And she watched his face change . . . Marco had a very open face. First surprise. Then hurt. And then his face closed down. He rolled the scroll up again and stood up.
“I’m probably getting married in the next few days,” he said abruptly.
Maria felt as if her eyes would pop out. “What! To Kat?”
“To Angelina Dorma.” His voice was expressionless.
Maria floundered. “But . . . but . . .” Those Dorma bastards wanted to lock him in! Well, she owed Kat. “That’s far too soon, Marco,” she said, firmly. Her mind raced. She’d have to get Benito in on this. The damn scamp didn’t approve of Kat, for some stupid reason. But anything—anything!—was better than Angelina. Even if she had to tell Benito that Kat was also Case Vecchie. He’d been pestering her to reveal the identity of her posh friend. . . .
“I can’t. She’s nearly four months pregnant,” said Marco, woodenly.
Maria caught her jaw. “Ah . . .who’s the father?” she croaked.
Marco paused. Looked her straight in the eye. “I am,” he said in a dead level voice.
And he turned and walked out.
* * *
Petro Dorma looked grim. “I’m sorry, Marco. Only the Signori di Notte knew, until an hour before. That means somehow someone must have bought one of them. But the Badoero were gone.”
Marco felt flattened. Caesare’s ploy hadn’t worked. Caesare had been sure if Petro could arrest the Badoero they’d confess, quickly enough to tell just whom the real go-between was. He had ascribed Angelina’s accusation to spite.
“Of course Paulo knew the way here. He was Ernesto Dorma’s confidential runner. I did some business with Ernesto. Commercial information. Valuable if not glamorous. And for heaven’s sake, yes. Marry Angelina Dorma,” he’d said. His words were fresh in Marco’s mind.
Petro sighed. “Well, we’re no closer, Marco. We still don’t know how my mother got the stuff—even if we know where she used to. You don’t feel you could just . . .”
“Marry Angelina now,” said Marco quietly. “Yes.”
Petro breathed a sigh of relief. “Well. Thank you, Marco. I can’t deny I am pleased. . . . She always was father’s favorite. We lost my other sister in the plague . . . And ‘Gelina got . . . rather spoiled by Mother too after that. She’s used to getting her own way. But, well, she’ll be handsomely dowered. And we’ll be happy to have you as part of the family.”
He smiled. “Dorma is not as old as Valdosta, but we’re prosperous. And, well, I predict that the Republic is going to have a rough time in the next few years. The Doge is old, the succession is not as clear cut as Ricardo Brunelli imagines it is.” He patted Marco on the shoulder. “I trust you, Marco. I trust that Dell’este honor. I trust the name ‘Valdosta’ too. It was a proud one in my father’s time. I’d rather have it with Dorma than against us, and many of the longi Case Vecchie will rally to it.”
Marco had never thought of his name as a political point. “Never rich though,” he said quietly.
“Oh, not lately. But the family used to work with another Casa—the Montescue—in my grandfather’s time. Organizing Colleganzas. I can still remember my grandfather cursing them and saying it seemed like they could do nothing wrong. Like the shadow of the Lion was on them. Anyway, to practical details. I’ve spoken to the Metropolitan. He has agreed to let pass with just one reading of the banns. The wedding itself . . . will be something of a political affair, Marco. I want it clear in a lot of minds that the Valdosta are under the protection of the Casa Dorma. So the guest list will not be friends. In fact, some of them may have had a hand in your mother’s death.”
He paused, took a turn around the table. Took a deep breath. “Your sudden ‘reappearance’ has started just a little buzz about ‘witchcraft.’ I need to squash that. Would you be prepared to take a test of faith from Father Sachs of the Servants of the Holy Trinity before the service?”