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“I don’t think he would do that…”
“I’m not so sure. He’s worked for him his entire adult life. I doubt he would squander that for anything.”
“What are you implying?” I asked.
He scratched the scruff of his jawline as he looked at the closed curtains, like he could see the city through the fabric. “You think the two of you are plotting against Leonardo, but I think the two of them are plotting against you.”
“Victor wouldn’t do that—”
“Not to hurt you.” Bartholomew looked at me again. “Leonardo isn’t stupid, and he knows what kind of daughter he has. He may brush off the incident like it wasn’t a big deal, but heknowsit’s a big deal. He knows you’re going to come for him. But he doesn’t want to kill you. No man would want to kill his daughter unless he had no other choice.” He shared his thoughts with me, laying out an analysis that hadn’t even crossed my mind. “So he’s trying to neutralize you. Tame your anger. Drop your hostility. Get his second daughter back into his life.”
“It’s certainly plausible. I don’t put anything past my father. But there’s no reason for Victor to do that.”
Bartholomew stared. “None?”
My eyes flicked back and forth because I couldn’t follow his insinuation.
“Perhaps a fake engagement will turn into a real one. Maybe false affection will become sincere. Maybe once you and your father make peace, you and Victor can pick up where you left off.”
“You just…figured this out?”
“His request was suspicious. The only reason he should help you is because he’s furious that his employer would shoot the woman he loves. The fact that he’s trying to strike a deal with you in the midst of all that tells me there’s more going on.”
I hadn’t thought of any of that.
“So Leonardo probably convinced him of this plan, and as an incentive, Victor would get back the life he lost. You two would live here in Florence. Get remarried. Maybe have a few kids. Victor would move up in the ranks. Maybe take Leonardo’s place once the time came. It all makes sense.”
“But you don’t have any evidence.”
“Unless I can eavesdrop on their conversations, I’ll never have any evidence.”
“I could ask Victor—”
“No.” His arms crossed over his chest. “That’s the worst thing you could do. And you can’t tell him about me either.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I’m in the picture again, he won’t help you.”
“I can’t lead him on—”
“He’s leading you on.”
“We don’t know that—”
“This is my world, sweetheart. I know how it works. I know how men like Leonardo think.”
“I can’t go on lying to Victor.”
“He said he wanted a chance when you’re ready. Then don’t be ready.”
“I did tell him I’m not over you.”
“Then continue not to be over me.”
I still felt guilty about the deceit. It was one thing to be open to the possibility, but knowing there was no chance whatsoever now made me feel like a big, fat liar. But if Bartholomew was right, there was no reason to feel guilty. I’d thought I was playing Leonardo, but Leonardo was playing me. “I really hope this isn’t true…”
He stared at me with his dark eyes, enigmatic and commanding. “Trust me, sweetheart.”
