Crown Jewel (10 page)

Lazzaro sat back in his seat, arms falling to rest lightly on the arms of the chair, acting as though he owned everything he saw. His voice dripped arrogance as he said, "I am 'your grace' to you, and I would have thought the man who owned the House of Peace would recognize the Duke of Nascimbeni when he saw him. You need not concern yourself with the whereabouts of Celeste. We have other matters to discuss, you and I. Sit."

Terrified as he realized who he had treated so rudely, Pio sat. After the silence stretched on long enough to make Pio even more uncomfortable, Lazzaro finally spoke. "You are going to sell me the House of Peace."

Pio jerked in his seat, nearly shooting out of it. "Like hells—" He snapped his mouth shut, then said with only a touch more respect, "The House of Peace ain't for sale."

Acting as though he had not spoken, Lazzaro said, "Your name is Pio di Caprio and I've a long list of crimes associated with that name. Blackmail, the giving and receiving of bribes, violence, drug use … and that is only the start. Do I need to continue?" He was guessing on all of them, but from the way Pio's face darkened, he was hitting every mark. "It will be easy enough to summon the guards and have you arrested. That will then make it simple to see that when your assets are seized, the House of Peace is given to me."

Pio's mouth pinched, and Lazzaro knew he was stewing over the fact that Lazzaro was right—it would be a very easy thing for Lazzaro to exercise the full weight of his authority and relationship with the king to get exactly what he wanted. It was his for the asking and they both knew it. "So do it then," Pio finally spat.

"I would rather pay you ten thousand sovereigns, with an additional thousand to ensure you never trouble the House of Peace or anyone associated with it ever again."

"What—" Pio's eyes widened comically, before he hastily said, "Fine. Tell me where to sign."

Lazzaro almost sneered, but managed not. He had wondered if Pio even knew the true value of the House of Peace. Just the House itself, given its location, age, and condition was worth fifteen thousand sovereigns. Taken together with the people still contracted to it, the base worth of the business that came with ownership of the House …

Well, Pio should have been smarter or at least less hasty.

"The papers are being drafted," Lazzaro said. He paused as the door opened and Tula entered, followed by Lazzaro's solicitor and his preferred notary. "Here are the men I was waiting upon and now we can conduct our business." He made the introductions, explained his intentions, and after that, it was hours of writing, arguing, rewriting, and finally signing the papers.

Tucking everything away and accepting the refilled wine glass that Tula handed him, Lazzaro turned to Pio and said, "You may stay here the rest of the night, but come sunrise you will pack your belongings and leave. You will be able to fetch your money from the bank in the morning and know where to find me should you have any problems."

Pio tucked away the note granting him the promised eleven thousand sovereigns, stood, and walked off without a word. Tula, called as a witness, blew out a breath. "I don't even know what to say, your grace. Damn."

"I believe that suffices," Lazzaro said with a smile. "Thank you for all of your help, Tula. Gentlemen, I appreciate you coming so quickly and on such short notice. I am in your debt."

Chuckling, the men bid him good night and followed Tula from the room. Lazzaro began to put away the rest of the paperwork and plan out how exactly he would begin the conversation he would soon be having with Celeste. He glanced at the bed, reliving every bit of the short time they had spent together in it, before forcing his mind away from the distracting images.

He was just finishing up putting away the paperwork when Tula came bursting back into the room, looking like a terrified cat. "Your grace! A d-delivery for you!" She held out her hand, which trembled slightly.

Lazzaro felt his heart drop into his stomach as he looked as the long tail of Celeste's braid. A ribbon secured each end, and to the topmost was pinned a note, his name written on it in livid red ink. "I will take care of it," Lazzaro told Tula firmly. "Go. Calm yourself, calm the staff, keep everything under control. I will save Celeste."

"You had better," Tula said. She turned and left, door closing sharply behind her.

Unpinning the note, Lazzaro opened it and read the brief message.
Come to the Spring Blossom Teahouse. Ask for Ezio.

Lazzaro dropped the note to the table, then ran a thumb over the beautiful braid of hair. Celeste would kill the bastard who had cut it if given just half a chance. If the bastard had harmed Celeste any further than cutting his hair, Lazzaro would exercise all of his power and authority to teach him the true meaning of suffering.

Gathering up his belongings, Lazzaro pulled on his jacket and gloves, then quickly penned a note to Benito. He went downstairs and handed the note off to Tula, who came out of the parlor when she saw him. "See this is taken to Prince Benito. If you cannot reach him, give it to Princess Anastasia. Directly to them, not to any messenger."

"Yes, your grace," Tula said, and tucked the note into her corset.

Lazzaro squeezed her shoulder in reassurance, then departed. It took him only a few minutes to obtain directions and reach the Spring Blossom Teahouse. At the door, he waited until the hostess was forced to approach him. When she fluttered up to him, he said, "I am here to see Ezio."

"This way," the woman said, dropping her fluttery demeanor. She led him through the teahouse, across the garden in the back, and stopped before a boardinghouse that was two stories tall and looked as though it contained roughly twenty rooms. Pulling a key from a hidden pocket, she said, "Up the stairs, turn right, third room on the left."

He took the key without a word and walked on, moving silently up the stairs and down the hall. He tested the door when he reached it, examining the frame, the lock, the handle, the door itself; he was far too used to the tricks and traps that could be used. When all seemed well enough on this side, he slid the key into the lock and turned. After nothing further happened, he drew his sword and kicked the door open—

A dark-skinned, dark-haired, tall, handsome man looming over Celeste, who sat huddled in one corner of the mostly barren room. Beyond them, there was only a table, a small heat stove, and a pile of bedding in one corner. The floor was composed of mats made from tightly-bound reeds, firm beneath Lazzaro's feet as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "The esteemed Ezio, I presume?"

"Nascimbeni," Ezio greeted, letting go of the fistful of Celeste's hair to which he had been clinging, rising to his full height. He held a dagger in his other hand, loose and easy. His lips gleamed wetly and Lazzaro could not help but note that Celeste's did as well. What else had the bastard done to him, after cutting his hair?

He held his temper in check, but only barely. "What is this all about?"

"Men have brought requests to kill you before," Ezio said, ignoring his question. "Marco met with several men who offered to pay handsome sums to have me kill the King's pet bastard. But handsome is not good enough, with the risk involved. A pity, really, because you have killed and imprisoned several men who were fun to have around. Achille, Ovidio, Dafne, Gian. I really miss Gian."

Lazzaro frowned. He knew those names. Achille had been a cut flower who had been blackmailing a friend of his mother's—and several other people, as it turned out. He was currently in prison. Ovidio was a murderer, another cut flower that Lazzaro had killed. Dafne was the youngest daughter of the Earl of Palmiro; she had contracted the death of a girl she hated. Lazzaro had never found the killer, but by chance discovered Dafne had purchased the death. Gian … Gian was the dead brother of Guido, the Duke of Mondadori, and had been guilty of much worse than murder. Guido had never forgiven Lazzaro for revealing his brother's crimes, resulting in his imprisonment. "Marco was your handler," he said.

"Marco kept him in line," Celeste said. "It was the same when we were children. Ezio only listened to Marco and Marco did not mind the awful things Ezio did. I threw Ezio out of our little gang." He glared hatefully at Ezio. "I wish I had possessed the sense to kill you."

Ezio laughed. "You do not possess the stomach for murder, pretty. Your only talent is spreading your legs. A pity that Marco was weak to your charms; but then, he whined for a long time after you parted ways. Don't move!" he snapped, lifting his dagger as Lazzaro started toward them. "Go sit on the bed, your grace, and leave all of your weapons by the door first, including any daggers you have secreted away. I will make you strip if I think you are hiding any. Remember that there is enough space between us that no matter how fast you move, I will kill him before you reach me."

Lazzaro silently obeyed, but only because of the look Celeste gave him. Throwing his weapons to the floor, including his hidden daggers, he moved to the bedding and sat down. "So with Marco dead you finally decided to kill me?"

"The money I would get for your head is a nice bonus, your grace, but not the point. You killed Marco." Ezio said, voice almost sing-song, sending a cold chill down Lazzaro's spine. "Marco was the only one who appreciated me, who gave my talents the credit they deserved. Marco was mine—" He reached out and grabbed Celeste by the hair, jerking him to his feet. "Dead because of the cowardly little whore who walked back into his life and the worthless bastard fighting to get between his legs." He pressed the dagger to Celeste's throat. "I am torn, Nascimbeni. Do I make you watch as I kill him or make him watch—" He broke off abruptly, gasping hoarsely for air. His dagger tumbled from his finger as he scrabbled at Celeste, gripped him, shoved him into the wall. But in the next moment he went slack, leaned heavily against Celeste, and whatever he tried to say only came out a garbled mess.

Celeste shoved him away, tripping as they tangled together and landed hard on the floor, back in the corner where he had first been. Ezio tumbled face down on the floor, twitching for several seconds before he finally went still.

Lazzaro stared uncomprehending for a moment, then slowly moved to the body. Only a cursory examination was necessary to determine that Ezio was dead. Lazzaro looked at Celeste.

"Do not touch him or anything of his," Celeste said, voice flat. "I am certain at least half of all he owns is in some way tainted with his damnable poisons. He always did like them too much."

Lazzaro did not bother to point out that he was wearing gloves and several layers of clothing. Instead, he just heaved Ezio's body over so he was lying face up and took in the discoloration. "His lover was also his killer. How did you do it?"

"All whores learn poison," Celeste replied, beginning to sound weary. "We are not in ideal positions to fight back physically, should a customer get out of control. He should have remembered that, but like all of us in this sad comedy, his mind was consumed by other thoughts."

Standing, Lazzaro moved to Celeste and sat beside him. He combed a hand through Celeste's hair, mourning the loss of the long, golden tresses, but far more concerned about Celeste. "Are you all right, jewel?"

"I am alive and very tired, and would very much like not to kill anyone ever again," Celeste said, still staring at Ezio's body as though he could not look away. "He searched me, after he took me, but not very well. He believed you killed Marco in a fit of jealousy over me and thought to take the shine from the jewel of which you were so enamored, before he killed us. You arrived a bit sooner than he anticipated." His mouth twisted bitterly. "Kiss of Death, the poison is called."

"The monks called it Snake Tears," Lazzaro remarked idly, recognizing the name. "They use it in tea, in small doses, for 'meditative purposes.' I never indulged, myself."

Celeste sneered at that, as Lazzaro had known he would, but he still did not look away from the body. Lazzaro grasped Celeste's face, forced him to turn his head, and bent to kiss him—but was stopped short as Celeste turned sharply away. "The poison was on my lips. I've wiped it away, but I would not kiss me until I can clean more thoroughly and be certain it is gone."

In reply, Lazzaro just kissed his cheek, nuzzled against his hair, the soft, warm skin. "Come, jewel. We have no reason to linger here. This body can be disposed of by others. Men like him, no one asks questions. Let us go home, and tomorrow we will deal with the rest." He did not give Celeste a chance to reply, but pulled him to his feet and out of the room.

Still Celeste was too quiet, too compliant. Lazzaro stopped and abruptly swept him up, carrying him down the stairs in his arms. When they reached the bottom, Celeste hit him—hard. "Put me down this instant! Do I seem a damned invalid to you, your grace? Some frail—" He scowled as Lazzaro set him down, then struck him a second time. "Do not do that again."

"Yes, my jewel," Lazzaro replied, smiling to see Celeste revive a bit. "Shall we to home, then?" He took Celeste's hand, holding fast when him tried to pull free, and led him back across the garden and through the teahouse. He paused at the front and flagged down the hostess. "Pen and paper."

When they were brought, Lazzaro quickly penned two notes. "See this is taken to the House of Peace. See this one is taken to the royal palace and given into the hands of Prince Benito. I will be expecting replies from both, so ensure that it is done." He laid the notes on the hostess' table, along with four coins. Not waiting for her reply, he left the teahouse, Celeste at his side.