Claudia were all that was left of his family. Might he not fail them in the same way? He did not want them to be dependent on him.
He attracted danger. If they were near him, would he not attract danger to his mother and sister, too? He didn’t want their deaths on his head. They’d have been better off in Florence, where they had friends, where their safety, in a city once again stable under the wise management of Piero Soderini, would have been ensured.
“Ezio,” said Claudia, interrupting his thoughts, “we want to help.”
“I sought to keep you safe by sending you to Firenze.” He tried to keep the impatience out of his voice, but he found that he was snapping as he spoke. Maria and Claudia looked shocked, and although Maria let it go quickly, Ezio could see that Claudia was wounded and offended. Had she picked up something of his thoughts?
Luckily, they were interrupted by Agnella and Lucia. “
Ezio’s thoughts were still on Claudia and the expression in her eyes. But his attention switched at the question. Cesare must have done one hell of a cover-up job. But then, bodies were found in the Tiber practically every day—and some of them had been there for some time.
“She’s dead,” he said abruptly.
“What?” cried Lucia.
The news spread quickly among the girls.
“What do we do now?” asked one.
“Will we have to close?” asked another.
Ezio deduced the undercurrent of their anxiety. Under Madonna Solari, however inefficient Machiavelli had said she’d been, these girls had been collecting information for the Assassins. Without protection, and if, as Solari’s death suggested, Cesare had his suspicions about the Rosa in Fiore, what might their fate be? On the other hand, if he had thought that Solari wasn’t the
That was it! There was still hope.
“You cannot close,” he told them. “I need your help.”
“But
A voice near him said decisively: “I’ll do it.”
It was Claudia.
Ezio wheeled on her. “You do not belong
“I know how to run a business,” she retorted. “I ran Uncle Mario’s estates out in the sticks for
“This is quite different!”
His mother’s calming voice intervened. “What alternative do you have, Ezio? You need someone fast, evidently. You know you can trust your sister.”
Ezio saw the logic of this, but it would mean putting Claudia on the front line—the very place he most dreaded her being. He glared at her. She returned the look with defiance.
“You do this, Claudia, and you are on your own. You’ll get no special protection from me!”
“I’ve done perfectly well without that for twenty years,” she sneered.
“Fine,” he returned icily. “Then you’d better get down to work. First of all, I want this place thoroughly cleaned up, redecorated, improved in every way. Even this garden needs a good job done on it. I want this place to be the best establishment in town. And God knows you’ve got competition. And I want the girls clean—this New Disease no one seems to know much about—well, it’s worst of all in the ports and in the biggest cities—so we all know what that means.”
“We’ll see to it,” replied Claudia coldly.
“You’d better. And there’s another thing. While you’re at it, I want your courtesans to find the whereabouts of Caterina Sforza.” He remained stone-faced.
“You can count on us.”
“You’re in this now, Claudia—any mistakes, they’re on your head.”
“I can take care of myself, brother.”
“I hope you can,” growled Ezio, turning on his heel.
TWENTY-ONE
Ezio was busy for the next few weeks—consolidating the remaining forces of the Brotherhood gathered in Rome and deciding what use to make of the initial information he had gathered from them, from La Volpe, and from the early reports sent by Bartolomeo. He hardly dared hope yet that the tide against the Borgia was turning, but it may have been that he was looking at the beginning of the end. He remembered, however, the old adage about how much easier it is to handle a young lion than to approach an old, experienced one. And against his cautious optimism was the fact that Cesare’s grip on the Romagna was tightening and the French held Milan. Nor had the French withdrawn their support from the papal commander. Years earlier, the Cardinal of San Pietro in Vincula, Giuliano della Rovere, the Pope’s great enemy, had tried to turn the French against the Borgia and topple Alexander from his seat, but Alexander had outwitted him. How could Ezio succeed where della Rovere had failed? But at least no one had poisoned the cardinal—he was too powerful for that—and the cardinal remained Ezio’s ace in the hole.
Ezio had also decided, though this he kept to himself—that his mission should be to encourage the Brotherhood to relocate their headquarters permanently to Rome. Rome was at the center of world affairs, as it was also the center of world corruption. Where else could be better suited—especially now that Monteriggioni was no longer a viable option? He also had plans for a system of distribution of the Brotherhood’s funds in response to individual Assassins’ successfully completed missions. Those diamonds he’d taken from the slave traders had come in very handy, a welcome addition to the campaign fund.
One day…
But “one day” was still a long way off. The Brotherhood still had no new elected leader, though by common consent and by virtue of their actions, he and Machiavelli had become its temporary chiefs. But they were still only temporary. Nothing had been ratified in formal council.
And Caterina preyed on his mind.
He had left Claudia to oversee the renovation of the Rosa in Fiore without any supervision or interference. Let her sink or swim in her own overweening confidence! It’d be no fault of his if she sank. But the brothel was an important link in his network, and he admitted to himself that if he really had had absolutely no faith in her, he might have leaned on her harder in the first place. Now was the time to put her work—what she had achieved—to the test.
When he returned to the Rosa in Fiore, he was as surprised as he was pleased. Just as successful, he hoped, as his own previous transformations in the city, and at Bartolomeo’s barracks, had been (though even for those he was modest and realistic enough not to take all the credit). But he hid his delight as he took in the sumptuous rooms hung with costly tapestries, the wide sofas, the soft silk cushions, and the white wines chilled with ice—an expensive luxury.
The girls looked like ladies, not whores, and judging from their manner someone had evidently taught them to be much more refined. And as for the clientele—the least he could infer was that business was booming, and though he had had his reservations about the nature of their standing before, there could be no doubt now. Looking around the central salon, he could see at least a dozen assorted cardinals and senators, as well as members of the Apostolic Camera and other officers of the Curia.
All enjoying themselves, all relaxed, and all—he hoped—unsuspecting. But the proof of the pudding would lie in the value of the information Claudia’s courtesans were able to extract from this venal bunch of slobs.
He caught sight of his sister—modestly dressed, he was glad to see—talking rather (to his mind) too
