Chapter 12
Capitolo Dodici
The double doors burst open, and out spilled the entire Luni famiglia.
Signor Luni and his wife, Marco, and Fortuna, all dressed in yards of fabric.
Sumptuous velvet, embroidered hems and cuffs and necklines.
Ruffled collars, puffed sleeves, polished shoes.
They looked expensive, fit for a painting.
“We heard voices,” Signora Luni exclaimed. “We’ve been waiting.”
“Hours,” Marco said. Like his brother’s, his hair was black and reached his shoulders.
But where Saturnino was lean and lithe, Marco was built to carry a sword or a lance.
He was broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, and while he wasn’t tall, his presence was imposing.
“The food is on the table and getting cold. You know how much I hate that, Saturnino.”
“I bumped into our resident artist,” Saturnino said, shifting away from Ravenna. He had been standing to keep her from their view but now he let them take her in. The borrowed gown and shoes, the exasperated look on her face.
“Get inside,” Marco barked.
She blinked in surprise.
“Now,” Marco snapped.
“He’s a bit of a brute,” Saturnino said in an undertone. “Been like that since I’ve known him. Absolutely no manners, and I can’t conceivably rely on him for anything.”
“Miserabili pezzi di merda,” Marco muttered, rubbing his brow. “Not before I’ve had my posca, per favore.” Then he turned away and stomped inside the dining room.
“Actually, I suppose I was being ungracious. He has exceptional hearing,” Saturnino said in a thoughtful tone. “So he does have some use.”
“I’m starving,” Signor Luni said, following his youngest son into the dining room.
His wife trailed after him, saying, “No, don’t serve yourself yet, Marco. Not until we’re all seated. How many times…” Her voice faded.
Saturnino left her with Fortuna, who regarded her coolly as Ravenna stood in place. “My brother seems quite taken with you.”
“Does he?” Ravenna asked dully. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“What a curious creature you are,” Fortuna remarked, shaking her head. “He is the most sought-out bachelor in Florence, anyone else would go down on their knees in gratitude.”
Ravenna gave her a pointed look. “And do any of those people know he’s a murderer?”
Fortuna lifted her arm, in a gesture so like the night before it made Ravenna blink. “Of course they do,” she murmured. “How do you think he earned the knighthood?”
Ravenna could only stare at her.
“An enemy of us or the Medici is an enemy of the republic,” Fortuna explained. “And Saturnino is Florence’s greatest defender.”
Ravenna stared at Fortuna in sudden elation. Saturnino’s sister, of all people, had given her an idea for how to secure a meeting with Lorenzo de’ Medici. “Is he really.”
“Yes.” Fortuna glanced at her, then glanced at her again, her lips flattening. “I don’t care for the smile on your face. Too many teeth.” Fortuna squinted at her. “What thoughts are filling that strange mind of yours?”
Before Ravenna could reply, a pair of servants ushered them into the dining room.
Her gaze alighted on the seated Luni family.
They were each beautiful in their own way, and they were all turned toward her, looking at her as if she were one of Lorenzo de’ Medici’s infamous caged lions.
A rare spectacle, in which the lion could do nothing but do what he was told.
Ravenna steeled herself for what was to come, holding on to her idea tightly with both hands, telling herself not to sway or give in no matter what happened next. She had power; she had something this deplorable family wanted.
She was a born negotiator. She could do this.
And if she pulled it off, Volterra might forgive her and welcome her back home.
The dining room matched the splendor of the other chambers in the palazzo.
Ornate tapestries hung from wooden beams stretching from one end of the ceiling to the other, paneled walls adorned in velvet brocade surrounded them, and under their feet, polished flagstones shone like melted chocolate.
A long table with trestle legs took up most of the room, and at the head sat Signor Luni, his chief steward, Tomasso, standing at his elbow.
Morning light spilled in from the paned windows, creating a golden and cozy effect.
The flames crackled and spat in the fireplace, a welcome warmth against the cold day.
Marco sat down next to his father and directly opposite his mother, Signora Luni, which left another two chairs that would have a conversation partner.
Ravenna would have no one across from her, not that she minded.
It would position her more as an observer, suiting her needs perfectly.
Saturnino sat next to Marco, immediately lounging in his seat; he draped an arm across the back of his chair.
His eyes were hooded, his manner lazy. It was a stark contrast to the way he had behaved the first time they all had sat around a table.
Ravenna wasn’t fooled by his change in behavior.
Her senses were on high alert where he was concerned.
“Have a seat, Ravenna,” Fortuna said, indicating the chair next to Signora Luni. It would place her directly across from Saturnino.
“I don’t—”
“Sit down,” Saturnino coaxed, as Tomasso brought a silver pitcher and a matching goblet from an elaborately carved wooden credenza. He walked around the table, fetching and filling additional goblets until everyone had something to drink in front of them.
Ravenna awkwardly pulled out the chair. It was heavy and bulky, upholstered in a dark red fabric.
Lung, thought Ravenna. It loudly scraped against the floor while everyone watched her.
Hot embarrassment burned across her cheeks.
If her family had been here, Papà or Antonio would have assisted her.
She sat down—but now she had to lean forward to yank the beastly chair toward the table.
Scrape, scrape, scraaaaape.
“Tomasso would have helped you,” Marco said, when she was finally comfortable.
“That would have been nice,” Ravenna said sweetly.
Saturnino lifted his goblet and studied her over the rim.
The warmth in his gaze felt like a caress.
It was so wholly unexpected that she fumbled with the utensil next to her plate as an unwanted flash of heat flooded her cheeks.
She took a breath, and vowed to ignore the confusing, exasperating, and thoroughly irritating immortal seated across from her.
She glanced into her glass to find it was filled with wine; the deep, rich color told her that it had not been diluted.
“Trebbiano,” Saturnino explained. “Our favorite.”
Four servants carried various-sized platters into the dining room and placed them around the table, and Ravenna’s stomach rumbled.
Fish, caught that morning in the Arno River, made into a frittata, garnished with a generous sprinkle of fresh herbs: dill, parsley, basil.
Ricotta served with a drizzle of olive oil and fennel; baskets of yeasty bread, warm from the oven.
Four plates of olives imported from Spain, and bowls of sugared fruit covered in gilded leaves.
Ravenna had not touched the tray of food brought to her last night after she’d settled in her bedroom, and her stomach gave another loud grumble.
“You see,” Marco said, pointing at Ravenna with a gleaming fork. “I’m not the only one hungry.”
They all laughed at her as Tomasso brought silver plates over from the credenza, serving the head of the family first, then his wife, followed by Marco and Fortuna. Ravenna pointed to what she wanted and Tomasso indicated to another maid to fill her plate.
The steward served Saturnino last.
Ravenna’s own family didn’t stand on ceremony but even she knew the heir ought to be served first. She glanced at Saturnino, and he seemed to intuit her question.
“My efforts aren’t always appreciated by the others,” he said wryly. “I am served last so that I can always remember my place.” He held up his goblet in a salute. “The least favorite.”
“If you didn’t consistently try to undermine all of us then we wouldn’t have any issues,” Fortuna said in an icy tone.
Ravenna glanced at Saturnino. “What has he done?”
“He’s refused to marry,” Signora Luni said.
“Disappears without word for weeks at a time, without so much as a farewell,” Signor Luni added dryly. “Offers patronage to whomever he likes, without thought on how it reflects on the family.”
“Has forced us into alliances, blackmailed us into funding a variety of pet projects,” Marco growled.
Ravenna raised her brows at Saturnino, expecting one of his stony expressions, and ready with an icy putdown.
But Saturnino merely raked a slice of bread through the ricotta and olive oil. His tone was no less mercurial, but there was a subtle mischievous quality that surprised her. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Fun?
Ravenna didn’t believe him capable of such a thing.
“My darlings,” Signora Luni chided, glancing meaningfully at Ravenna. “We have company. Please try to be the mannerly and courteous adults that I expect you to be.”
“Of course, Mother,” Saturnino said.
Ravenna would never dream of addressing her mother so irreverently, but evidently that was a matter of course with Saturnino and no one blinked an eye.
They all turned their attention to the food, and the sounds of silverware clinking filled the room.
Ravenna glanced from left to right, waiting for someone to lead them in saying grace.
Perhaps they’d forgotten? When it became clear no such prayer was forthcoming, Ravenna dipped her chin and said a quick one under her breath.
She took her first bite of the frittata, and nearly let out a little moan.