“You’ll be all right without me?”
Mazarini smiled crookedly. “I shall certainly miss the security of your shotgun. Not to mention that barbaric knife of yours. But, yes, Harry, I’ll be fine. I did somehow take care of myself for thirty years before you showed up, you know.”
“Okay, okay. Just checking.” Lefferts’ face was unusually solemn. “They’re all going to be playing for your loyalty, too, Giulio, not just trying to cut your throat. You know it and I know it. Betcha anything the cardinal made you a hell of an offer yesterday.”
Not for the first time, Mazarini reflected that there was a keen brain underneath the young American bravo’s swagger. Harry had taken to everything in this century with panache and gusto—including scheming and maneuver.
The months they had spent together, if nothing else, would allow no dissimulation. Now that Harry was leaving, Mazarini realized with a bit of a start that he had come to cherish the young American’s friendship.
“Yes, he did. And, no, I don’t know yet how I will respond.”
Harry nodded. “Fair enough. I’m glad my loyalties ain’t so complicated.” He leaned over and extended his hand. “So long, then. It’s been a pleasure, Giulio, really has. However we meet again, I promise there’ll be no hard feelings on my part.”
Mazarini returned the firm handshake. “Mine, neither.”
It was all true enough, he thought, watching Harry trot away. Not entirely comforting, of course. Mazarini had also been one of the witnesses at Harry’s duel with the brute Agnelli. Whatever fury there had been in Lefferts’ bloody actions of the moment, there had been none shortly thereafter.
“There’s a man needed killing,” Harry had commented casually, almost cheerfully. “Glad to have been of service.”
He’d been quite relaxed about it all. Mazarini had no difficulty at all imagining Harry standing over his own corpse. Sorry, Giulio. No hard feelings, but . . . it had to be done.
So be it. What would come, would come. Mazarini turned back into the comte’s domicile, his mind already turning to the maneuvers of the future. Besides, he still didn’t know what decision he would finally make, in the end.
Who was to say? The next time he saw Harry Lefferts, he might be shaking his hand again.