Chapter Text
Florence
1443
Benjamin Solatti was doing a lot of things, but listening wasn't one of them.
He flipped over a stained sheet of parchment, both sides of it defiled by Giorgio Pagni's barely legible scrawl, and squinted. The fading afternoon light that filtered through the window above his desk illuminated the Locksmiths Guild's lax attempt at bookkeeping.
The man to his left, sprawled far too comfortably in a chair, scoffed. "Did you hear a word I just said?"
"Of course."
"Then you'll do it?"
Whatever it was, Ben didn't have much of a choice. His lawyer loved to phrase demands as requests. And considering who they both worked for, demands were plentiful.
Ben accepted a refilled cup from a servant who sank back into the growing shadows with a bow. "Yes, I'll do it."
"It's only for a fortnight or so, just to finalize everything. Build connections." Sergio shrugged, a heap of ochre velvet given temporary life. "You know."
Anything to serve the family. Not Ben's, of course, but the Medici—the family that ruled Florence, filling its coffers and lining his own pockets in the process. Because he had a singular, indispensable talent for entangling merchants in a ruthless web of obligation and reward.
Ben waved off a platter of dripping honeycomb, sliced figs, and toasted hazelnuts.
"It's been almost a year. They can't avoid it any longer." Sergio rubbed his hands together, rings clinking, and plucked a honeyed fig from the plate without so much as a glance at the person who bore it. "Just sign and seal a few things, come back, and we'll be done with it."
The mess in Venice. He should've known.
"And you will be generously rewarded," Sergio added around a sloppy mouthful of fruit.
"I don't need more money." It was true. Ben no longer tasted the wine he held or noticed the plump silk pillows crushed behind him in the chair.
"Not just money."
He glanced up to meet Sergio's fox-like grin, the teeth too sharp and lips too red. Ben kept his face carefully blank, even as he hoped.
"Castelletti."
And there it was. Just hearing the place's name was enough to set his heart racing. As things stood, with only the palazzo in town he currently brooded in, the flow of capital was tilted heavily in his favor. Ruin followed overextension and ambition; he'd seen it countless times.
Ben drained his cup before returning to the guild's ledger. "I have no use for a pile of rubble."
"The villa itself is not so bad. And besides, it is your pile of rubble. Cosimo knows that. If all sons were punished for the foolish sins of their fathers, where would we be?" Sergio chewed noisily until Ben turned to frown at him. "And think of it. Your mother could be comfortable again. She could stop running around with those Albizzi dogs."
"My mother is none of your concern."
Sergio tipped his head in what might be, on anybody else, deference. "As you say."
On the street below, a cart rattled past. Prompt obedience was the only real option, but Ben afforded himself the indulgence of a pause, as if deliberating. Then he re-wetted the quill and hunched over his work.
"I'll leave at first light."
Republic of Venice
The early morning hours were her favorite.
Drunkards stopped leering and groping long enough to stumble home, or else become the snoring hills in alleyways that Rey carefully picked her way around. The few people she passed transformed from sleepless criminals to ordinary sinners simply because it was no longer very late, but very early. As the sky lightened, the city absolved itself, virtue intact. She'd been bent over by enough bakers to know they had the same needs as any sailor fresh from the docks, but it was hard to argue that they didn't have a certain air of wholesome respectability that nocturnal creatures such as herself lacked. Especially as the comforting scent of bread floated on the sea breeze, tantalizing and too expensive after a slow night.
Rey kept her head down as she hurried home, pulling her threadbare shawl tighter around her. The front door was an easy enough choice, but too loud. Ursicio would bellow and make her dump her purse on the table, counting out coins and taking most of them for rent with a reeking curse.
So she slipped in through the side door. Up an unlit stair was her cramped room, shared with Veronica. Well-oiled hinges swung open to reveal her one refuge in the world. A hopeful face peered back at her.
"How did you fare?"
Rey shot the young woman a sharp glare, making Veronica's cheeks turn a fetching pink. Men would gladly part with their money to be the one making her flush like that, if she ever again bothered to hoist her skirts for anyone but her favorite client. Although "client" was an overly generous term, considering the work was unpaid.
"I think the question is how you did," Rey said.
A cascade of sable waves tumbled over Veronica's shoulder as she sat up in bed. Bracing for the usual excuses, Rey hastily untied the lacing on her bodice so she would have something to do with her hands that wasn't throttling her friend.
"It's just that Lorenzo wanted to visit the card tables. And we won!" Veronica's happy, wine-tinted smile fell. "For a while."
That explained the waft of grappa, so much stronger than the finer vintage underneath. And permeating all of that was the dried hyssop that Lorenzo stuffed into his pillows to ward off nightmares. Although she suspected Veronica was far more effective in helping him sleep soundly.
Shaking her head, Rey doused a clean rag with fresh water and started wiping at the inside of her thighs. This nonsense had been going on for months, and now they were so far behind on rent that she expected to return any morning to a stranger in her bed and her few possessions at the bottom of a canal.
"Lorenzo needs to pay you," Rey said.
"He will. There's a ship docking in a sennight."
Exhaustion softened Rey's anger, making her too tired to lash out. Veronica wasn't naive—that wasn't an option for them—but she was certain in a way Rey had given up on long ago. She was still so sure good things wouldn't run dry, and that abundance was on the other side of the next dawn.
"Can I comb your hair?" Veronica offered quietly by way of apology.
With wordless acceptance, Rey sank to the straw mattress beside her. As the wooden comb's teeth picked carefully at tangles left by the wind and careless, hurried men, Rey let her mind wander. To live and struggle in the shadow of so much prosperity seemed a cruel misfortune. There were other options, ones she had taken when she was younger: sifting through slimy refuse for things to sell or use, or snipping a few purses on the Rialto. Rey wasn't above returning to her old ways if things got desperate enough. But the appetites of Venice were vast, and she found it easier to feed them than to fight for her own tiny piece. Besides, the marks on her neck from overeager mouths faded, but the punishment for a captured thief was far more permanent.
"It will all work out," Veronica soothed, as she always did, and the tight knot in the pit of Rey's stomach loosened enough to allow for sleep. "It's just the tides. Don't worry."