Free Suicide Kings by Christopher J. Ferguson Page A

obscured his face.”
    “Did you see anything in the nun’s manner that would suggest she knew her attacker?”
    “She held a crucifix up to him as if he were a monster. Certainly in the robe he looked like a demon or a ghost. I don’t believe he was either.”
    Niccolo raised an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure?”
    “I’ve never seen a ghost or a demon. I’ve seen plenty of men who have committed murder. I’ve been at balls with some, dined with others.”
    Niccolo’s pupils widened at that and he gave her a smile. “Well spoken.” He tapped the edge of his spoon with one fingernail. “I assure you I’ve committed no murders, government sanctioned or otherwise.” He leaned in, closer to her. “Your mother though…the sister told you she was murdered, didn’t she?”
    His mentioning it out loud brought moisture to her eyes. She averted her eyes so he wouldn’t see it. It pained her to show him weakness. “Yes, that is what she said.”
    “Do you know any reason why anyone would want your mother dead?”
    “No,” she said and met his gaze, “I can’t imagine why anyone would. She said a man named Giuseppe Mancini di Milano might have done it. She led me to believe he would have done it for hire. I don’t know why anyone would hire him to do so.”
    Niccolo nodded, spooning more stew as if this were an ordinary dinner conversation. “So, it is reasonable to assume if she knew about this Mancini, he might have known about her and killed her to keep her quiet. Too late though.” He pointed at her with the spoon.
    All this talk about her mother as a victim of assassination…it was just so unreal. She could bear it when she kept it in her mind as an investigation, as a puzzle to be solved. When she found herself thinking about her mother, the person who had comforted her when she’d been down, intervened on her behalf with her father, who’d given her unconditional love, it all just seemed so surreal.
    “I am sorry about your mother,” Niccolo said softly. Diana felt like she snapped out of a trance. She blinked her eyes a few times to bring herself back around. “Especially if she were murdered,” Niccolo said. “It must be difficult.”
    She nibbled at her bottom lip. “Yes, it is.”
    “I’m going to try to help you.”
    “Why?” She shook her head. “Why should I trust you? You work for Savonarola.”
    His pupils narrowed at that. She’d hit an unexpected nerve. Although his expression never changed, she had enough intuition to gauge he cared not at all for the Mad Friar who ruled Firenze. “You’re right,” he told her, never breaking his gaze. “You’ve got no good reason to trust me. It’s a good impulse to be suspicious of everyone.”
    “I hope one day I won’t have to be.”
    “There is wisdom and there is trust. You’ll find you’ll have to pick one.”
    She stared at him for a moment. “I am not sure I would like to live in the world you seem to inhabit, Signore Machiavelli.”
    “There is only one world. We may not love it, but we must endure it.” His eyes dropped. “Please, call me Niccolo.”
    “Niccolo,” she repeated softly.
    He gazed back up at her. “I’ve heard it said that you have an interest in studying medicine at Salerno.”
    She felt heat rising in her cheeks once more. “Is there anything that you don’t know about me, Niccolo?”
    He fell silent for a moment, looking away. His voice was soft as he answered, “I’m only beginning to learn about you.” His eyes met hers again. “Does your father approve of your goal?”
    She didn’t look away, answering simply, “No.”
    He broke eye contact, silent. She could tell his eyes were on her hair, on her neck. She was used to men looking at her, appraising her as an object of their lust. It gave her pleasure to know she had such power over men, while at the same time her respect for such men inevitably diminished. This was different somehow. His appraisal lacked the lust to which she was