“You don’t have to…”
“Do you not wish to see me?” she said, casting questioning eyes up at him.
“Of course I want to see,” he said. “But this… it’s only going to make us both miserable in the end. There’s nowhere to go.”
She shrugged out of her bodice. She crossed to her wardrobe and hung it from a hook within. She untucked her blouse and pulled it over her head. When she looked up, she saw that Chevolere had followed her. He was a foot away, maskless and shirtless. She was naked from the waist up as well.
His gaze eagerly drank her in, and she did find that seeing his face without the mask was gratifying. His expression was so hungry and awed.
She arched her back, pushing out her breasts, and took a step toward him.
He shook his head slightly. “Ziafiata…”
She took another step closer.
He took a step back. Without his tunic, she could see the way his breeches clung to him, and she could see he was aroused.
The sight made something leap low in her belly, and she shivered.
“W-we might as well simply put our clothes back on.” His voice was like midnight.
“You won’t touch me,” she said.
“You know that I—”
“And I can’t touch you?”
“No. Why are you—?”
“What if I touched myself?”
He let out a huff of air and he shuddered.
She took that as assent, and she reached up to cup her own breast.
He grunted.
She smiled. She stroked her thumb over her nipple, making it stiffen. She toyed with the tip, briefly closing her eyes against the sensations that darted into the center of her.
His jaw hung loose from his mouth as he watched.
She touched her other breast, giving the same attention to her other nipple.
He moaned.
She gasped. She closed her thumb and forefinger around both her nipples at the same time, giving them a gentle tug. She gasped again.
“That…” His voice was thick. “You like that? It doesn’t hurt you?”
“I wasn’t very forceful,” she breathed.
“Oh,” he said.
“I could be,” she said, pinching herself again, harder. “I could… there’s a point up to which a little pain is also good somehow.”
He was mesmerized by her breasts. “They look even stiffer now. Are they?”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s about how it works. The more that they’re touched, the harder they are.”
He swallowed again. “And you mostly touch… the tips.”
“That’s the most sensitive part,” she said. “But would you like to watch me…” She gathered her breasts up in both of her hands and squeezed them close together. “Do this?”
“I like… whatever you’re…”
She kneaded her breasts. “Or this?”
He let out a throaty noise.
She let go of herself. “Maybe, Chevolere, if I helped you.”
“Helped me?” He was still staring at her naked skin.
She reached out and took his hand.
He startled, going rigid. His wide eyes met hers, horrified.
“Here,” she said, tugging on his hand, bringing it up. “If I guide you there, you know that I want it, that it’s not hurting me. There’s no reason to deny something we both want.”
He grimaced. “Let go of me.” His voice was insubstantial.
“Just try it.”
“Please?” He sounded like a little boy, and his expression was frightened.
She faltered. “Are you certain that you can’t—”
He yanked his hand back, and another shudder went through him, but this one didn’t look pleasant.
“I…” She felt wretched. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s all right,” he said. “Don’t apologize for this. Please don’t apologize.” His gaze swept her. “This is… you have no idea how much I…” He put his fingers to his lips. Then he turned his back on her. “But I need to go now.”
“Do you?” she said, feeling disappointed. “If I promise not to touch you again? You could simply watch me again, nothing more.”
“Perhaps…” The muscles in his back tensed and released. “Perhaps another night, I could… we could do this again.”
“Yes,” she hissed immediately. She wanted that.
“Good,” he breathed. He lurched forward, finding his tunic and shrugging into it. “Good night, Ziafiata,” he said, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, he staggered toward the door and disappeared through it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
But he didn’t come back the following night, and when Ziafiata went to him, he spoke to her through the closed door to his quarters, telling her he was tired and that he only wished to sleep.
The next night, she didn’t ask, and he didn’t come.
But he was different with her, she thought, if only in the way his gaze would find her immediately when she came into the room, if only because he couldn’t seem to entirely repress his naked hunger for her when they accidentally caught each other’s gaze.
And she felt too hot in his presence, as if her clothes itched, as if he could see through them, as if he was ogling her no matter what was going on or who else was there.
She was consumed with preparations for the caporegimes, whose names were Boneti and Scavo, and she spent the coming days and nights exchanging fiery glances with Chevolere and making the tavern ready.
Finally, the appointed day arrived, and she and Chevolere closed the tavern early to await their guests.
The time for their arrival came and went, and she tried to tell herself that she should not be nervous about it, because it was typical for men to be late in the city of Rzymn. It meant nothing.
But her heart still beat in her throat, and there was no relief when she looked at Chevolere, because he made her pulse race for entirely different reasons.
Finally, they arrived together, in the company of their men. She and Chevolere made a show of allowing their men to search them for weapons, though Chevolere’s lips were pressed so tightly together that they were bloodless when he watched the other men’s hands on her, feeling over her arms and legs to see if she had anything concealed.
She wasn’t sure if he was affected because he was jealous or if he was imagining his hands where their hands were, and whatever the case, she couldn’t deny she liked it. Maybe that was horrid, considering that it didn’t seem pleasant for him, but she didn’t care. She’d suffered for him, perhaps it was his turn.
Scavo noticed Chevolere’s reaction as well, and he mentioned it when they were all seated together. “You are possessive of her,” he said. “So, why the charade? Do you really think you can pretend not to be bedding her? It is preposterous.”
“I’m not,” said Chevolere, nostrils flaring. He seized a bottle of wine on the table and filled his goblet. They were all serving themselves, because they’d decided that the caporegimes would feel more comfortable if there weren’t a lot of servants in the room waiting on them. Fewer people equaled fewer threats. He began filling Scavo’s goblet as well.
“I don’t really appreciate how every time I have a conversation with anyone, that’s all they seem to wish to talk about,” said Ziafiata.
“Well, you might as well get used to it,” said Boneti. “After all, he’s a key component to your business transactions, I understand. You may say you wish to create some contract between yourself and us, but he’s part of it, and everyone is going to speculate. In my case, however, I don’t see that it has to be a problem. I see advantages to an alliance with Chevolere. He does control some key resources in the Rzymn, and having your whispers on his pillow could be beneficial.”
“No, no,” said Scavo. “Women are weak, and he only uses them ill. He’s broken her and now she’s simply his creature.”
“I assure you, it’s not that way,” said Chevolere.
<
br /> “So, what way is it?” said Scavo.
“He did try,” said Ziafiata, holding out her goblet pointedly to Chevolere, who had filled everyone’s glass but hers. “But he didn’t find me so easy to break.”
Chevolere poured her wine. “No, I did not. She fought like a wild animal. After I got clawed enough times, I decided she wasn’t worth the trouble.”
Scavo let out a guffaw.
Boneti laughed softly.
“Oh, I don’t believe it,” said Scavo. “A little thing like that?”
“Would you like to see the marks?” Chevolere lifted his chin, giving Scavo an amused smile.
Scavo drank some wine. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
“She’s very fierce,” said Chevolere, turning to look at her. “You heard what became of Diago Caputio, I suppose?”
“That was her?” said Scavo. “I thought that was a ridiculous rumor.”
“And you did dispatch Donato,” said Boneti thoughtfully. “That rumor is also true.”
“I decided that I would be better off leaving her be,” said Chevolere. “She’d probably have dispatched me as well if she didn’t have some use for me.”
“Would you kill Chevolere?” said Boneti.
“No, we have an arrangement,” said Ziafiata. “My father taught me that it is not wise to double-cross one’s business partners.”
“Will you kill us as you killed Donato?” said Boneti.
“No, I don’t wish to kill anyone,” said Ziafiata. “I am trying to broker a simple arrangement for the sale of iubilia.”
“Oh, that’s all this is about?” scoffed Scavo. “I beg to differ. Something else is afoot. Even a blind man could see that.”
“There is not,” said Ziafiata, leveling her gaze at him. “Think of it from my point of view, sir. I have spent a life stifled by my father, cast aside, gambled away. But I am no weak thing, and I have found a way to try to make something for myself. It’s only natural that I should try to make my way in the world that I know best—which is the underbelly of Rzymn. All I need is a chance. I’m prepared to offer a fair price on the iubilia.”
“And your lover is willing to provide it for you?”
“We are both benefiting from the sale,” she said. “I bring knowledge of the Abrusse family to the table, and he brings the product and the connections. If you must have it that there is more to our relationship than mutual financial advantage, I suppose I cannot stop you from thinking it, however.”
“Don’t think it hasn’t been noticed that Chevolere has not visited Madame Vadima in some time,” said Scavo.
Ziafiata turned to look at him.
“Haven’t I?” Chevolere shrugged. “I suppose it slipped my mind.”
“Too busy with your new plaything,” said Scavo.
Chevolere shook his head.
“What does that part of it matter?” said Ziafiata, frustrated. “Can we please negotiate iubilia?”
“I, for one, want to hear your rates,” said Boneti.
“As do I,” said Scavo. “Here’s what I can say. If it becomes a conflict of interest with your father, I have no choice but to side with him. I have sworn him an oath. But if it can benefit us all, I am interested.”
“Yes,” said Boneti. “Yes, so am I.”
“And if it becomes clear Chevolere is simply using you against the Abrusse family, I will not hesitate to find some way to have him killed,” said Scavo.
“You can try,” said Chevolere dismissively.
“I assure you, I am not Chevolere’s plaything,” she said.
* * *
Madame Vadima was shuffling cards when Chevolere entered the room. “Ah, you’re here this time. You’ve been absent for our last two appointments.”
“Did you miss me?” He took off his cape and hung it on a hook by the door.
She smirked. Madame Vadima was relatively young for the position she held, running the whole brothel. She always wore her hair slicked into a severe bun at the back of her head and wore a bodice that covered her from collar to wrist. She appeared more like a strict governess than a woman of ill-repute.
Perhaps that was why he’d picked her for this little ruse of his. Perhaps it was comforting that he never had to look at her skin.
She tucked the cards neatly into a pile and set them down on the table. The room where they met was a large bedroom, and there was a bed against one wall, covered in sumptuous silky red coverlets, which were enticingly turned down. The table was on the other side of the room, flanked by two high-backed upholstered chairs. She leaned back against the chair, tilting her head to one side. “I hear I’ve been jilted.”
He crossed the room and pulled out the chair opposite her, sitting down. “Oh, come now, Vadima, you know no one could replace you in my heart. What shall we play today?” He reached for the cards.
She put a hand protectively over the pile. “Not so fast. You have never missed an appointment with me, not in all the years you have been coming here, and now you miss two in a row and then try to pretend as if nothing has changed? I don’t think so.”
“Nothing has changed,” he said.
“Is it true what they say?” said Madame Vadima. “Have you taken that Abrusse girl into your bed?”
“No,” he said.
She looked him over. Then she slid the cards across the table. “Towering Inferno?”
That was the name of a card game. He nodded. “Fine with me. You wish me to deal?”
“I believe it’s your turn, though it has been so long since I’ve seen you, I could be wrong.”
“I don’t see why you’re harping on this,” he said, cutting the deck in two. “You’re paid in advance. You have received compensation for doing absolutely nothing. I would think you’d be pleased.”
“It’s not about the money,” she said.
He began to deal out the cards, seven each, one for her, one for him, one for her, one for him, and so on. “No? Then perhaps you’re jealous?”
She laughed. “Yes, it’s exactly that.” Her voice was rich and amused. “I can’t tell you the gratification I derive from these games of cards we play.”
He lifted his gaze to her, his hands stilling, though he had two more cards to deal out. “Do you derive gratification from it?”
“From card playing?” She laughed. “Well, it can be quite engaging and there is a satisfaction to be gained from it, but—”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I know you don’t entertain many men, that you are selective, due to your position. But it was not always that way.”
“I think you’re the one who’s jealous,” she said lightly. She nodded. “Finish dealing, won’t you?”
He tossed out the remaining two cards and set the deck in the middle of the table. He swept his own cards up and began organizing them by suit and number. He had a great many daggers, which could be beneficial. It would depend upon what was in Vadima’s hand, of course.
“It’s rather sudden that you are so jealous,” she said. “You’ve never shown any interest in wishing to bed me. What has that Abrusse girl done to you?”
“I don’t have interest now,” he said. “That’s not why I ask.”
She arranged her own cards, peering at him over them as though they were a fan and she the shy coquette. “Why do you ask, then?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose I simply can’t imagine how it could be gratifying.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Hmm. What a thing to say, Chevolere. I’ve always theorized that you were like the musqueteers, preferring boys in your bed, and that you were worried if that was known, it could be a liability to you. But can it be that you are not at all interested, not in boys or girls?”
“I believe you throw the first card, since I dealt,” he said.
“It’s not unheard of, you know.” She put down a card. It was the queen of stones.
He must put down another queen, which could change the suit, or else a higher ca
rd in the suit of stones. She had started with such a high card simply to be disagreeable, he was certain. It made it all the more difficult for him. He put down the queen of daggers.
“There are people who simply have no interest at all. In all people, I suppose, it is a spectrum. Some have a deeper desire and interest than others. I cater, of course, to those who have difficulty being sated.” She put down the queen of roses, changing the suit again.
He pursed his lips and drew a card. And then another, and another. It took him five cards to finally draw the king of roses, which he slapped down. “Do you have a desire for it?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Is it simply a job for you? A task that must be completed? Do you play a role, pretending for the men you service, or do you like it?”
“If you’re thinking of renegotiating our arrangement, darling, and you have some qualms about…” Her voice dropped suggestively. “Using me, you should know that I—”
“No,” he said flatly. He nodded. “It’s your turn.”
She considered her cards and then played the king of rods. “I’m very confused right now.”
He put down the king of daggers. “It’s a simple question. Do you enjoy your work. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” she said.
He looked at her for several long moments. “Truly?”
“Is it so difficult to believe?” She began to draw cards from the deck. She drew three and then put down the una of daggers.
He played the una of rods. “What do you like about it? It seems an invasive sort of thing and fraught with its own unique dangers.”
“I like being admired, I suppose. Being wanted.” She gave him a small smile. “And there are physical aspects of it that are… gratifying.”
“You find it pleasurable.”
“I do,” she said. “It’s your turn.”
“I have nothing,” he said. “Who starts a tower with the queen of blazing stones?” He set his cards down, face up, giving up on the game.
“What dangers do you seem to think my work is fraught with?”
“Getting with child, for one,” he said.
“There are ways of preventing that.”
“Not without their own dangers,” he said.
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