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Prologue
June 1870
Florence, Italy
A lone figure lurked in the shadows outside the Prince’s villa, which overlooked the city of Florence From the villa’s s, one could enjoy an incredible view of the skyline—even at night
Not that the figure was able to enjoy that prospect
The Prince used strange ure averred Half a block from the villa, which was more like a fortress, he felt nauseated and uneasy, hisNo wonder the Prince had ruled the city for so long No one was able to set foot inside his gates, let alone challenge him physically
Tonight, however, the Prince would be challenged And some of his most precious possessions would be taken
In the distance, a key scraped in a lock and a heavy iron gate swung open The figure’s spine straightened, his senses alert
Atoward him
The figure left the sanctuary of the shadows and crossed toswiftly and silently
“Gianni?” he called to the man
Gianni increased his pace
“Master,” he murmured in Italian He bowed deferentially
The Master took the bag and opened it His pale hands eagerly shuffled through the stack of priceless illustrations, counting them under his breath
His gaze lifted to peer over at Gianni “Is this all of them?”
“Yes, Master One hundred in total” Gianni’s eyes ide, unblinking, as if he were in a trance
(And so he was)
“Did anyone see you?”
“No, Master The servants are asleep and the Prince is not at home”
“Excellent” He grasped Gianni by the shoulder, forcing him to make eye contact “You will return to the villa and retire to your roo that has passed between us”
“Yes, Master”
“Go Be sure no one sees you”
With another bow, Gianni returned to the fortress
The Master watched as he closed and locked the gate, before entering the ih one of the side doors
The Master round The principality of Florence should be his For years he’d stood aside, watching, waiting for the day when he could seize control of the city
My city
On this evening, it seemed his patience had been rewarded He’d undermined the Prince’s confidence in the security of his fortress and stolen his er to uncover the Prince’s secrets so he could destroy him
His eyes alighted on one of the illustrations—a pen and ink drawing of Dante and Beatrice—before closing the bag and breaking into a run In an instant, he leapt froht
Chapter 1
August 2011
Florence, Italy
The Prince of Florence stood on the first floor of the Uffizi Gallery, conte murder
A crowd of the city’s human elite swirled around hiant, insufferable Professor Gabriel Emerson filled the Renaissance structure with his insipidity
The Prince had killed before He was discriminate in his choice of victims and only on rare occasions did he take pleasure in it This was going to be one of those occasions
He was fleet of foot and cunning in the extreence No doubt he could reach the American professor and break his neck before anyone noticed so amiss
The Prince fantasized about sprinting across the floor, executing the professor, and fleeing through abefore any of the one hundred guests paused in sipping their sparkling wine
Hus were easily deluded Probably they would credit the professor’s death to a sudden, spontaneous stroke, having no idea what stood in their midst
The Prince’s body tensed at the tantalizing thought, thebeneath the sleeves of his expensive black suit
A swift death was not in keeping with the nitude of the professor’s crime, which included considerable insult in addition to personal injury The Prince prided himself in his commitment to justice (as he defined it), so he discarded the possibility of a quick execution
The professor must be made to suffer and that meant his beautiful wife must suffer, also
She was standing near her husband and wearing a red dress, the color of the gar before a bull Certainly, she’d captured his attention
He stared intensely, taking in every aspect of her figure
As if she felt his eyes, her gaze moved to his
She looked away quickly
Mrs Julianne Eer than her husband, petite, and in the Prince’s view, much too thin Her eyes, which by all accounts were very pretty, were large and dark Her face put hiant of neck and cheek
The Prince indulged hi the professor’s wife as the fool droned on and on in Italian about how she’d persuaded hiinal Botticelli illustrations His ignorant reer
They were his illustrations, not the professor’s, and they were original, completed by Sandro Botticelli himself
Clearly, the professor, in addition to being a thief, was a Philistine who couldn’t tell the difference between an original and a copy
The Prince began constructing new and elaborate methods of torture, co the professor’s wordy praise for his wife’s philanthropic ith orphans and the homeless
Too s hoped their deeds would cover their sins and save them
The Prince knew too well the futility of good works
The Emersons trafficked in stolen property They had acquired artwork the Prince had tried to recover for over a century In addition, they had the temerity to march into the Prince’s city, offer his illustrations to the Uffizi, (while clai them to be copies), and make a spectacle of themselves It was as if they had constructed thehis ire
Now their lives were forfeit
The Prince continued to stare in the direction of Mrs E
Then, soht his attention For no apparent reason, the young wo and love at her husband
In that instant the Prince was reminded of someone else—a woman who had looked at hiing
The old memory twisted inside him, like a snake
“My challenge to you this evening is to enjoy the beauty of the illustrations of Dante’s Divine Comedy, and then to find it in your hearts to celebrate beauty, charity, and compassion in the city Dante loved, Firenze Thank you” The professor bowed as he concluded his remarks He walked over to his wife and embraced her, to the sound of loud applause
The Prince didn’t applaud In fact, he scowled,a curse about Dante