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A cold rage seeped through Enzo’s veins. He held the blade up before the brigand’s eyes. “Were you hoping this would keep him from bleeding?”
“That’s not mine,” said the brigand, his words coming staccato and shrill.
If Enzo had any sympathy for the brigand’s plight, it fled him the moment that obvious lie left his lips. He turned to Ferruzzi. “Untie his right hand.”
The brigand stared up at Enzo. “No—please—!”
Ferruzzi did as Enzo bade her. The brigand struggled and pleaded all the while. Enzo wondered if Fiore had done the same in his place.
“Hold him fast,” Enzo ordered. His words echoed in his own ears, as if they came from somewhere far distant, from another version of himself hardly audible over the screams of anguish resounding in his own heart.
Zanetta drew up a stool. Ferruzzi held the brigand’s wrist down on it and forced his palm to splay.
“Mercy, m’lord!” the brigand cried.
“What mercy did you show him?” Enzo asked.
The brigand gaped in silence, another lie stuttering on his tongue.
Enzo thrust the blade down. It severed the forefinger in a single blow. Which was better than the brigand had served Fiore.
The brigand howled regardless.
“This was vengeance,” Enzo told him when the howls subsided into sobs. “The rest will be fit punishment for every subsequent lie you tell me. Start telling truths. Now.”
“Portia, your grace.”
Enzo turned to find a young woman still in her kitchen apron standing on the threshold just ahead of Carlotta. Yet she did not look at him in turn. Her gaze fixed on the brigand tied to the chair.
And his bloodied hand held down by the household guards.
It occurred to Enzo as he regarded her horrified face that he may have gone a bit far and a bit fast.
“Arlotto!?” she whispered in evident shock.
“Portia!” the brigand replied, smiling despite the blood flowing from his hand and the bruises blooming across his face.
Portia did not return the smile.
“Portia,” said Enzo. “Do you know this man?”
Portia flinched and jerked her head up to face him. Enzo couldn’t blame her for feeling unnerved. The knife in his hand dripped blood. Yet to her credit she stood firm and replied without a tremor in her voice, “I thought I did, your grace.”
Arlotto rolled his eyes. “Bellenos spare me from the inconstancy of women.”
“The inconstancy ofwomen!?” Portia snapped. “You fucked mysister!”
A marked pause ensued. Arlotto began spluttering. Enzo silenced him with a look.
“Portia,” Enzo said, keeping a wary eye on Arlotto. “What would you have me do with him?”
Without even a breath of hesitation, she replied, “Cut his balls off and shove them down his throat.”
Enzo had to admit that sounded fairly satisfying. He drank in the wide-eyed terror in Arlotto’s glances between himself and Portia.
“What do you think?” Enzo asked him. “Will you tell me where Fiore is? Or shall I hand her a knife?”
Arlotto shot a fearful glance at Portia.
