Page 82 of A Dangerous Bargain

The chain slithers from my grip.

If I didn’t know her so well, I’m not sure I would recognize her. The angel in the portrait wears her hair in a thick braid over one shoulder, the strands combed and glistening. Her teeth are blunt, not pointed. Her expression is guarded, like it’s hiding a secret she’s just daring me to ask about.

But it’s her eyes that stop my heart. They’re painted in bold, confident strokes, so lifelike, they seem to see straight through me. There’s a faint shimmer in the irises that offsets their main color, a rich, smooth—

“Brown.” I turn slowly, tearing myself away from the portrait. “Your eyes aren’t brown.”

She glares at me with those bright golden eyes I’d recognize anywhere. “I told you to leave!”

I flinch at the sound of a dropped object, the muffled curse that comes after it.

Niccolo emerges from the darkness. Gone are his fine clothes from the wedding. He’s wearing the rough-spun clothes of a laborer, a disapproving frown growing deeper and deeper. A fresh cut weeps red down his cheek. Does he know the truth about what Lupa is? A good, God-fearing Florentine would hesitate before treating an angel like a prisoner.

“The Medici were supposed to take care of you two,” he growls. There’s no brotherly recognition in his eyes.

But he definitely remembers me from last night. “Surprise! They didn’t,” I say.

His frown turns ugly. He unsheathes a long, curved knife. “I suppose I’ll have to do it myself, then.”

The bottom drops from my gut. I’m suddenly ten years old, crying hysterically in Casa delle Volpi’s garden because Niccolo’s bruised my fingers with the flat of his practice sword. Father pulled me out of arms lessons the very next week, too embarrassed to have his youngest son crying in front of the hired arms master.

Niccolo is the one who stayed in the lessons. And judging from the way he holds the handle, some part of him remembers every minute of them. Even if I did know my way around a blade, I couldn’t bear to hurt him. I need to do something else.

“Volpone. Do you remember me yet?”

He shudders. “You’re a liar.”

“I’m not. Your favorite food is coccoli. You used to sneak into the kitchen and try to eat them all before dinner.”

Niccolo’s eyes widen, revealing bloodshot, sleepless red where they should be white. He surges forward, blade first. “Shut up!”

I sidestep him, just barely. His knife snags on my stolen shirt, opening up a long gash. “This isn’t your life. Do you remember your parents? Your childhood? I know all about it. You have two little sisters named Elisabetta and Giovannia. They love you more than anything.”

Niccolo’s face flushes burgundy, chest heaving. “You’re lying!”

“I’m not.” What goes through his head when I name these memories? A blank, opaque wall of nothing? An entire false life that was never real? My gaze drops to his garnet ring. “I gave you that because you saved my life. You helped me escape before Father could kill my spirit. Do you remember?”

He makes an agonized sound. “Stop it!”

He’s rushing again—but not at me.

At Leonardo.

Niccolo crashes into him. Leonardo screams, doubling over. Red blooms on his arm.

My vision goes red too. Weaponless, I throw myself at my brother’s back, arms noosing around his neck, kicking every part of him I can reach.

Leonardo grabs my shoulders. “I’m fine; please, Virgil, we’ve got to go!”

But it’s too late.

The thud of footsteps approaches, followed by gleeful shouts. The guards from the workshop have finally found us. Rough hands surround me. I feel the skull-headed key pulled from my trouser pocket, hear the clatter as it falls. Fingers start to dig in the pocket containing Lupa’s vial. I lunge forward and sink my teeth into the meaty palm. The guard curses and shrugs me off, banging my nose. There’s a shock of pain, then blood pours from my nostrils, hot and salty on my lips.

“Gesù Cristo.” Niccolo makes the sign of the cross against me. “This demon has cursed them! He thinks she’s one of us!”

He called Lupa a demon. He knows the truth, just as I suspected.

I spit at not-Niccolo’s feet, stumbling to Leonardo’s side. “She is one of us!” He’s all right, thank God. A thin coat of blood sheets down his arm. Niccolo’s blade only nicked him.