Marco dei Luni
Marco tugged the woman down one of the footpaths in the garden, careful to keep them both out of sight.
Normally, he wouldn’t bother, but he didn’t want anyone at the banquet to stumble across him fucking a servant.
His brother would have something to say about it, that was certain. Saturnino always had something to say.
And everyone listened to him; that was the problem.
The familiar burn of anger sparked in his chest. In the early years, he had tried with Saturnino, he had really tried.
Looking back at his attempts made him cringe with embarrassment, an all-too-disgusting human emotion he couldn’t stand.
And Saturnino knew every one of his weaknesses, had always found him absurd and lacking.
It gnawed at him like nothing else. No one made him angrier, no one made him feel at his worst like Saturnino did.
He would never forgive him for it.
“Marco,” the servant breathed against his shoulder as he tucked her behind a large topiary.
She was a pretty thing, and he enjoyed their trysts.
It was the only reason why he kept coming back to her bed.
An unexpected, errant thought crossed his mind as he lifted her skirts.
Did she possibly think there was more to them than what they did in bed?
It was the first time he almost felt compelled to ask.
Almost, but not quite.
“I couldn’t be with anyone but you,” she murmured. “You’re the handsome brother.”
A surge of pride expanded in his chest. He brushed his fingers across her collarbones, dragged them down to push the collar of her gown down, revealing the swells of her breasts.
“I don’t understand why your family overlooks you,” she whispered. “Why do they dismiss your ideas when the city is starting to feel dangerous?”
Marco paused, narrowing his eyes down at her, seemingly seeing her for the first time. “You have nothing to fear. We will protect the city.”
She lifted her hand, cupped the smooth curve of his cheek. “You’ll protect me?”
“Yes,” he grunted, resuming his fervent exploration of her body.
“What would I do without you? I’ve been so scared,” she insisted, dropping her voice to an anguished whisper. “I haven’t even been able to go to church, but Easter is in two days. Will it be safe to go?”
Once more, her question distracted him from the task at hand. “Of course it will be, all of Florence will attend. Now is not the time to cower in our homes. Go to the service; I will be there, the Medici will be there.”
She lifted the hem of her gown to give him better access. “Lorenzo de’ Medici will be attending church?”
“Yes, yes,” he said distractedly, his fingers fumbling at the laces of his trousers. “Him and his brother.”
“And you will keep them both safe,” she murmured, caressing both his arms as he lifted her high against him. She let out a little gasp at the hard feel of him. “You are utterly wasted in the Luni famiglia.”
Her words reached him through the haze of his lust. “I know, it’s absurd.”
“I know of others who could only dream of having you at their side,” she whispered against the shell of his ear. “Others who would appreciate your talents.”
Marco grunted as she grasped him. He was tired of talking, tired of thinking.
He wrapped her legs around his waist, ankles at his lower back, and slid into her.
She gasped, clutching his shoulders. Her fingernails dug into the sleeves of his tunic.
He lost himself in the feel of her, taking her quick and rough.
The minutes ticked by, but he barely noticed.
The banquet, the jealousy he felt for his brother, the sound of the music, it all dimmed as he pursued his pleasure.
“Say my name,” she whispered against his mouth. “Just this once.”
“Imelda,” he grunted as he found his release.
She threw her head back and pretended to find her own.
Neither of them was aware of a shadowed presence, slim and elegantly dressed, tucked out of sight, who saw and heard it all and understood what it meant.