birth again,” he tells us. “Despite what they said about me, I was always loyal.”
I choke a little on my wine. Emilia and Lysander look confused. They weren’t in Venice the day he was driven out of the city in disgrace, his machinations for the Duke of Milan exposed.
“I was honored when Massimo’s representatives contacted me. Now the Doge is taking a …” He pauses. “As he is resting, I will do all I can to ensure the city is safe from the heathens who threaten our shores.”
He bursts out laughing, the sound transforming into a hacking cough. We all wait in silence for the fit to end. Even Father looks a little discomfited. I see now that the challenges facing the Doge in his route back to power will be almost insurmountable. Too many are ranged against him.
Finally, Vincenzo draws a deep, ragged breath and continues as though he has not just made a fool of himself. “Of course, now that I’m here I can find out who was behind the trumped-up charges that saw me thrown out. I blame this conniving Segreta that everyone’s talking about. Only a gaggle of women could concoct such a monstrous lie, wouldn’t you agree?” He sends a long, meaningful glance around the table, his eyes landing at last on me.
“Quite so, Vincenzo,” my father agrees, bowing his head. “They’ll be ferretted out soon.”
“I hear they do good too.” Shy, gentle Emilia is standing up to this monster. “Haven’t you heard about the charitable homes for destitute women? Rumor has it that they’re funded by the Segreta.”
Vincenzo shakes his head dismissively and raises a soupspoon to his lips, slurping noisily. “Destitute women! What do we care for them? Throw them in the canals!”
“My sister died of drowning in a canal,” I say. “Surely you remember; after all, you were once engaged to be married to her.”
“Laura!” mutters my father.
“I’m sorry,” Vincenzo says, his eyes darting around the table as he realizes his mistake. “That was clumsy of me.”
Father nods his head. “No matter,” he says quietly.
Lysander is glaring at Vincenzo, anger narrowing his eyes. He turns to Emilia.
“I wouldn’t talk about the Segreta,” he advises her. “You know so little of Venice.”
Emilia’s face colors, and she suddenly stands up from her place at the table. “Please excuse me,” she says. As the dining room doors close behind her, I feel certain I can hear a muffled sob.
I stare at my brother. What’s wrong with you? I say with my eyes. I think of following Emilia, but I sense that she needs some time alone.
Dinner proceeds with dull conversation about shipping taxes. The bowls are taken away and the second course fetched in.
“Allegreza is close to cracking, I’ve heard,” my father says, suddenly shifting the subject back to the Segreta. “She’ll soon spill the names of her gaggle of harridans.”
At this, my spine straightens. As gently as possible, I lower my cutlery beside my plate.
Vincenzo shovels veal into his mouth as he talks. “The Bear knows how to get answers.”
“How can you talk of torture over dinner?” I say, my voice coming out high and strangled.
“Laura’s right,” says Lysander.
Vincenzo wheezes with laughter again, and taps his knife against his empty wineglass. A servant scurries to refill it. He stares at me, eyebrows raised in amusement, as though inspecting a fool. “We must do whatever it takes to keep our city safe.”
His hand disappears beneath the table and grips my thigh. I push him off, resisting the urge to call him a lecherous traitor. Father at least has the decency to look uncomfortable and clears his throat.
“And do you have a wife in your new home?” he asks.
Vincenzo rolls his eyes. “No wife, only lonely nights.” He rubs his hands together, looking from Father to me and back again. “But who knows what could happen now. Back in Venice, a return to power, happily ensconced in my rightful place. A new bride by my side?” He grins at me. A servant dips between our bodies to clear the plates, but when she steps away, Vincenzo’s leering smile is still there, waiting for my reply.
“I wish you good luck in finding a willing bride,” I say coldly. “My father will have told you that I’m engaged, I’m sure.”
“Indeed,” says Vincenzo, looking uncertainly at my father. “Engaged to a …”
There’s a cough in the doorway and when I look up, Emilia is standing there.
“Laura, could you come and help? There’s a moss stitch that I just can’t