Belladonna

sixteen

The body was lifted roughly from the tin basin, carried to the edge of the platform, and dropped unceremoniously onto the hard wood. Around Cass, the crowd shouted and stomped their feet. A shrill voice pierced the dull roar: “Serves you right, vampire.”

Cass was carried forward by the mob, close enough that she could see the sweat on the faces of the other accused women. They were now on their knees begging for mercy. Their pleas were weak through their sobs, like lambs bleating before the slaughter.

Cass stared at Hortensa, at the heap of soggy satin and tangled blonde hair that had only a minute ago been a woman. She knew there was nothing she could have done, but a sense of loss still gripped her. Hortensa was gone—murdered while her husband stood by and watched—and with her went one of Cass’s chances at clearing Luca’s name.

She couldn’t bear to see any more. She turned away as the priest grabbed the second woman by the silver-laced straps that bound her wrists behind her back. Cass forced her way through the mob, swimming against the current of people still pushing toward the platform, ignoring the explosions of jeers and taunts.

Feliciana stood at the edge of the piazza.

“Are you all right?” she asked, seizing Cass by the shoulders. “I thought you were going to get trampled.”

Cass didn’t know if she was all right. She had never seen anyone executed before, and she couldn’t get the image of Hortensa out of her mind, how inhuman the woman looked with her pale limbs splaying out underneath the bunched fabric of her dress. Like a broken doll, cast aside.

“Come on.” Cass realized she was shaking. She looked around, but didn’t see Falco anywhere. He had left her. A fist clenched and unclenched in her stomach. Clearly, she had disappointed him. He didn’t know she sought only a chance to ask Hortensa why she had lied about Luca. When Cass had pushed her way toward the platform, he must have thought she wanted to watch the executions, that she believed in vampires.

She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore. She didn’t want to think she had unwittingly followed Hortensa into a party full of vampires, escaping just barely with her life. But the alternative—to believe as Falco did—meant accepting that the Church was executing people for no reason. Cass didn’t want to believe that either.

She retreated into the palazzo with Feliciana, covering her ears with her hands to block out the jeering of the crowd and the shrieks of terror from the women on trial. Some trial. If you confessed, you were executed. If you maintained your innocence, you were executed.

Inside, Madalena sat primly on a divan in the portego, sipping from a small gold-rimmed cup. “Herbal tea,” she said. “You should ask for a cup. It soothes the nerves.”

Cass had problems that were going to require more than herbal tea to fix. “I hope it soothes your temper, as well,” she told Madalena. “You didn’t need to get so angry.”

“Me? What about him? What about you?” Mada replaced her teacup in her saucer. “What can you possibly see in that peasant?”

“Probably what all women see in him,” Feliciana blurted out.

Cass twisted around to give Feliciana a severe glare. Feliciana dropped her eyes, dipped somewhat ironically into a curtsy, and retreated.

Cass inhaled and turned back to Madalena. “He isn’t usually like that,” she insisted. “He was very upset.”

Mada sniffed. “He said terrible things.”

“It’s true he does have some . . . disagreements with the Church,” Cass admitted. That was putting it mildly. She wondered what Mada would say if she knew that Cass had witnessed Falco’s gruesome nighttime activities back in Venice: the stealing and selling of corpses. “But he hardly ever loses his temper. Perhaps he’s having difficulties here in Florence.”

“Perhaps I shall make difficulties for him here in Florence,” Mada said defiantly.

Cass sighed. Madalena had been kind enough to invite her along to Florence, and Cass was squabbling with her already.

“You’re right.” Cass sat down next to Mada and reached for her hands. “He was completely inappropriate. He was wrong.” She believed the first part. Falco had been inappropriate.

“Can I get some more tea, please?” Madalena called out to no one in particular. She fussed with her top skirt. She was obviously still in a terrible mood.

“Falco did offer to wrangle us an invitation to tea with his patroness,” Cass said hopefully. “Signorina Briani? Apparently she’s very well connected.”

Madalena’s expression softened slightly. “Your Falco works for Belladonna?”

Cass furrowed her brow. “Belladonna?”

“If it’s the same woman, her name is Bella Briani, but everyone calls her Belladonna because she is so exquisitely gorgeous. She’s a legend, even in Venice. I’m surprised you never heard the name.”

The butler hurried into the room with a second teacup and a painted ceramic pot. He refilled Madalena’s cup and left the steaming pot between them.

Cass twisted the fluted edge of her cup so that her lips avoided a crack in the rim. “Just one more piece of news that never made it to San Domenico.”

Madalena’s eyes brightened. “Apparently, when Belladonna was younger, about our age, she took a fall from a horse and hit her head. Everyone thought she was dead, even the physicians. They put her body in a coffin and entombed her in a cemetery out in the country.”

Cass stared at Mada fiercely. “If this is another one of your vampire stories . . .”

“Just listen, Cass.”

Cass sipped her tea and fell silent. She’d had enough of monsters and vampires for the day, but at least Mada seemed to be cheering up.

“So there is Belladonna in a deep sleep in her coffin.” Madalena paused for emphasis. “And then comes the cemetery caretaker, who just happened to remember that the girl was buried with a collection of jeweled rings.”

Feliciana had told Cass a similar tale when she was younger: of a beautiful young woman, prematurely buried. At the time, Cass had believed her, but later she had thought Feliciana was just trying to scare her.

“So the caretaker breaks into the tomb with a machete . . .” Madalena made a slashing gesture with her arm. “He had to cut right through her finger to get at the ring. And what do you suppose happened?”

“What?” Cass asked, even though she knew what was coming.

“The girl woke up. Quite suddenly, too, if the stories are true.” Mada smiled. “Can you imagine? The caretaker thought she was a vengeful spirit. He ran off, leaving the tomb door open behind him. No one ever saw him again.”

“And Belladonna?” Cass asked.

“Rumor has it that the experience preserved her somehow. She’s perfect in every way except for the loss of her finger.”

“That’s quite a story.” Cass ran her fingers beneath the collar of her dress. The lace was beginning to itch.

“It’s real,” Mada insisted. Her face darkened again. “It’s as real as the vampires haunting this city.”

Cass looked away. Before meeting Falco, she had simply believed what others around her believed: vampires were real. The Church had the best interests of the people in mind. Murderers were executed or imprisoned. Innocent people were not.

Now all of those beliefs were being called into question. But she didn’t want to admit this to Madalena. Mada wouldn’t understand. Cass took another sip of her tea and set down the cup and saucer.

“So,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, “should I tell the peasant that you aren’t interested in having tea with this famous Belladonna? I could always go alone.” She knew this wouldn’t sit well. Madalena never missed a social function.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Madalena said, her voice sharp. “Your aunt entrusted me to look after you here in Florence and I intend to do so. You can tell your peasant friend whatever you like. I’ll simply request an invitation to meet with Belladonna through Father.”

Hooves rattled on cobblestones, and Cass rose to look out the front window. The Alioni carriage slowed to a stop. Signor Rambaldo stepped down from the compartment as though he had heard Madalena’s request and come immediately to appease her. Marco was right at his heels.

Madalena barely let the men get inside before she began cajoling her father about sending a message on their behalf.

Signor Rambaldo rubbed his graying beard. “Signorina Bella Briani, you say?”

“You’ve heard of her, Signore.” Marco sat down on the divan next to Mada, tossed his hat onto the table, and called out for some tea. “She’s supposed to be the most beautiful woman in all of Florence. Except for you two ladies, of course.” He winked at Mada.

“I’ll see what I can do, love.” Signor Rambaldo bent to kiss Madalena on the forehead. The butler appeared with additional teacups.

Mada’s dark eyes sparkled as she refilled her own cup of tea. “He’ll set it up,” she whispered to Cass proudly. “I know he will.”

As usual, when it came to his only child, Signor Rambaldo did not disappoint. The girls received an invitation to an afternoon tea with Signorina Bella Briani the very next day. Cass was secretly relieved that she didn’t have to ask Falco for a favor. The thought of being in his debt made her nervous.

She fidgeted as the Alioni’s carriage bounced and jolted through the streets of Florence. She sat on one of the compartment’s padded benches with Siena while Madalena and Eva occupied the other. The carriage cut through the vast Piazza della Signoria, the center of Florentine politics. Cass recognized several famous sculptures from her studies decorating the square’s periphery, including Michelangelo’s David and Cellini’s Perseus. She couldn’t get over how clean Florence was. No piles of trash and rotting food like on the Rialto.

Siena peeked over Cass’s shoulder out the window and giggled at the sight of a crowd of peasant women using the gigantic Fountain of Neptune as a washbasin. The carriage continued, passing several churches and smaller piazzas on its way out of the city center. The compartment jostled slightly as the horse reached the end of the stone cobbles and transferred onto a soft dirt road.

Madalena wrinkled her nose as the buildings gave way to greenery. “Why do you suppose Belladonna lives all the way out here?”

Patches of forest had cropped up on both sides of the road, absorbing some of the sound from the wobbling wheels and pounding hooves. Still, there were plenty of villas dotting the landscape. “It’s hardly remote, Mada.” Cass pointed out the window at the houses that were visible through the breaks in the trees. “Perhaps she doesn’t want to live in the center of town, where she can watch executions from her bedroom. Or perhaps she likes trees.”

The howl of a dog sounded, off in the distance, followed by a chorus of yips and barks. Mada made a face again. “Perhaps she likes wild animals.”

The carriage passed a small church, with twin bell towers framing a central dome of gold leaf and red clay shingles. It was more of a chapel, probably built for only the wealthy who lived out here past the edge of the city. Most of Florence probably attended Mass at the Duomo.

The horse slowed.

Cass hung her head out the window. “Santo cielo,” she murmured as Villa Briani came into view. She heard Siena gasp behind her.

The stone walls rose three stories in the air, the flat roof adorned with a gold-trimmed parapet. Watchtowers complete with battlements extended above the roof on two opposing corners. Wisps of ivy crawled across the entire front of the villa and framed the large arched windows.

The lawn leading up to the villa was expansive, with neatly clipped hedges framing both sides of a path of marble stepping-stones. Beyond the hedges, flowers bloomed in large terra-cotta pots, and a pair of starlings did battle in a marble birdbath. Sapling trees bowed in the gentle breeze.

This wasn’t a villa. It was a castle. Falco had mentioned that his patroness was wealthy, but this estate made Madalena’s family palazzo on the Grand Canal look like a shack. Cass was surprised Falco hadn’t gone on about his glamorous new place of work. Then again, he never seemed that taken with the trappings of nobility. She remembered how he had made himself at home in her aunt’s villa, strumming away on Agnese’s priceless harp as if it were a carved lute he’d bartered for at the market.

Madalena seemed stunned into silence. In a daze, the girls descended from the carriage and moved as one across the circular stone path to the front door. A butler dressed in brilliant red satin breeches and a blue doublet piped with silver trim opened the door before Cass could even knock. He introduced himself as Signor Mafei. The ends of his silky blond hair fell into his face as he dipped into an impressive bow. Cass always thought of butlers as senior members of the staff. She had never met one close to her own age, yet the man before her didn’t look any older than Luca.

“Bongiorno,” he said. “Signorina Caravello and Signora Cavazza, I presume? My mistress is in the garden. Please follow me.”

Once inside, Siena and Eva curtsied and immediately excused themselves. Signor Mafei ascended a circular staircase made of the same gray stone as the villa’s exterior. Cass and Madalena followed him up into a wide portego with a high vaulted ceiling. Brilliant gleaming swords and breastplates sat on marble pedestals. Statues of Roman goddesses stood in each corner of the room. Cass recognized Minerva, Diana, Juno, and Venus. Vibrant portraits covered all four walls, most depicting a raven-haired woman who looked slightly older than Cass. The woman had porcelain skin and jet-black hair that dangled scandalously past her shoulders in wide curls. She looked almost feral, with cat-shaped eyes and pouting, predatory lips. Cass wondered if it was Belladonna’s daughter. Falco had not mentioned that his patroness had children.

Her stomach tightened as she stared at the paintings. Had this breathtaking girl factored into Falco’s decision to move to Florence?

No. That was crazy. These paintings weren’t even his work. She could tell from the brushstrokes, from the bright compositions, which made everything about the woman seem idealized.

No one could be that perfect.

Cass and Madalena followed Signor Mafei into the dining area, which was painted a deep jade and furnished in dark wood paneling. A large Oriental rug covered most of the floor. Beyond the dining area was a narrow hallway, which terminated at another set of stairs, this one leading down into Belladonna’s garden. Signor Mafei gestured to the stairs and then bowed again. “She is expecting you.”

Cass turned to thank the butler, but he had already disappeared.

Unlike Agnese’s garden, which was well tended, neat, and very small, Belladonna’s garden stretched vastly in all directions. It was bordered by the back of the villa and a high stone fence on the other three sides, giving Belladonna complete privacy from her neighbors. A series of terraces had been cut in front of the longest section of wall, each level filled with different plants. A waterfall cascaded down over the middle of the terraces. Cass had never seen so many brilliantly colored flowers. There were lilies, laurel, myrtle, and other plants that she couldn’t begin to identify. Roses in unusual blends of oranges and yellows and pinks were threaded through an arched wooden trellis that shaded a round table from the sun. Great stone angels flanked both sides of the trellis. Each winged statue wore a ring of roses around its neck. The blossoms were as big as Cass’s hand, and she couldn’t resist reaching out to stroke the petals of a giant coral-colored bloom as she approached.

Madalena was already curtsying to the small group of women relaxing around the table. Cass hurried to join her. Before settling into the empty chair next to Mada, she quickly scanned the group of women, trying to identify the mysterious Belladonna. One was pale in every way—her skin, her hair, her watery blue eyes. The other two were darker: one with a sagging brow and a face sharp with lines, one with streaks of gray in her hair. They were all pretty, but none of them was unusual or stunning. Cass dropped her gaze to the women’s hands, looking for both a flower-engraved ring and a missing finger. The pale woman had her hands folded demurely in her lap, but the other two seemed to have all digits intact. Impossible to tell whether they were wearing rings, because of the lace gloves that they wore.

“Ladies.”

A voice that drizzled like honey came from behind Cass. She twisted around and felt her jaw drop slightly.

A woman in a brilliant turquoise-and-silver gown stood at the bottom of the stairs, jewel-encrusted cuffs glinting in the sun, curls of dark hair hanging in ringlets around her chin. It was, unmistakably, the girl depicted in the paintings.

“I am Signorina Briani, but you may call me Bella if you like.” She looked hard at Cass and Madalena with her feline eyes. “Mi dispiace. I don’t mean to stare, but I was trying to guess which of you knows my artist in residence Signor da Padova.”

Cass almost swallowed her tongue. This was the legendary Belladonna? It wasn’t possible. Falco and Madalena had both made it sound like Signorina Briani was close to forty. The woman before them was just a girl, a few years older than Cass at most.

Cass stood and curtsied quickly, still half in a daze. “I am Cassandra Caravello,” she said. “I am acquainted with Fal—with Signor da Padova.” It was so odd to call Falco by his formal name.

Madalena introduced herself and gushed for a few moments about Signorina Briani’s beauty. The signorina looked amused, but reached in to give Mada’s gloved hand a squeeze before arranging her gossamer skirts and taking the empty seat at the table. She introduced her companions, but Cass forgot their names almost immediately, instead thinking of them as Pale, Gray, and Scarlet, because the woman with the sharp face wore a dress almost the exact same shade of red as Madalena’s.

Signor Mafei, the handsome butler, brought them each a cup of tea. Cass couldn’t keep from sneaking peeks at Belladonna out of the corner of her eye every few seconds. This couldn’t be Falco’s patroness. There had to be some mistake.

Bella laughed and all of the other women joined in. Cass forced a laugh too, although she hadn’t heard the quip. She tried to focus on Belladonna’s syrupy-slick voice, but all Bella seemed to be talking about was herself: her jewels, her newest treasures from abroad, her flowers, which apparently bloomed even in the winter. Cass’s mind kept wandering. How could she possibly look so young? How could she possibly be so gorgeous? Even Madalena looked plain here, a peasant girl next to Belladonna’s Venus. Her skin was practically glowing. She was perfect.

Well, nearly perfect. Cass’s eyes went to Belladonna’s hands, but they were tucked away in elbow-length silvery gloves. Was she really missing a finger? Cass felt a bizarre urge to tug at Bella’s gloves, to expose her single imperfection.

A fist of jealousy tightened inside of her. Falco had told her that he had gone to Florence to make a name for himself, so that he would someday be worthy of Cass. But could his eagerness to be close to Belladonna have a different—more selfish—cause?

Bella laughed again and her circle of admirers did too. Madalena, normally threatened by women who were more beautiful than she was, seemed to be hanging on Belladonna’s every word. Cass felt like she was watching a circle of rodents being hypnotized by a cobra. She found Belladonna’s icy perfection repellent.

A soft breeze rustled the nearest bush, loosening a couple of waxy green leaves that danced across the silken tablecloth and landed in her lap. Cass brushed them from her skirts. A rose petal had also ended up in her lap, and she couldn’t help but marvel at its coloring—pink on one side, purple on the other.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” Belladonna said. “They’re called Janus roses, since they have two faces.”

Cass noticed Gray and Scarlet staring at her resentfully. She let the petal flutter to the ground. “I’ve never seen roses like this. And the blooms are so large. Do you put something special in the soil?” Cass asked politely.

Belladonna smiled. “I do,” she said, “but it’s a secret. I’m very proud of my flowers, you see.” She reached up to pluck a large pink-and-purple Janus rose from the side of the wooden trellis. She tossed it in Cass’s direction. “They have the most exquisite fragrance.”

Cass flinched as the bloom landed heavily on the table. Everyone was still watching her. No one but Belladonna had spoken. Hesitantly, Cass reached toward the rose. She lifted it to her face. The scent was intoxicating—like sharp perfume and sweet sugar.

Something tickled her hand. She gasped. A hairy black-and-brown spider was making its way toward her wrist. She shrieked, dropped the rose, and frantically swatted at the creature. The spider ended up on the tablecloth. The other women squealed, leaning back in their chairs as the spider made its way across the table.

Only Belladonna sat calmly. Regally. She extended a gloved hand and gently picked up the spider by one of its tiny legs. Cass suddenly felt afraid, although she couldn’t say why. The tiny spider tried to wriggle free, but Bella’s delicate grip prevented it from escaping.

“You shouldn’t fear my little helper, ladies,” Belladonna said softly. She rose from her seat and carried the wriggling spider over to a cluster of rosebushes. She set the spider down on an open blossom. “Spiders protect my roses from harmful insects.” Belladonna spun a slow circle, her eyes tracing the periphery of her garden. “Many of nature’s creatures protect me and my exquisite flowers.”

The other women murmured uneasily as the spider disappeared into a sea of petals. Cass was breathing hard. Everything looked a little blurry. The rosebushes tangled together like a drawer full of precious jewels. Beyond them, muted yellow and white lilies waved in the breeze.

She raised a hand to the lily pendant around her throat. Belladonna’s mesmerizing garden—and her beauty—had almost distracted her from her true purpose. Luca. The Book of the Eternal Rose. But she could hardly ask to peruse Belladonna’s library in the middle of tea. Perhaps later Signorina Briani might offer her and Madalena a tour of the villa.

Cass sat back in her chair and tried to focus on the conversation. At least she was finally beginning to understand the Florentine accent. She hated asking people to repeat themselves. Scarlet mentioned the scourge of vampirism, and Belladonna launched into her own story of nearly being attacked one night as she returned home from a party in the city center.

“I wear this everywhere now,” she said, “even with gloves.” She held up her left arm so they could see a slender chain of silver encircling her wrist. Two tiny bronze keys dangled from the chain. She gave Cass a curious look. “Is Venice also overrun with vampires? I’ve heard the islands are crawling with ghosts and specters that sneak in and out of buildings with the tides.”

Cass frowned. If the Order truly consisted of people opposed to the Church, she would have assumed Belladonna would denounce the priests and their trials as Falco had done, but she seemed emphatically to believe in vampirism and the recent attacks.

Before Cass could reply, Scarlet said, “Venice, eh? I heard one of the most recent to go to the drowning platform was a Venetian donna.” She clucked her tongue. “How do you suppose she got herself attacked?”

“The same way all the ladies do, I’m sure,” Belladonna said drily. “By looking for something prettier than her husband to play with. Honestly, I think some of these girls actually want to be fed upon. An unusual fetish.”

“Speaking of pretty things to play with,” Gray started, “isn’t your new artist Venetian as well?”

Belladonna’s lips curled into a grin. “Yes, he is quite a find, isn’t he? A recommendation from a business associate.”

Cass felt her cheeks heating up. She quickly dropped her eyes and pretended to be fascinated by the pattern of lace on her cuffs.

“Though your physician is quite handsome too,” Gray said.

Belladonna smiled. “And he’s promised to make sure I never get buried alive again.”

This made Cass look up again. So the story was true.

“Is he still caring for Tatiana de Borello?” Pale asked. “I was wondering if her condition had improved.”

“Poor Tatiana.” Belladonna fixed her eyes on Cass and Madalena. “You mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” she said. “A young girl’s life hangs in the balance.”

Mada leaned closer. Cass fought the urge to look away; Belladonna’s catlike eyes troubled her.

“Tatiana, the dear daughter of one of my closest friends, is clinging to life after a vampire attack. She’s pale as death and her heart beats much too quickly. My physician informed the priests that she doesn’t bear the marks, but that was a lie to spare her life. No one knows how or when she was bitten, but her parents have locked her away in their palazzo. As long as the priests believe she is unmarked, she won’t be called to trial.”

“But what if she turns into a vampire?” Mada asked, eyes wide.

“They’re keeping her tied down, dear, just in case,” Belladonna said. “Bound with silver. But if she were going to change, chances are she would have done so already. It’s been days. My physician thinks the bite may have infected her differently.”

Differently? Cass wasn’t sure what Belladonna meant. According to legend, if a vampire bit you, you either died or transformed. She shuddered at the thought of there being a third, perhaps even more gruesome, possibility.

After another half hour of idle chatter, Pale excused herself, saying she needed to be home before nightfall. Cass did her best to dawdle, sipping slowly at her tea, hoping the other women would make their good-byes. Scarlet left soon after Pale, and Gray was, by this time, struggling to conceal her yawns.

Cass let her eyes wander over Belladonna’s palatial villa, scanning each arched window for any hint of Falco. Did he live here? Did they take their meals together, sharing light banter across a table laden with delicacies?

Stop it. That kind of thinking would serve no one, and get Cass nowhere. She needed to focus on finding the Book of the Eternal Rose.

“I’m afraid I must walk you back to your carriage soon,” Belladonna said abruptly, startling Cass from her reverie. Were she and Madalena being tossed out? “I have a meeting this evening,” the signorina continued. “But I insist that you both come back tomorrow, and bring your husband and father too, if they would like,” she told Mada. “I’m having a little party, and I would love to talk more with both of you. Especially you, Cassandra. Signor da Padova speaks quite fondly of you.”

Madalena arched an eyebrow at Cass. Cass ignored her. “We became friends when he did a portrait of me,” she said cautiously.

“I see.” Belladonna’s lips twitched. “I honestly think he’s grown as an artist, just in the few weeks he’s been here.” She rose from her seat. “Of course I work the poor boy to death,” she added.

“Would it be possible to see your library?” Cass blurted out. “Just for a moment? I’ve heard you’re quite the collector.”

“Certainly, dear,” Belladonna said. “In fact I can show you Signor da Padova’s most recent painting at the same time.” She clasped her hands together as she headed for the stairs.

Belladonna led the girls quickly through the villa, giving Cass and Mada scant time to marvel over the paintings, sculptures, and other odd bits of beauty scattered throughout the cavernous rooms.

“Where does that door lead?” Cass gestured toward a large wooden door at the end of the hallway, carved from top to bottom with images of Greek goddesses.

“To my chambers.” Belladonna smiled slowly. She adjusted the neckline of her dress. “But only certain guests get invited there.”

Cass blushed at the insinuation. It was odd that Signorina Briani was so beautiful and wealthy, but wasn’t married. Maybe one man isn’t enough for her, Cass thought.

Then they turned a corner and entered the library, and Cass couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping. Belladonna had more books than Cass had ever seen in one place before, perhaps even more books than the Doge of Venice. She quickly began to scan the shelves from a distance. Was the Book of the Eternal Rose tucked away in this room?

Her eyes didn’t get far before they settled on a large painting above the fireplace, just as Belladonna proclaimed proudly, “There it is.” It was Falco’s work—Cass could see it in the muted real-world colors and the sharp brushstrokes. It was a painting of Belladonna, dressed in voluminous gray skirts and a low-cut emerald bodice, her breasts peeking out over the lacy neckline.

Cass dropped her eyes. It wasn’t the revealing dress that bothered her. It was the way Bella’s body was arranged, reclined on a bed, with one hip rolled forward, hair hanging down over her exposed collarbone. Cass thought back to the night in Tommaso Vecellio’s studio, where she and Falco had shared their first kiss. He had insisted on painting her. His soft hands had seemed so purposeful as he arranged her body, as if his growing feelings had determined the tilt of her head and just the way a lock of damp hair should fall over the bare skin of her throat. Cass forced herself to look at the painting again. She wasn’t imagining things. Falco had positioned Belladonna’s body in exactly the same way.