Free The Sign of the Weeping Virgin (Five Star Mystery Series) by Alana White Page B

the treaty. This only after the Infidels had killed King Constantine, peeled the skin off his face, filled it with straw, displayed it in triumph through the city, and slaughtered the Christian men, women, and children huddled in the Church of Saint Sophia.
    “That was a bloody settlement,” Guid'Antonio said.
    “Aren't they all? Which brings to mind another matter you may not know about.”
    “Oh, God,” Guid'Antonio said, leaning back against the writing desk with Lorenzo, his arms folded across his chest.
    “Did the Priors mention Forli?”
    “No.” Guid'Antonio's senses heightened as he anticipated more troubling news. Like Imola, Forli town fell within the Papal State on Via Emilia, between Florence and the Adriatic Sea.
    Lorenzo filled Guid'Antonio in:
    “My agent in Forli sent word last week Sinibaldo Ordelaffi is dangerously ill. Last February, Sinibaldo's father died, leaving Sinibaldo the new lord of Forli, and him a sickly boy. I've written Sinibaldo's mother a letter of caution. If Sinibaldo dies of this fever, Girolamo and his uncle will make a grab for the town. Take it, and Girolamo will have both feet firmly planted on our northern border—” He paused as a rush of footsteps approached the apartment's closed doors.
    Guid'Antonio's gaze fastened on the unbolted latch. “Lorenzo,” he said, “are you expecting anyone?”
    “No!”
    They sprang up, hands flying to their daggers, eyes locked on the sole entrance to the chamber. Leporarius stood, growling, his fur spiked along the thin ridge of his back.
    Let Satan himself burst in upon us
, Guid'Antonio silently swore as the doors blew open,
and this time I will plunge my blade hiltdeep into his throat and watch his blood stain the floor.

S IX
    A boy burst into the apartment, all ruddy cheeks and blow-about hair. “Lorenzo!” With that gusty cry, Giovanni de' Medici darted, laughing, toward his startled father. Guid'Antonio blew out a shivery sigh; smoothly, he and Lorenzo sheathed their daggers, glancing ruefully at one another.
    Short and thickset, Giovanni de' Medici moved ploddingly. Lorenzo lifted the snub-nosed, roundly built five-year-old and swung him in a circle before putting him down and administering a loving pat on the rump. Guid'Antonio's glance slid toward the hooded hearth and the two jewel encrusted jasper and gold vases jiggling on the mantelpiece; Leporarius dipped his tail and slipped out into the hall.
    “Giovanni,” Lorenzo said, smiling. “Say
‘Buon giorno’
to Guid'Antonio Vespucci.”
    The boy gazed at Guid'Antonio with squinting eyes. “Are you my father's most trusted friend?”
    “I believe I am. Yes.”
    “My father says so, too.
Buon giorno, Ser Vespucci
.” Giovanni trotted to the sideboard and, reaching up a chubby hand, grabbed a thick slice of herbed rosemary bread.
    “Giovanni,” Lorenzo began, his voice exasperated. “Mind your manners, please. In Guid'Antonio's instance, the correct address is ‘Messer,’ as he is a lawyer. Only if he were a notary or ordinary tradesman would you address him as ‘Ser.’ ”
    “Mi dispiace, Messer Vespucci,”
Giovanni managed contritely around a mouthful of bread. Crumbs littered the front of his linen shirt.
    Giovanni's tall, well-muscled father looked towards Guid'Antonio and glanced at the ceiling, as if seeking guidance from heaven. The smile on Guid'Antonio's lips faded a bit. Where was
his
Giovanni at this moment? Napping? Playing with—what would his son play with? He had no idea.
    Following as it did in Giovanni's boisterous wake, Bianca de' Medici's footstep on the threshold sounded barely audible. Guid'Antonio checked when he saw Lorenzo's sister and saw the sudden heat burn high in her face. No wonder! Bianca de' Medici suffered the spectacularly grievous misfortune of having married Guglielmo de' Pazzi, whose mad brother, Francesco, had butchered Giuliano. For his sister's husband, in the aftermath of the Pazzi Conspiracy, Lorenzo had chosen