Sure enough, moments later Signor Mafei’s green eyes studied her curiously. “Are you here to see Dottor Basso?” he asked. He looked down at Cass’s bandaged arm, just the end of which peeped out from her cloak.
“Actually, I—I have a message for Signor da Padova,” Cass said, hating herself for feeling self-conscious. She knew how it sounded, as if she and Falco had been lovers. But really, how was it that she felt compelled to stammer and blush about a few stolen kisses, whereas Signor Mafei could stand over her so smugly, having drugged and seduced women to steal their blood?
“I believe he’s working down in the garden,” Signor Mafei said. “If you want to wait here, I can see if he’s available.”
“That’s all right,” Cass said quickly. Suddenly, she was in a hurry to escape Signor Mafei’s mesmerizing stare. “I’ll just go say hello. I remember the way.”
“But Signorina—”
Cass ignored the protest. She swept her way up the stairs and through the portego and dining area, barely glancing at the painted likenesses of Belladonna. What was it Falco had called her? Hard? Unnatural?
Cass had just started to descend the back steps into the lush garden when she saw them. Belladonna lay back on a divan, her milky, perfect skin completely exposed except for a twist of dark curls draped over her breasts and a string of strategically placed roses covering the area between her thighs. Falco sat on a stool, sketching on a large piece of parchment. Cass squinted. Bella’s curvy form was coming alive through Falco’s strong lines.
Belladonna said something and laughed, tossing her curls over one shoulder and exposing her breasts. Setting down his charcoal, Falco stepped over to the divan to adjust her hair. His hand seemed to linger on her bare skin for a moment. Cass told herself she was imagining it, but then Belladonna reached out and twined Falco’s fingers in her own. She looked up at him passionately, and he did not pull away. He bent toward her, free hand delicately adjusting one of the rosebuds perched along the curve of her perfect legs. Cass thought for certain they were going to kiss.
Or worse.
Falco’s hand reached for another bloom.
Cass backed her way up the stairs, tucking the letter she had written deep inside the pocket of her cloak. Belladonna ran a hand through Falco’s hair and Cass stumbled, landing on the top step with a thud. Scrambling to her feet, she clawed at the door handle, desperate to be back inside the villa, away from the garden, away from what she had seen.
Too late. Falco whirled around. “Cass,” he said. Pulling free from Belladonna, he galloped across the grass toward the stairs.
Cass finally got the handle to work. She ran inside, slamming the door behind her. Lifting her skirts with both hands, she raced through the dining area to the portego. A servant girl who was dusting the canvases turned to look at her curiously.
Cass heard the sound of the back door opening and closing again. Ignoring the servant’s perplexed look, she ran back down the main stairs to the foyer.
“Cass!”
She flung open the heavy door, relieved to see the horse and carriage just where it had been.
She vaulted her body back into the compartment without even waiting for the driver to assist her. “That was quick,” Siena said.
“He was busy,” Cass said. She turned to the driver. “Go. Now. Please.”
The driver snapped the reins, and the horse whinnied and surged forward. Within seconds the carriage was headed down the dirt drive. Cass didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. She knew what she would find. Falco watching her leave.
The carriage turned onto the main road. “Is everything all right?” Siena asked.
“Yes,” Cass said quickly, willing the carriage to go faster as it headed north toward the Apennines.
“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Siena furrowed her brow.
“Don’t be silly,” Cass said. She could hardly breathe.
Falco and Belladonna. She didn’t want to believe it, but it had been right there in front of her face. The way Falco’s hand had grazed Belladonna’s breast as he adjusted her hair. The way Belladonna had gripped his fingers in her own deformed hand. The look that had passed between them.
That look.
Could Cass have imagined it?
She hadn’t seen Falco’s face, but Belladonna’s had been unmistakable. Triumph. Hunger. A desire to claim what she felt was rightfully her own.
And Falco hadn’t pulled away.
Not until he realized Cass was there. The nerve of him to run after her. Just days earlier he had said her jealousy was unfounded, that Belladonna was “hard” and “unreal” to him. Cass swore under her breath. She had been right all along.
Siena gave her another strange look.
“I’m just worried about Luca.” Cass closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall of the carriage compartment.
The journey home mirrored the trip to Florence, only the mood was infinitely more somber. Cass was a ghost, a shell, going through the motions. She passed the time staring out the carriage window, praying that the weather would hold, that the roads wouldn’t flood, that the wheels wouldn’t break. Her brain registered the beauty of the forests, the mountains, and the crystal-blue lake, but her heart ached when she thought of Falco, and her mind spun obsessively around the problem of freeing Luca.
After loading all of their supplies onto the ship that would take them back to the Rialto, Cass stood at the edge of the deck with Siena, watching as the boat floated away from the shore. The sky was blue and clear.
Only they wouldn’t.
A grizzled older man introduced himself as the ship’s medic and offered to take a look at Cass’s arm. Her wounds had not been cleaned or rewrapped in days, but the pain in her arm had all but faded. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to see how things were progressing, just to be safe. The medic ripped off her bandages with his callused fingers. Cass squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, steeling herself for what she might see.
“You’re healing nicely,” he said.
She opened her eyes. The bruises on her forearm had faded to a yellowish brown. The torn flesh over her biceps had grown together, but her whole arm was ghost-pale and smelled sour. Cass wrinkled her nose.
The medic laughed. “Nothing a scrub or some sea air won’t cure.”
Later, after everyone else was asleep, Cass made her way to the top deck of the ship. The wind twisted the tail of her cloak as she stared out across the Adriatic Sea. Cass knew the boat’s captain stood just on the other side of the snapping sails, but for the moment she felt completely alone. In a few hours, the sun would rise and they’d dock in the quay behind the Palazzo Ducale. From there, Cass and Siena would catch a ride out to San Domenico Island.
And then what? Time was slipping through her fingers. Cass felt confident she could gain admittance to the Palazzo Ducale. But what match were two girls for an armed dungeon guard?
The boat pitched, and she grabbed on to one of the ropes to steady herself. The rough fiber bit into her skin. Above her head, a torn sail slashed out at the wind. Cass watched the flapping fabric stab the sky repeatedly.
Two girls would be no match at all for an armed guard.
Unless they were armed too.
twenty-six
