
But there were three of them, all dressed in dark, hooded robes. Their faces were cast in shadow, but Ravenna could see that one of them had a thick beard. The other two were clean-shaven, both skinny.All three wore crosses around their necks—priests, then, Ravenna thought. One of them stepped forward, uncovering his head with his free hand, while his other carried a crossbow.
She knew his face, the angled cheekbones, the thin mouth that sometimes pulled into a crooked smile, but it had been a long time since she’d last seen it.
Her brother Antonio was one of the assassins.
“Buonasera, Ravenna.”
Marco dei Luni
Marco tugged the woman down one of the footpaths in the garden, careful to keep them both out of sight. Normally, he wouldn’t bother, but he didn’t want anyone at the banquet to stumble across him fucking a servant. His brother would have something to say about it, that was certain. Saturnino always had something to say.
And everyone listened to him; that was the problem.
The familiar burn of anger sparked in his chest. In the early years, he had tried with Saturnino, he hadreallytried. Looking back at his attempts made him cringe with embarrassment, an all-too-disgusting human emotion he couldn’t stand. And Saturnino knew every one of his weaknesses, had always found him absurd and lacking. It gnawed at him like nothing else. No one made him angrier, no one made him feel at his worst like Saturnino did.
He wouldneverforgive him for it.
“Marco,” the servant breathed against his shoulder as he tucked her behind a large topiary.
She was a pretty thing, and he enjoyed their trysts. It was the only reason why he kept coming back to her bed. An unexpected, errant thought crossed his mind as he lifted her skirts. Did she possibly think there was more to them than what they did in bed? It was the first time he almost felt compelled to ask.
Almost, but not quite.
“I couldn’t be with anyone but you,” she murmured. “You’re the handsome brother.”
A surge of pride expanded in his chest. He brushed his fingersacross her collarbones, dragged them down to push the collar of her gown down, revealing the swells of her breasts.
“I don’t understand why your family overlooks you,” she whispered. “Why do they dismiss your ideas when the city is starting to feel dangerous?”
