Page 57 of A Dangerous Bargain

His hair is longer, combed back. The panes of his face are sharper, his jaw stronger. He’s older, and he looks like it. My heart aches, soft and helpless, at all the changes I missed in him.

I hold my breath as he walks toward me down the aisle. I know I shouldn’t stop and stare, but I can’t help myself. When he walks past me, my eyes flicker to his.

A furrow appears in his brow, so brief and sudden, I could’ve imagined it, and then he’s behind me.

My heart pounds like a drum. Maybe Leonardo was right. Maybe Niccolo’s not avoiding me. Because surely if he recognized me just now, I’d see it on his face. I was always the better liar.

“Signore.” Someone ambushes Niccolo. “It’s a delight to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” my brother says in a voice both his and not. “Florence is lovely.”

“You grew up outside of Bologna, did you not?” The man’s voice is eager. As if he’s fishing for information, just as I am.

There’s a moment of hesitation, far longer than expected. When Niccolo finally does answer, it’s uncertain. “Yes… that’s right. I’ve been living in the countryside for the past few years.”

I gnaw the inside of my cheek. If that’s true, it explains why I never saw him in the city until now.

“Such a pity about your uncle’s death. You and he must’ve been quite close if you were named his heir.”

This time, the silence stretches even longer. An anxious pang races through me. For some reason, it feels vital that Niccolo answer this question right. Something is… off about all this, in a way I can’t quite place. It’s like Niccolo doesn’t know his own story.

“I miss him terribly. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

The other man startles, his face the very study of shock. “Do you not mean to seek revenge for him? Everyone knows Iacopo Soderini’s death was no accident!”

Soderini. Why is that name familiar?

A name from Father’s merchant circle? But no, I feel like I’ve heard it more recently than that.

Niccolo leans away from the other man. His hands clasp behind his back. He rubs the black stones of my ring, spinning the silver band around his knuckle. The movement is fitful, nervous, at odds with the stiff set of his shoulders. The skin underneath the ring is rough and red, as if he does this often.

I gasp, the answer coming to me in a dizzying rush.

Soderini was the name of the prior Piero de’ Medici killed. The one who accused the Medici of wrongdoing with the angels.

A force catches my shoulder and pulls me back. “What are you doing?” Leonardo says. “You’re staring at the man like he owes you money. Don’t be daft!”

An annoyed snarl builds in my chest, but it dies when I see he’s right. We’re some of the last people standing, and it’s drawing attention.

I turn away before Niccolo notices, before he can recognize me from the steps of his house or in his own reflection.

Because Niccolo isn’t Niccolo here, is he?

He’s Soderini—the heir of the man Lorenzo and his father killed.

Leonardo strong-arms me into a pew beside Lupa. I turn to him breathlessly, even though the mass is starting. “Did you hear that?”

“I heard enough.” He runs his finger over his lone bargain mark, brows drawn together. “Is that how your brother usually acts?”

I shake my head. Niccolo’s halting answers. His fidgeting. He was like a player who doesn’t know his lines. But if his lie is discovered, he’ll be arrested and executed, Medici protection or not. Why would he do something so foolhardy and dangerous? Is this why he warned me not to follow him? Is that why his face was on the wall of the Palazzo della Signoria—to better sell the lie of him being a man named Soderini?

But my brother wouldn’t do this. He’s no criminal.

Or would he? My bargain marks prickle, each one a reminder of my own bad choices.

There’s a spiking throb in my temple. It feels like I’m trying to guess what someone else’s painting looks like before it’s finished.

Leonardo’s knee nudges mine. “You still want to go through with this?”