Francesca was silent. Then she said in a rather small voice. 'I have recently become fully aware of just what deep water I have waded into. You know, I did consider betraying you for a while. Not very seriously, I admit. But . . .'
'And my prowess as a lover convinced you otherwise?' said Manfred, hopefully.
She kissed him. 'No. Well, not much. Two other reasons. The first, of course, being Erik. I am quite unwilling to bring the wrath of that clan down on my head. I'm sure he has cousins and brothers as ferocious as himself.'
Manfred nodded. 'My cousin had his older brother for a mentor. He says Olaf is half troll. And I think he was only half joking.' He cocked his head. 'And the other reason?'
Whatever qualms Francesca might have been feeling seemed to disappear instantly. The grin she gave Manfred was not coquettish in the least--just, very cheerful. 'I find that I rather enjoy deep waters.'
Chapter 84 ==========
It was his last night in town . . .
Benito headed towards the old apartment in Cannaregio. Maybe--if she hadn't gone to Kat--if he played his cards right--Maria might take the fact that he was going off to war as a reason to repeat their night together. He found himself desperately hoping she would, and--almost as desperately--telling himself he was solely motivated by a manly search for pleasure.
He was unusually deep in thought, walking down the narrow calle. His previous life had been a humble place, but a happy one. The world had been pretty straightforward then. Now . . . for all that it was much more wealthy and luxurious, life was much more complicated. Take this business with Caesare . . . he was starting to put things into place that he really didn't like, and didn't want to believe about his hero.
He was at the foot of the narrow stairway when he looked up and saw that the door to the apartment was open. Moonlight made it look like a black pit. Benito raced up the stairs, his mind full of fear. And, as he stepped into the darkness, someone grabbed him. Someone with big meaty hands. 'Knew you'd come back, bitch! You killed my cousins!'
Benito stamped down hard--as Caesare had taught him to--and struck back with an elbow with all the strength of his roof-climbing honed muscles. Straight into the pit of the stomach, by the gasp and release.
Benito had realized a while back that he was never going to be as tall as his brother. But lately he'd been getting broader. And the one thing about roof-climbing was that his grip was as strong as one of those Barbary apes.
Which was a good thing, he thought, as he caught his attacker's descending arm. Whoever this was, he was as strong as one of those apes' bigger cousins. Benito snatched at his main gauche, cross-drawing it with his free hand. He drew it in a short vicious arc. The heavy pommel hit something, hard. The arm he was trying to hold went limp. He hit the sagging head twice more, with all the force at his disposal. As the body slumped against him, he caught his attacker by the hair, and pounded the base of his skull as hard as he could with the pommel. Then he stepped back and drew his rapier, slipping the main gauche into its sheath, and felt for the oil lamp.
It wasn't there. But he knew this place like the back of his hand. There were candles and a striker in the cupboard. . . .
A minute later he was looking at the carnage that had once been their apartment. His heart leapt like a fountain when he did not see what he had expected to see: Maria's body.
Then he realized what he was seeing. Two dead Matteoni brothers, with a third one--the one who had attacked him, whom he suspected had come on the scene later--slumped against the wall, staring at him with fogged eyes and a swaying head.
Since the Matteoni still alive clearly wasn't going to be moving soon--that was Giovanni, one of the Matteoni brothers' cousins--Benito took the time to examine the two dead ones. Luce and . . . Stephano, he thought. Luce had half his chest blown away. That was the work of a pistol at close range, and the only person Benito could think of who might have been at the apartment with a pistol was Kat. Whose body wasn't here either. His heart soared still further.
The other body, probably Stephano's, couldn't really be recognized at all. He looked more like a slab of meat in a butcher shop than a man. His shirt was blood-soaked from a stab wound and his head--
Benito averted his eyes, almost gagging. The man's features were completely obscured by drying blood. Brains were sagging out of the horrible head wounds. Someone--and he was pretty sure he knew just exactly what spit-fire woman could have done it, especially after he recognized the cleaver still jammed in the corpse's shoulder--had hacked his skull into shreds.
Matteoni. Caesare's errand boys.
As he finally accepted the truth about his idol, Benito felt a wave of sheer fury wash over him. The rage of a man who has been betrayed as well as wronged. He stalked towards the half-recumbent terror of the
