'And I never told you how much I missed you, half.' The old nickname made Benito grin. 'That was even stupider. We're the team, right? So, from now on it's going be you and me--aye? All the way.'
Benito dropped his pretense of adulthood and threw both arms around his brother in an affection-starved hug. Marco tightened his own arms around Benito's shoulder and stared at Aldanto, trying to beg with his eyes, and figuring that it was a lost cause before he started.
But to Marco's surprise, Caesare suddenly cleared his throat. A little sound, but the older boy started as violently as if a gun had gone off in his ear.
'You say your mother had connections with Ventuccio?'
Marco stared, unable to get his mouth to work. It was too much to comprehend--he'd expected the knife, and he'd only hoped Aldanto was good enough to make it fast and relatively painless. And then--this--
His ears roared, and little black spots danced in the air between his eyes and Aldanto's face.
'Ventuccio?' he heard himself say stupidly, as his knees suddenly liquefied on him.
* * *
Benito felt Marco start to collapse, and held him up by main force. Oh, God, please--no!
The last time Marco had done this, he'd missed the meetings for the next month; and when he finally showed up, he was pounds thinner, with eyes gone all hollow, and a rasping cough that lasted for weeks. Please, God--he begged, struggling to keep Marco on his feet long enough to pull a chair under him, don't let it be fever, he might not make it this time--and we're almost home free--
* * *
'Milord, just let me get him sat--milord, he's all right!' Marco heard Benito over the roaring in his ears, over the scrape of a chair on the floor 'You don't--milord, you don't need--'
Something shoved up against the back of his legs; hands were under his armpits letting him down easy, the same strong hands then pushing his head down between his legs.
'Stay that way for a bit--' Aldanto's voice. And the roaring went away, his eyes cleared. When his head stopped spinning he looked up. Aldanto sat on his heels beside him, Benito looking frantic, trying to get between them without touching the man. 'Better?'
'I--' Marco managed. 'I--'
Aldanto took his chin in one hand, tilted his eyes into the light, scrutinizing them closely.
'I'm sorry, milord, I'm all right,' Marco whispered, thinking, Daren't, daren't show weakness in front of this man! 'Honest, I'm all right.'
'You're not--but you will be.'
Ignoring Benito's worried protests (Great, thought Marco dizzily, now he realizes we could be in trouble), Aldanto went to the table and brought his glass of wine to Marco, who took it with hands that shook so hard the wine slopped. Poison? No--not likely. Not when he'd had the chance to kill them easily and hadn't. An assassin as physically capable as Aldanto so obviously was, wouldn't bother with anything other than a blade. Not, at least, dealing with two poor boys in a place like this.
'Get yourself on the outside of that.'
Marco sipped, the alcoholic warmth spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body. His hands stopped shaking, slowly.
'When did you last eat?'
'Eat?' Marco was taken totally by surprise by the question and the funny half smile on Aldanto's face. 'Uh--I don't remember.'
'Then it's been too long. Small wonder you're falling at my feet. They're reserved for women, you know.'
As Marco tried to adjust to the fact that Aldanto had just made a joke, the blond man turned to Benito. He held out a piece of silver. 'Go out there and get some bread and risi e bisi.'
Benito scampered, and returned with a steaming bowl moments later. Some customer was going to have to wait a little longer for his dinner. The thick green rice-and-pea soup was set down, and Benito scampered off to fetch bread and a bowl of shaved Parmesan. Aldanto held out the spoon to Marco.
