Vincenzio stood abruptly and paced the small room. She’d shamed the Fusili name at Mass again, and yet he couldn’t help snorting at the image of Guido Palagio toppling over. She had her father’s strength, but even he could see she’d become too much like a man and that did not serve anyone. Dabbling in public forums of debate was acceptable when she was under his authority, but since she’d reached the age of womanhood, it had become socially dangerous. He’d made a mistake and began to understand the critics who’d told him she was an aberration of female nature. If he could find no family willing to take her then he would have to approach a convent. He made a note to speak to Friar Bartolomeo about it. He pitied his little moon, with her grand ideas of learning astronomy. At least in a convent she’d have time for her books and he’d make sure to send her one new volume each year. He struck out at the beads that hung from the bookshelf and they flung up with such force the string snapped and broke. The small glass baubles scattered across the floor like frightened beetles. It didn’t matter how old Luna grew or what he did with her, his dead wife would always be staring back at him from those eyes.

Vincenzio poured another cup and sat quietly drinking. This was man’s medicine and he deserved a reward. He sighed heavily, thinking about his recent expedition to Prato and Pistoia. The marriage negotiations for Leonarda might not have gone to plan, but the journey had not been a failure. He’d visited the country families at their estates and already sent the list of names to Piero. No one had uncovered his actions and that gave him huge relief. Despite the increased risk to his person after Roberto’s murder, he’d done everything Piero demanded. Vincenzio straightened in his chair, pressed his shoulders back and felt the thrust of his chest. Even in the face of the death of a Medici supporter, he’d still done his duty as a loyal friend. Piero would reward him.

His eyes flicked briefly to the Great Council’s proclamation still sitting on his desk in a pile of paperwork. Friar Savonarola was now the most powerful man in all of Florence. The preacher had used his innocent son to threaten him and Vincenzio clenched his teeth at the memory of his own pitiful attempt to save Filippo. He’d not fail his son again. The pleasure in the preacher’s eyes had been like a madness to see. He was dangerous. Vincenzio set his mind anew to plotting Savonarola’s downfall. His only son and heir had nearly died at the preacher’s hands. He’d make the man suffer.

Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN