She just nodded and squeezed his hand. “Okay. Which way should we go back?”

Ben let out the breath he was holding. He knew he wasn’t overreacting, but he’d been afraid that Dez would think so. He let her hand go, reaching back into his pocket to grasp the knife. “Down here. I checked it out last week.”

She smirked and tugged the cap lower on her head. “Lead the way.”

Residenza di Spada

“And he hadn’t seen him before?” Beatrice questioned Dez as they stood in the enormous walk-in closet in the guest room where Beatrice kept her wardrobe. She had acquired more clothes in the past month than she had in the previous three years, thanks to Dez’s shopping habits, her suddenly active social calendar, and Giovanni’s habit of losing his patience with buttons and zippers when the mood struck.

“No, he drew a pretty good sketch, though. He gave it to Matt as soon as he got home. Matt, Gio, and Ben are talking in the library right now.”

Beatrice sighed and glanced longingly toward the door.

“Nope, not on your life. You have to figure something out to wear to this party next week, and if you’re serious about not wearing that... grand occasion of a dress that Livia sent, then you better stay here.” Dez pointed toward the magnificent Renaissance era gown that Livia had sent by uniformed courier the day before. It was a sixteenth century style, rich with priceless fabric and stunning detail. The wine-colored brocade would set off Beatrice’s pale, luminous complexion. The gold cording around the collar would make her brown eyes and hair glow. It was stunning.

“It has a hoop skirt. Are you kidding me?”

“Technically, it’s called a...” Dez looked over to the laptop on the desk. “Farthingale.”

“Well, farthingale or hoop skirt, I’m not wearing this thing. It’s ridiculous.”

Dez grinned. “The corset’s kind of hot, though.”

Beatrice gave her most ladylike snort. “Okay, I’ll wear the corset with a nice pair of black jeans and some kick-ass boots.”

“Have you seen what Gio’s wearing? Is it tights? Please tell me it’s tights.”

“Should it weird me out that you want to ogle my husband’s ass in a pair of tights?”

Dez just shook her head. “Not appreciating that ass would be like walking through the Sistine Chapel and not looking up. No, really, what’s he wearing?”

Beatrice laughed. “It’s pretty simple. She probably knew she couldn’t get away with anything too elaborate. And no tights. There are these kind of fitted leggings, but they go just above his knee. The jacket looks similar to mine, but plainer. Mostly, he was grumbling because she’s doing this whole party in his honor. She has this party every year, but usually people just dress up in whatever costumes they want. Livia made it a Renaissance theme for Gio.”

Dez stood, blinking at her. “There are some serious issues going on there, B.”

“You’re not joking. And his outfit is right here. Take a look.”

Dez unzipped the garment bag that contained the sleeveless leather jerkin and black leggings that Giovanni would wear to the party.

“Okay, not gonna lie, that’s kind of hot.”

“It’s going to be really hot. This party is outdoors in June. Thank goodness it’s at night.”

“Haha. Seriously, that leather...”

“I’m definitely not complaining about the leather. So, what am I going to wear to this? You think I can I get away with wearing my Docs?”

Dez laughed for a few minutes before she looked back at Giovanni’s clothes. Then she looked at Beatrice’s dress, then back to Giovanni’s. She narrowed her eyes and smiled.

“No Docs, Beatrice De Novo di Spada Vecchio whatever the heck your name is now. But I may have an idea.”

Chapter Eight

Crotone, Italy

1497

The lash struck again, and Jacopo could feel it cut into his flesh. Still, he did not cry out, steeling himself against the pain that had become part of his daily life. His flesh, though dripping and bloody, would be healed shortly. Andros always made sure to preserve the perfect body he had created by healing him with his demon blood.

“Good. You are no longer even flinching.”

Jacopo made the mistake of letting his shoulders relax slightly, only to be struck on the back of the thighs with Andros’s staff. He grunted and his knees buckled, but he did not cry out.

“Cato may have been a Roman, but he was correct in one thing: The first virtue is to restrain the tongue. Do you know why, my son? You may speak now.”

Jacopo took a deep breath and flexed his arms and shoulders. He could feel Paulo wiping at the blood on his back so Andros could heal the open wounds. The muscles, unfortunately, could not be as easily mended and would ache for days.

“Why is silence the first virtue, Father?”

“Because words can be twisted. And they should be. I will teach you how. Words are to manipulate and fool, but when you hand them to your enemies, they will be used against you. Your Bible may not be worth much, but Solomon did speak some wisdom. ‘Even a fool is counted wise when he holds his tongue.’”

“Yes, Father.”

He felt the cool lick of Andros’s blood as he pierced his finger and began to seal the lashes. Giovanni could feel the strange tingling sensation of the wounds closing.

“Nothing will inflame your enemies more than your silence. Give them nothing. Nothing to accuse you with. Nothing to condemn you. Let your actions speak for themselves. Never talk to an enemy, but listen always.”