Reborn in The Most Serene Republic of Venice – Rise of a Doge

The silence lasted long enough for Vito to start composing his own eulogy out of sheer boredom, though two lifetimes spent waiting out dangerous men had taught him how to do it without looking like he was doing anything at all.

Dandolo showed no hurry to end it.

His thumb moved over the beads at that obnoxious pace, while his blind stare wandered toward the window, as if whatever lay outside interested him more than the man three feet away holding his breath.

Vito’s knuckles had gone white around the arm of his chair before he noticed.

He had waited on worse men for worse news, in rooms with fewer windows and considerably more guns pointed at him. None had ever managed to make him sweat with nothing but a string of beads and eighty years of caring very little what anyone thought about the wait.

”The whole notion was never yours to begin with, boy.”

Dandolo said it plainly, without wasting ceremony on it, and continued before Vito could decide whether that was good news or bad. ”La Serenissima has wanted that rock since before your grandfather learned which end of a spoon goes in his mouth. Every Doge back to the flood looked at those beaches and thought of pepper before he thought of God.”

His set his cup down, without drinking. ”What you brought to it is enough nerve to make a slow, frightened old city move quickly for once in its miserable life, before some Genoese bastard gets there ahead of us with a knife and half a plan.”

The old man paused. ”That’s worth more than you think, though I suspect you’ll have to survive another twenty years before you become wise enough to appreciate it.”

Whatever pleasure Vito had meant to take from that ended when a hand closed around his forearm, quick and hard enough to catch him by surprise.

It was an old grip, but there was considerably more life in it than Dandolo’s eyes had managed in years. Vito’s grin stayed where practice had put it, though behind it turned a shade more honest than he had intended.

”Now for the part you won’t enjoy.”

Dandolo’s voice had not changed at all, ”You’ve had a taste of glory, boy, and that’s a dangerous thing, because once a young man walks away from death a few times he starts thinking the two of them have some sort of understanding, that the next blade will somehow know he’s been lucky before and have the decency to miss him too.”

His grip tightened once more, then let go.

”I’ve buried better men than you for believing it.”

Vito straightened in his chair, taking care with the injury that still had not forgiven him for the last clever thing he had attempted with it.

”You have my word, Doge.”

He spread both hands, all charm and no argument. ”I intend to be entirely reasonable about this. Which means I’ll only do reckless things when there’s a profit in them.”

Dandolo’s laugh came out short and rough, more breath than noise. ”That’s the least reassuring vow I’ve heard all week, and yesterday I sat through a bishop explaining why three separate churches in this city each claim to possess the genuine skull of the same saint.”

His hand found the stack of papers on the desk and lay upon it.

”Here’s what I can do about it.”

His tone remained neutral now, more merchant than jester. ”Six men keep me on a short leash in this city, boy. One from each sestiere, all sworn to watch me for precisely this sort of thing. Which is why I’ve spent years learning exactly how far a good supper and a better eel can stretch six frightened old men’s patience.”

Vito grinned despite himself.

”That’s not much of an oath.”

”It’s an excellent oath. I’ve simply outlived every man clever enough to enforce it properly.”

Dandolo tapped the papers once. ”Lion’s blood, boy, don’t sit there looking so pleased with yourself. I’ll put my own name behind yours and send you back to Montferrat with enough backing to finish what you started. Do not disappoint me.”

His hand left the papers and gesture toward Caterina, as certain as if he could see exactly where she sat. ”And then there is the small matter of paying for the thing. Caterina, if you please. The boy has already heard you explain where the money must come from, though I have my doubts about how much of that particular lesson made it past his eyes.”

”Is that so?”

Caterina made no attempt to deny it for Vito.

She leaned across the desk toward him, close enough that Dandolo, sitting between them, ceased to matter to the conversation for a moment. ”When it comes to investors, Vitale, you needn’t trouble yourself too much. I can talk quite a few of them into your little venture, especially around the Venetian quarter.

Her smile grew a tad more dangerous. ”There are families with funds nowhere to go and enough envy of the crusaders profits to make them restless about yours, and I know exactly which ones are worth the time and patience.”

Vito smiled, delighted. ”I do love an audience.”

”Don’t get too comfortable now.”

The warmth in her voice did nothing to soften the sharpness beneath it. ”I haven’t named you a price yet, and when I do, you won’t enjoy it half as much as you’re pretending to now.”

”I’ve paid worse for less charming company.”

”If that was supposed to be a compliment, you need to better your game.”

She tapped one finger against the desk, unhurried, ”When there’s real contracts to put numbers on, you’ll have numbers, Vitale. Until then, all you have from me is my word.”

Vito pressed a hand to his chest as though she had wounded him properly.

”Mia cara, you say the sweetest things.”

”I say true things, sweet was never a promise I made anybody.”

She held out her hand and waited, with the patience she had probably used on every merchant who ever tried talking his way out of a debt.

”One thing before any of my contacts hear a word of this.”

Her voice lost its play, though the warmth beneath it remained exactly where it was. ”I want to join you in this venture, Vitale. One where I actually see the books, and you don’t decide alone what happens to money I’ve talked good people into risking.”

She glanced toward Dandolo, then back at him. ”Call it insurance if you wish. If I’m going to scam these families into trusting your pretty face with their money, you might at least allow me the courtesy to not kill yourself with the first foolish idea that crosses your mind and leave me to explain the loss.”

”Done.”

Vito gently took her hand, a sly smile over his lips, ”Gladly, in fact. I was going to insist on it myself eventually, you’ve merely saved me the trouble of pretending it was my idea.”

Dandolo found the wine jug by touch and refilled their cups without spilling more than a splash, an old skill that had not dulled even where most of the others had. ”Since nobody’s bothered asking my permission to toast anything in my own house, I’ll grant it regardless.”

He lifted his cup, an unbothered old smile creasing a face that had earned every line of it.

”To Crete. May it prove less trouble than the woman charging you for it.”

Caterina laughed genuinely this time, with no scheme to it at all, and lifted her own cup to meet his.

Vito raised his last, grinning hard enough that his ribs complained.

Three separate jobs now stood between him and an island he had not even set foot on yet, an old man’s borrowed influence, a stubborn woman’s restless purses, and his own mouth still owing a debt to Boniface.

None of them intended to wait for him to recover.

He drank the wine, and discovered that he did not mind the hurry one bit.