Like I told Mom. I was living fully, for the first time or something.
I’m down with this love thing, I thought, sneaking another look at my man.
I tried out that L word again, silently in my mind, as we paraded as a group through the piazza and down to the larger building. Men and women, commoners and nobles, bowed and curtsied when we passed as if we were royalty.
It was cool. But I hoped the whole heroine-worship thing wouldn’t last forever. We were just two girls in the right time, at the right place. I chuckled to myself over my lame joke. Right time, right place.
“What is humorous?” Marcello asked, leaning toward me.
“It is nothing,” I said. “I simply amuse myself at times.”
“It is so good to see you smile, beloved,” he whispered in my ear, and his warm breath and sweet words made me want to haul him into a dark, secluded corner and kiss him like crazy.
I managed to squelch that desire—I swear, it was like when you want to pull a fire alarm—but just barely. “I can’t stop smiling, m’lord,” I returned, staring into his eyes. “Not when I’m with you.”
We stood there for a moment, people swirling around us, laughing, greeting one another, kissing on both cheeks in Italian fashion. And our deep stare into each other’s eyes was as intense as a kiss of our own. It was like he was speaking to me, singing to me, all through that long, silent, sexy-as-all-get-out look.
“Sir Forelli,” said a man—maybe for the second time—and we both started and looked in his direction. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. I felt Marcello’s arm tense beneath my hand.
“Lord Rodolfo Greco,” he said, his tone careful, curious. He paused for a second and then said, “May I present to you Lady Gabriella Betarrini?”
I sensed other men moving in our direction, caught sight of Luca, his mouth grim, when Marcello lifted one hand.
Lord Greco clearly sensed their presence, but his eyes remained on me. He took my hand and leaned down to slowly, elegantly kiss it. “As beautiful as it has been rumored,” he said, still holding my fingers in his.
“Agreed,” Marcello said, sliding his hand into mine, making Greco release me.
“May you know that not all in Firenze are your mortal enemy,” Lord Greco said softly. Then, with a slight bow, he moved away, cutting through Marcello’s men, who now had formed a double circle around us.
“M’lord,” said a servant, nervously clearing his throat—and we all looked in his direction. He was standing on his tiptoes, trying to see us over the shoulders of Marcello’s men. Marcello waved them away. “Yes?”
The small servant bowed, and the corners of his mouth curved in a knowing smile. “I am to escort you and Lady Betarrini to your table.”
I looked around, suddenly remembering I had a sister and mother—and feeling a bit guilty for forgetting them for a moment—but saw they were already ahead of us, seated at a table that was elevated above the rest. Lord Rossi was at one end, with Romana and Fortino—also in shades of gold—to his right, along with other friends of his I recognized from last time I’d been here. Two were numbered among the Nine—I remembered that much—but I racked my brain for their names. I’d always been lame with names.
The Fiorentini, I saw, were seated at a table of their own. Apparently, negotiations had only gone so well. Well enough to be invited to the party, but not well enough to make it to the inner circle.
“You’ll remember Lord Lombardi and Lord Esposito,” Marcello whispered in my ear, studying me. Man, was I that easy to figure out? Or was it just that this guy knew me so well already?
Meeting Greco, a potential enemy, stirred up memories of meeting the creepy Vanucci. “You’ll be close to me all evening?” I asked Marcello as we reached the dais.
“Never out of reach,” he said. “It’s all right, Gabriella. This will be an entirely different evening from the last time we were here. Even with our Fiorentini friends nearby.”
I smiled at him, liking how he’d read into my fears and so easily comforted me. It was a bit awkward still, with Romana sneaking looks at us through dinner, just as she had back at Castello Forelli. There were several toasts to the “Ladies Betarrini,” and some sly comments that connected me and Marcello. Nah, no real secret there…
I felt a little sorry for Romana. I really did. It wasn’t hard for me to remember sneaking looks at Marcello and her, feeling totally jealous. I took a bite of perfectly roasted chicken and stared at my plate. I wished we could just talk, like girls back home did.
Hey, I know this is awkward. Weird. But are you—we—okay? You’re all good with it? You have your guy, I have mine? Because, we have to, you know, figure it out since we’ll see each other every day and stuff.…
I swallowed hard. Maybe he hadn’t felt love for her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have it goin’ on for him. And now she’d been tossed to Bachelor Number One, back from death’s door, suddenly on the market. That worked out for local politics, but what about Romana? What if she was no evil poisoner but just a pawn?
I looked across the table at her; she caught my eye and then hurriedly turned to Fortino, all light and charm. She’d been avoiding me all week. Apparently she wasn’t ready for any heart-to-hearts.
Thankfully, we were soon finished with our meal and moved to the other hall for the dancing. Again and again, Marcello intervened when men inquired if they could dance with me, as did Luca, beside Lia. “For reasons of security, we must decline your kind offer,” he said. “Only the Nine get a chance to dance with these women.”
Belatedly, I remembered Mom and Lia might not know any of the steps. “Lia,” I whispered, “what about the dancing?” I looked over her shoulder to our mother, who was totally acting the part of the charming, medieval merchant, chatting with one of the Nine, her face animated with interest. I bet she was missing her video recorder and notepad. We’d barely been able to get her to sleep since she arrived.
“It’s all right,” Lia said. “Luca gave us both lessons back at the castello. We’re ready.”
I smiled and raised a brow. “Ahh, right. Dancing lessons. Spill it. How much did you like your lessons?”
“He did a fine job of instruction,” she said lightly, cutting me off. But she didn’t move away fast enough for me to miss the smile. Oh yeah, I thought, you’re falling for the funny dude. You always fall for the funny, charming dude.
I looked after her in satisfaction. It was all going to work out, somehow. I felt it, deep inside. As crazy as it seemed, I had hope, real hope, that I might be able to stay here, with Marcello, long-term. Like, forever.
“M’lady,” he said, his low voice rumbling in my ear. I looked over to him. “May I claim the first dance?”
I forced myself to remember my place. “Dancing with anyone other than you, m’lord, would be the most terrible form of torture,” I said.
“But it will make our dances all the more sweet,” he said with a smile, and I laid my arm atop his as he led me to the center of the ballroom. The strings played and the group moved, in perfect, elegant timing, as one.
But with the way Marcello looked at me, touched me, held me in his arms, we may as well have been the only couple in the room.
CHAPTER 7
I was bummed when the dancing ended, just as I finished doing my duty in dancing with the last of the Nine, and only got one more with Marcello.
“The people are calling for you,” Marcello said. Luca and Lia and Mom drew near, and that was when I heard it. “Lu-pe! Lu-pe! Lu-pe!” She-wolves, She-wolves, She-wolves. They were chanting for the She-Wolves. Us.
“Now I really do feel like rock stars hittin’ the stage,” I muttered, still shoving down my frustration at not having one more turn on the dance floor with my man.
“My, aren’t we ungrateful?” Mom chided me gently.
“All right, all right,” I said, then looked to Marcello. “Let us see this eve to its end so that I might be alone with you at last.”
His eyes wi
dened in a mixture of shock and delight. He glanced around, suddenly all nervous that someone might’ve heard me.
“Hmm, that was a bit too forward,” Mom said in my ear before giving me a small scowl.
Ya think? I wanted to bite back. “Forgive me, m’lord,” I said quickly. “I confess that the evening has already severely taxed me.”
His small smile faded into concern. “You are ill, m’lady? Must I get you back to your quarters to rest?”
“Nay, nay,” I said. I stood taller, throwing back my shoulders. “We shall see this through.” Memories of his words of warning went through my mind. “But Marcello, your men—”
“Will be surrounding you. Some are disguised as commoners. But I swear on my life, Gabriella, no one will get to you, your sister, or your mother.”
Man, I had to admit that I loved it when he got all Tough Protector Warrior on me. “Lead on, m’lord,” I said. ’Cause anywhere you’re goin’, I am too.
We proceeded outside and they escorted us to three high-backed chairs, this time, set on a raised platform under a canopy. It was dark out, so I guessed it was just to show everyone that we were the Girls of the Hour. The crowd erupted with cheers and applause. She-Wolves, She-Wolves, She-Wolves became the chant again.
“Heavens,” Mom said. “You’re really going to have to tell me more about what brought all of this on.”
I’d been brief with her, not wanting her to stress over me and Lia. I mean, she knew I’d narrowly escaped death in freeing Lia from Castello Paratore, but she didn’t know all of the details. That, like, I’d almost been killed a dozen times. You just didn’t tell your mom that kind of thing—not if you were trying to keep her from rushing you off to some safe tower. Which they had around here. Dozens of ’em. I glanced over the crowd and above to the skyline. Nearly every palazzo of note had a tower, each seeking to be taller than its neighbor’s. Yeah, these people seemed unified. But the towers said something different. They said, Don’t mess with me or I’ll take you down, neighbor or not.
Lord Rossi rose from his chair, one of nine seated in an arc in front of us, and raised his hands. “My people, I give you the Ladies Betarrini.”
A roar went up in response, reverberating in my chest as if we were at a concert right beside the speakers. Torches rose to the sky and then dropped to light massive bonfires all around the square. The choir of wolf howls became deafening. I didn’t dare look at Lia. We might’ve burst out in nervous, hysterical laughter. I still couldn’t quite believe it was happening.
When they finally quieted, Lord Rossi said, “As you know, the Ladies Betarrini have done a great service for our fair commune.”
Again, the crowd cheered.
“And while these women are from a distant land, they are forever daughters of Siena.”
The people went crazy for that.
“But Toscana has not always treated them as the prizes they are. Prior to fighting for our cause, they were robbed and left with naught but the clothes upon their backs.”
I hadn’t ever heard real people say things like “boo” much and actually hiss, but I did at that moment.
“So the Nine have taken it upon themselves to rectify that problem. As of this evening, the Ladies Betarrini are as wealthy as they are beautiful and heroic!”
With that, all nine men rose, with small chests in their hands. One by one, they bowed before us, and then with Las Vegas splash, dumped the golden florins at our feet.
The crowd gasped and shouted and pressed in, eager to see, passing back word behind them. I looked from the pile to my mother and sister, stunned. We’d never had a penny to our name here. Now the Nine had done what they proclaimed—made us rich. What we had before us was more than enough to buy land, build a home. Whatever we wanted.
“Gabriella,” Marcello said in my ear, “You must speak.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you, She-Wolf,” he returned with a slight smile.
I rose, on shaking legs. I’d never been good at speaking in front of a crowd. I always gave in to such admirable traits as blushing and hyperventilating. Seriously uncool on the stage, that’s what I was. It should be Lia…she’s the stage person…the one good at this…
She rose beside me, but she was nodding, urging me on. As eldest, apparently this was my gig alone.
“M’lords, people of Siena,” I began, “we are overcome by your generosity. From the moment I arrived, the house of Forelli, and behind her, Siena, has done nothing but protect me.” I looked over to Marcello, remembering how he saved me the second I stepped out of the tomb. “I could do nothing less for her.” Or him.
The crowd cheered.
“You have our undying allegiance,” I said. “You have stolen our hearts, even before your leaders bestowed such riches upon us. We are forever proud to be called daughters of Siena.”
“There is more,” shouted Lord Rossi, waving the crowds to silence. He turned to the side and made a gesture of invitation.
Captain Rossi, Romana’s handsome blond cousin, came in, and behind him, pairs of his troops, with men in chains between them. The crowd’s hissing, shouting out hateful things, was my first hint that something bad was coming our way.
When the knights separated, I gasped and took a step back. So did Lia. Luca and Marcello both took our arms, willing strength into us. Behind me, I sensed Mom step closer, hovering.
Bloody, beaten, before us was Lord Paratore. The slimeball who’d held Lia captive.
I’d assumed he was dead, killed the night of the great battle.
Two knights pushed him forward, and the Nine separated, staring at him, then up to us. Paratore rose, throwing back his shoulders. Blood crusted over a ragged gash through one eyebrow, and the eye was swollen shut. His other cheek was scraped, as if he’d been dragged over stone. He was missing teeth. They’d clearly been torturing him for months. But still, he stared defiantly at me with hatred, his one good eye looking me over from head to toe before he spit at me.
Marcello moved slightly in front of me, almost subconsciously. He radiated tension and fury.
“Lady Gabriella, Lady Evangelia,” Lord Rossi said, walking around Lord Paratore as if he owned him. It reminded me of the day Lord Paratore did the same with me. I shoved back a shiver. “The fate of this man, and those who wear his colors, are in your hands,” he said. “Our new friends of Firenze, forward-thinking men who seek to regain peace between two cities that once considered themselves sisters, would like to offer you a trade.”
Lord Greco stepped forward alongside his friends, surrounded by knights of Siena, apparently there to keep the crowds from seizing them. “Ladies Betarrini,” Lord Greco said, carefully keeping his eyes on our feet. “Despite Lord Paratore’s dishonor, he is still one of our own. Release him, and we shall send you a hundred of Siena’s fighting men languishing in our prisons.”
The crowd booed, calling for death, hanging, drawing and quartering Paratore, along with these men from Firenze.
When they quieted, I said to Greco, “By his hands, Lady Evangelia suffered mightily. After suffering most grievous wounds, inflicted by Paratore men, I myself very nearly died. There is nothing I’d like more, Lord Greco, than to see Lord Paratore hang, to know he is no longer a danger to the good citizens of Siena.”
The crowd ate up my words, cheering, shoving.
Lord Rossi said, “You, Lady Gabriella, have a most difficult choice to make. The Nine now grant you the authority to send him to Firenze, on the grounds that we could win the freedom of so many of our own. Or”—he took a few steps to the other side of Paratore and then looked back to us in dramatic fashion—“you may send him to the gallows and watch him hanged this very night.”
I heard Mom suck in her breath behind me and remembered that early evening within the walls of Castello Forelli when I tried to save two prisoners. She didn’t get it, yet. The violence of this place. The Us or Them thing. Just as I hadn’t then.
I looked to Lia, then to Marcello. “Wha
t is best for Siena?”
“Gabi, you can’t mean you would actually send that man—” Mom began.
“Mom, you have to stay out of this,” I returned. If the crowd got wind that she was defending Paratore, in any way—
“Look at how he’s been beaten. Is that not enough?”
“Mom,” Lia whispered, eyes wide. “We’ll explain later. It’s complicated.”
I glanced down below us. Two of the Nine had clearly heard and frowned in confusion. So had Greco and Paratore. The prisoner was smiling a little, looking at me with a sick, ghoulish expression.
Quickly, I looked to Marcello, taking comfort in his eyes—calm, steady, warm. “I will abide by your decision, m’lady,” he said lowly. “It is yours to make. But I personally know of ten men who should be home with their wives and children. One of them, Giannini.” He glanced at Paratore. “I would not lose a night’s sleep, knowing he was dead. He has killed and tortured many, so many.” His brown eyes moved over to Lia, behind me. “But is not the greater good served in trading him out?” He shook his head. “His life will not be easy, in Firenze. He will suffer.”
I looked back to Paratore. His smile had faded.
“They are not who they say they are!” he erupted. “They are not Normans, I swear! You give my life over to impostors! Spies!”
I froze.
The knights tackled him, gagged him, and raised him back to his feet, but the damage had already been done. I felt physically sick as I felt the whispers spread through the crowd.
I could almost see the love of the crowd fade at the staining of his words.
In that moment, more than ever, I wanted him dead.
Gone from my life forever, never to hurt any of us again.
I looked to Lia, wondering if she agreed. “There goes our gig as the glory girls,” she said so only I could hear. She waited a moment, until I shared her sickly smile. Her own faded, then. We were both up for fighting to the death, but ordering him killed? That was a different deal. “Do the right thing, Gabi.”
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