Chapter 89: Business, Bella

Couple days went by before Athanasia’s word came, and on the day of the scheme, Vito dressed himself like he expected to be noticed.

The mail went on first, then the wine-dark mantle, with the Lion of St. Mark worked into the cloth. It caught what little sun came through the shutters.

[Artiglio del Leone] came last, the wootz steel dark and rippled, like water caught under ice.

Here and now, inside their Little Venezia, there was no requirement for plain clothes and modesty.

Vito tightened the belt and spoke to the empty room, easy and low.

"Purveyor, today’s business. Worth a quest, would you say?"

If I minted currency for every scheme you stylish as commerce, I’d have to debase it the way Epirus debases its silver this season. Plenty of it, and hardly worth the trouble of carrying home.

Vito checked the buckle at his hip and grinned at the ceiling.

"Harsh. I liked the scheme."

I am more inclined to believe you liked the woman attached to it. I’ve made a note of which one you’re actually keeping track of.

He laughed outright. There wasn’t a sting in it.

Then he reached for the door, and stopped with his hand still on the latch.

"Fine. What about the trade itself, then? The whole venture, not just today’s little performance."

I don’t reward for walking through doors already left open.

"And a door nobody’s found yet?"

That would be worth considerably more. Find one first, and we can discuss terms.

Vito considered that, more curious than annoyed by the refusal.

"Fair enough. Which door?" 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

Some lessons cost more when I hand them over for free. Go find out.

Knuckles struck the door before he could press the matter any further, three hard raps that shook the latch in its frame.

Orso came in without waiting for an answer, dressed, for once, like he had been permitted indoors. Some plain wool had replaced the coat that had nearly burst its seams two days earlier.

He looked Vito over, mail, mantle, and all, then grunted. It might have meant approval, it might have meant suspicion. With Orso, either was equally possible.

"Look at you. All dressed up to flirt like you’re some pretty boy in a brothel."

"I contain multitudes, amico."

"You contain a headache. Mine, mostly."

Orso folded his arms. "So what am I supposed to do? Stand behind your chair looking dangerous, or is there work in it somewhere?"

"A few tables off. Watch the room, not the conversation."

Vito gave the sword one last tug to settle it against his hip. "If some bodyguards starts to make noise, you can look unhappy about it. Otherwise, drink the wine and enjoy yourself."

"That much I can manage."

Orso’s grin slowly returned, pleased with itself. "First voyage away from your moglie, and you’re already after some woman before we’ve spent a month at sea. Bepi warned me you’d be trouble the moment your boots hit dry land."

"Trouble implies I’m doing wrong, amico. I call it good business."

"Ah, naturally. That’s what you call it."

Vito spread both hands. "Some trade contact in Cyprus and the Levant, bought with one afternoon of fake jealousy. Caterina would make the bargain herself, pat me on the back, tie a bow in my hair, and send me off like a gift."

"Would she now."

He clicked his tongue. "She’d be far angrier if I turned down a contact that valuable over a sentiment this cheap. The theater itself wouldn’t bother her half as much."

Orso still didn’t look convinced, though he didn’t seem particularly troubled by it either.

"Very touching. Almost sounds like a plan instead of an excuse."

"It is a plan, amico. I’m simply better at admitting it than you are."

"Convenient for you."

Orso’s grin sharpened. "And if it was her doing the theater? Some Greek bastard with his hands on her, playing the jealous husband for an afternoon. You’d drink to that too?"

The answer came out in an instant.

"Cazzo, fuck no."

He said it flat and fast, no grin behind it. "I’m not that good a man, Orso. She’s mine. Not for an afternoon, nor for a season, nor for every dinar in Egypt."

Orso watched him for a moment, then gave a short nod. It was hard to say if it was due respect, approval, or amusement.

"That’s better."

He clapped Vito once on the shoulder, hard enough to rock him half a step.

"Means you’re not as far gone as Bepi thinks."

"Bepi thinks I’m mooning over her clear across a sea. He’s insufferable about it."

"He usually is."

Orso jerked his chin toward the door.

"Come on, then. Let’s go watch you make a fool of yourself for a good cause."

"Now that’s the spirit."

Vito led the way out.

The fondaco’s streets were narrow and busy at that hour, with awnings strung between the upper floors and breaking the sun into strips across the swept stone below.

Porters hauled sacks toward the warehouses and some clerks fought over accounts in a countinghouse doorway, slipping from Venetian dialect into Arabic and back again without seeming to notice they’d changed tongues.

Some boys dragged water jars twice his size toward the cistern, as he seemed to do every day since they had arrived.

Vito walked on without hurry, Orso one step behind him. The street parted open onto a low doorway beneath a painted sign swinging in the breeze.

A mermaid had been worked into it in faded blue and gold.

La Sirena

Inside, the room was wide and cool, with low couches around low tables. Cups were poured freely instead of measured out by a cautious hand.

A handful of resident merchants sat scattered about, whispering over their accounts. The room hummed with Venetian dialect, Greek, and whatever Arabic had found its way into both.

Athanasia was already there, a cup before her. Her two guards stood close enough to matter and far enough away to avoid becoming part of the conversation. The table between them was large enough that whatever she wore beneath remained mostly her own business.

She looked him over as he crossed the room, one eyebrow rising.

"You’re late."

"Fashionably late. I was having a conversation with a contact considerably less pleasant than you."

"Flattering."

She kicked the chair across from her out with one foot. "Sit. Theophylact stops here most afternoons once he’s finished with his business for the day. Predictable as the tide, that one, we won’t wait long."

Vito went straight past the chair and sat next to her, in the low couch.

"Same as we agreed before, then."

Athanasia raised a brow, but let him do as he wished. "Act shameless, flirt without a shred of restraint. If he presses you for an explanation, give him exactly the kind of name and standing a house that depends on goodwill can’t afford to insult."

"I’ve already got an idea how I mean to play it."

"Care to share?"

Vito only grinned, easy and unbothered.

"Where’s the fun in that, bella? Better you find out with everyone else."

She narrowed her eyes at him, more curious than annoyed.

"I’ll hold you to whatever it is."

"Please do."

A little more of the same passed between them, warm and pointless and thoroughly enjoyable. Neither meant it as anything but a good time while they waited.

Athanasia was midway through a complaint about a rival spice merchant’s terrible taste in wine when one of her attendants leaned down and whispered too low for him to hear. The words disappeared beneath the room’s noise before they reached him.

Athanasia’s whole posture changed before the attendant had finished.

"He’s here."

She leaned across the table toward him, close enough now that the performance had, at last, begun.