Giulia and I both turned our heads. Leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest, was a very small man. He wore a battered doublet and disreputable boots, and a dusty bundle sat at his feet as though he had just walked in from the streets. He had hazel eyes, deep-set under a prominent forehead, and they were fixed coolly on Giulia.

“I am Giulia Farnese,” she said, cocking her head in puzzlement and wiping flour off on her borrowed apron.

“The Cardinal’s concubine,” he said. “Yes, I know who you are. I am Leonello.” He made a surprisingly agile bow. “Your new bodyguard.”

I couldn’t help but eye him dubiously, and I saw Giulia doing the same. A dwarf for a bodyguard?

“Say it if you like.” He looked amused. “I’m a trifle short for the job.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it.” Giulia bent down and lifted up the one-eared cat, who had turned up to rub adoringly along her skirts. “It didn’t seem polite. Not that it was very polite of you to call me a concubine, Messer Leonello.”

“Just Leonello.” He picked up his bundle and moved into my kitchen, swinging himself up nimbly onto a chair. His feet dangled above the floor like a child’s. “And you are a concubine. Just as I, you can plainly see, am a dwarf. A dwarf, however, with a certain skill in knife play. No attacker will notice I’m here, until they pay for it with their lives.”

“You’ve killed before?” I couldn’t help asking.

“Yes,” he said casually, and helped himself unasked to an apple from a bowl I’d set aside to make a crostata. That was when I started to dislike him.

Giulia, however, had bent her friendly smile on him as she scratched under the tomcat’s chin. He purred and arched for her just like her Cardinal. “Did Cardinal Borgia hire you to protect me?”

“Yes, you and his daughter as well. I’ve not met the daughter yet.” He took a finger knife from his cuff and cored the apple neatly. His fingers were stubby, but deft; he flipped the knife without even glancing at it as he looked Giulia over from top to slippered toe.

“It’s not polite to stare,” I told him tartly, whisking Giulia’s frittelle aside and trying a little quick repair while she wasn’t looking.

“I’ve seen you before,” he told Giulia as though I were not there, crunching into his apple. “I watched your wedding procession in May—it took me a moment or two to place your face. I admit, at the procession I wasn’t looking at your face.”

I bristled at his cool rudeness, but Giulia just laughed, unoffended. “At least you admit it! Juan Borgia just lurks and licks his lips when he thinks I’m not looking.”