CHAPTER 28 #2
It was also last year that Sforza finally rose to the position of the true "Lord of Milan," though he had effectively controlled the country for many years already.
He revived the economy and education, courted the nobility and artists, but at his core, he was still a despotic, volatile hypocrite.
His mercenary father had taught him many things—such as that looting was an effective way to get things done, and that violence could make people learn to keep their mouths shut.
He also believed that women were merely playthings.
From the very beginning, Sforza had seen her as nothing more than a pawn for marriage negotiations.
But this pawn had not only masterminded several wars, held weapons of surprisingly destructive power, and allied with his former mercenaries to seize the entire Papal States, but had also transformed into the queen of this new nation.
She knew she had been underestimated, and in a way, she was thankful for it.
"They want you to choose the location for the meeting and discuss some basic cooperation matters," Niccolo said, carefully considering his words as he handed her the official document.
"Perhaps that sounds more gentlemanly? But also, please note that Milan's trade status has been steadily declining.
Since you removed all industries from Milan, they've lost almost all their pigment orders. "
Meanwhile, Florence's dairy products and fabrics had become popular, best-selling commodities.
"The lord of Naples has used more moderate language, expressing a wish to offer a toast to you at a ball or feast," Niccolo said, a mocking smile curling his lips. "But at the same time, he wants to discuss border defense issues—he thinks you've stationed your army too close to the border."
Hedy placed the letter aside, resting her hand on her swollen belly. "As for the ball, I'll pass. I don't need to kneel to anyone."
She studied Niccolo's expression, a faint smile in her voice. "It seems you don't like Naples much?"
"Mr. Da Vinci taught me..." Niccolo muttered. "It's just another Genoa, nothing special."
Hedy then remembered the presence of a certain scribe, smiling as she waved her hand. "Leonardo, my dear Leonardo, tell me about this country."
Leonardo put down his pen and sat beside her, gently massaging her swollen legs.
"Nothing worth mentioning," he said coldly. "Just a political toy."
When discussing matters unrelated to Hedy, he seemed to shift from his youthful innocence to a more mature, unshakable figure.
Two thousand years ago, it was called Palaiopolis.
The Romans flattened it, and the Byzantines took it over.
And up until fifty years ago, it was still under the rule of the French Angevin family.
Joanna II, with the support of the Kingdom of Aragon, rebelled during a time of instability within the Angevin family and declared independence, creating a small state.
However, this lord did not intend to fulfill the promises made earlier. As a result, after her death, the King of Aragon took control again, and upon his death, passed the position to his illegitimate son, Ferdinand I.
"What kind of person is he?" Hedy relaxed, even feeling drowsy from the gentle massage.
He couldn't be worse than Sforza.
"A tyrant," Niccolo said, his expression complicated as he glanced at the ever-changing teacher. "His latest hobby is throwing people he dislikes to the crocodiles—apparently, he keeps them in the pond in his garden."
Hedy spoke slowly, her voice calm. "These two are coming to meet me, and neither of you is nervous?"
"Only if they are sufficiently respectful and obedient," Leonardo said calmly. "Italy is never short of guests."
"My teacher is like a lion, guarding you," Niccolo winked. "I don't think there's anything to worry about."
Hedy slowly sat up, leaning on his hand, taking her time before making her decision.
"Letting wolves into the house is the best way to catch them," her voice was cold yet gentle, as if she were merely discussing the weather. "It's fine to meet them."
The two lords received the invitation in turn, bringing their grand entourages with them.
Sforza had not expected the roads in this country to be repaired so quickly—and so wide and smooth.
As his carriage entered the main road, he noticed the bumps gradually easing, and he made sure to tell his servants that, when he returned home, they should construct several more roads like this one.
He soon arrived in Florence and was greeted with a warm and enthusiastic reception.
What a ridiculous thing, he thought.
One of the welcoming faces was a former painter of his— the one who had only completed half of the double-spiral staircase and had to tear it down and rebuild it after those years of neglect.
The other was a former fiancée—his wife, who had always been jealous and venomous. Over the years, she had grown so ugly that it was hard to even look at her.
The Old Palace had been renovated, and the atmosphere now exuded peace and joy.
Sforza noticed that even the carpets and furnishings had become much more luxurious.
The Medici family, with their vast banking, dairy, and pigment industries, now had everything. Even his own maid wore fabrics bought in Florence, known for being both light and inexpensive. It seemed they were living in an era of unimaginable wealth.
As the gates opened, he finally entered the office, where he saw a man and a woman standing and sitting.
"Sforza," the woman said, looking both regal and calm, her voice carrying a hint of authority. "Long time no see."
The man smiled, and his demeanor was completely different from before. He looked handsome and elegant, as if he too were of noble birth.
The Lord of Milan squinted his eyes and made a proper bow.
"Long time no see."
——
Sforza never expected that this woman could be so unyielding when it came to business.
She appeared gentle and graceful, seemingly without threat, sitting like a true noblewoman, yet her words left no room for compromise. She was nothing like the friendly, approachable image she projected.
— It was truly unbelievable that such a woman had once been reduced to serving as Da Vinci’s maid, only to be sought out and brought back by the Medici.
Sforza watched her with a cold gaze, her polite and respectful demeanor only added to his frustration. The list of matters he had hoped to discuss along the way seemed to shrink, leaving him more anxious and irritable.
If Lorenzo, that old cripple, were still here—at least he would have been able to gain some benefits! He wouldn’t have been this passive!
“Well then, I won’t disturb Your Majesty’s rest,” he said as he stood, his words mechanical and without emotion, as if repeating a ritual: “I wish you pleasant dreams.”
After returning to his bedroom, Sforza first confirmed that all those in the neighboring rooms were his subordinates, and that his guards were stationed in the corridor. He then signaled for his attendant Orlando to come and speak.
The room was spacious and comfortable, furnished with the finest materials, from the carpets to the bed linens. Though the windows were not large, the air inside remained fresh and cool due to the four ventilation shafts.
As soon as Orlando saw Sforza’s anxious expression, he immediately understood that the business discussion that evening had not gone well.
“My lord,” he saluted, “what would you have me do now?”
“We must get rid of this woman—she must be removed,” Sforza said, pacing back and forth like a nervous, alert squirrel in the autumn. “If she keeps acting like this, the nobles of Milan will eventually demand that I give up my flesh and blood!”
He had worked so hard to build his business to this scale, only for an Italian empire to barge in and steal nearly seventy percent of his orders, and at prices that were damned cheap.
Now, with things at this point, she still dismissively refused to budge—how did this third-rate woman become an empress? !
“Then...” Orlando made a gesture across his throat. “Like this?”
“No.” Sforza shook his head decisively. “Can’t you see? When she holds a meeting, there are layers upon layers of people around her. After she rests for the night, there will be even more around her.”
“Poison?” Orlando pulled out a small glass vial from his inner pocket. “As long as this gets into her bloodstream, she’ll drop dead that very night.”
Sforza's eyes immediately lit up.
“Right, poison,” he swallowed hard. “We can’t use something that can be easily countered. If we’re doing it, we must do it decisively.”
“Listen, Orlando,” Sforza said, drawing closer and grabbing Orlando’s wrist, “From now on, you are a distant relative of the Sforza family and a famous duke in Milan.” He lowered his voice, “I’ll introduce you, you’ll shake her hand, and hidden in your fingers will be this poison needle—once it pierces her palm, you’ll truly be a duke! ”
Orlando, quite proud of himself, smiled with a touch of smugness. “I’ll do it, my lord.”
They began to discuss how to wrap things up, what lies to tell, and whether it was possible to use their small personal guard to seize the Old Palace and Florence.
What they didn’t know was that every word they said, thick with their accents, was carried through the ventilation pipes to the listening area upstairs.
Hedy, lying on her pillow and feeling drowsy, yawned after reading the record.
“A hand kiss? This was his brilliant idea?”
“Tomorrow, we’ll take him alive.” Niccolo chuckled. “It should be quite awkward.”
When they had refurbished the Doge’s Palace, they had already taken careful measures in the rooms nearby. The carpets were quite thin to reduce sound absorption and enhance the reflection of sound off the four walls.
The ventilation pipes themselves were coated with a special layer, strategically placed.
The occupants didn’t even notice them, only feeling that the room was cool and airy.