Merchants of Milan

Madelena folded her hands in her lap and expelled a breath. “I don’t talk about it, but I think I should like to tell you. It’s silly, I know, but I cannot recall anyone with whom I have felt more at ease or more stimulated. You make me feel alive, Fiore; you make me feel real. Vergilio was a good enough husband, but we were not close in the way I feel close to you. After all, his world was that of a man, the domain of business and mercantile. I was only his wife.” She pivoted on the settee to face Florentina who looked on her with honest compassion.

“One evening he was late getting home. He had formed a partnership with my father upon our engagement and was in charge of the wool division; Ally’s primary expertise is silk. Anyway, he had traveled to our pastures in the countryside to oversee the spring sheering and inspect the quality of the wool. It is only an hour’s ride at a canter and he was an accomplished equestrian. That is how I recognized something was amiss. There are several spirited steeds in our stables, but he purposefully chose a docile gelding for the trip as it was for business.”

Florentina detected the signs of distress in Maddie as she relived the event and reflexively reached over to take her hand. Madelena flicked appreciative eyes at her, took a breath, and continued. “It was well after dark and he still was not home, which was very unusual. Then there was pounding on the door and Iseppo opened it. I was worried so Ally and I rushed to see. Two men whom I had never met were holding Vergilio, who appeared to be unconscious, and dragged him inside. They laid him on a fainting couch, said they found him along the road thrown from his horse. Then they left, and I never saw them again. We didn’t even catch their names. Ally sent for a physician, but…” she lowered her gaze to their intertwined fingers. “He was already dead. I think he was dead when they brought him in.”

“Maddie, I am so sorry that you had to experience that,” Florentina comforted. “It must have been awful to see your husband like that. I know it was to watch my father die.”

Madelena raised dew-moistened forest leaf eyes to her in a moment of solidarity. “But I am convinced he didn’t simply fall from his horse,” she declared with vigor. “He was a damned good rider on a gentle mount in fair weather. I even traveled out to the sheep pasture, and they said he never arrived–gone all day and he never even got there! The whole episode was bizarre. I tell you the truth, Fiore, someone killed him. Naturally I suspect Don Benetto, but I can’t prove it.” Her voice trailed off, and she lowered her head.

“But why would Viscardi want to kill your husband?” Florentina asked gently.

Madelena sighed. “Who knows? Because he’s a mean rat’s bastard, Vergilio looked at him wrong or some other perceived slight, he’s petty and jealous, it was a Tuesday.” At that her voice cracked, and she lifted one hand to push her hair aside. She had removed pins and ribbons and untwined the braids leaving a flow of flaming silk to drape her shoulders. Florentina gave the hand she held a little squeeze and stroked her other across Maddie’s back in solace. “Truly though, Vergilio was too outspoken on his political views, which were in direct opposition to the Viscardi’s.”

“Oh?”

“You see, my husband was a stanch supporter of the Sforzas. It made sense,” she explained. “The Sforza family dukes did much to bring our city-state to prominence. Their policies stimulated the economy, they patroned the arts, they commissioned grand architectural and engineering projects.” Then she turned her eyes to Florentina’s. “They brought Leonardo da Vinci to Milan. But then larger neighboring nations wanted to lay claim to Lombardy, and Benetto saw gold. He shifted his support to the French king, knowing that wars fought over our land would send coins streaming into an arms dealer’s coffers. It did pay off for him politically when the French King Louis defeated Ludovico il Moro and he was sent into exile. Vergilio never liked that foreigners rules our Duchy instead of Milanese and said so publicly far too often. I suppose the French could have had him killed to silence his rebellious speech. But you suspect Benetto murdered your father?”

“I know he did,” Florentina affirmed. “He told me as much just before… No one would believe a grieving daughter who surely was mistaken. The physician wrote that his heart gave out as there were no signs of injury to the body, but Viscardi poisoned him and that is a fact; it is also a fact that no judge will ever hold him to account for it, or anything else he may have done.”

In the next instant Maddie placed a caressing hand to her face, leaned in, and kissed her. Although she had been anticipating this very possibility for hours, it came on her as swift and unforeseen as a summer storm. The sensual heat of those urgent lips melded to hers ignited something deep within Florentina’s core that sprung to life for the very first time and exploded throughout her being, a sensation so phenomenal, so novel that she had no context in which to place it. Breathless, her mind went totally blank, and she simply savored the moment.

When Madelena withdrew she whispered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“Sorry?” Florentina’s heart sank and her head spun. How could she be sorry? “Why? I’m not.”

“You’re not?” Maybe Maddie was as uncertain as she, as overcome with raw emotion and not knowing how to express it. “It’s just that–and I have contemplated this–with me being your employer and all, I don’t want you to expect you must do something you aren’t comfortable with. I would never pressure you-”

It was Florentina’s turn to be impulsive. She silenced Maddie by repeating the gesture, tasting again those full, cherry lips that flooded her mind, body, and soul with sensations. When it broke, they gazed into each other’s eyes looking for confirmation. “I understand I am only a servant in your household.”

“Don’t say that!” Maddie replied firmly. “That is not how I view you. Please, Fiore. How can I explain?”

The earlier butterflies began to settle in Florentina’s stomach and the fog of trepidation evaporate. She could perceive that the beautiful wealthy widow did regard her with esteem, did have feelings for her. This was not a mere dalliance she realized. “I care for you also,” she spoke softly and stroked Maddie’s luxurious strands. “Do not think you press me to do something I have not wanted to do since the moment I first saw you.”

Relief engulfed Madelena’s expression, and she brushed her cheek to Florentina’s then nuzzled her neck with moist, eager lips. A euphoric sigh escaped Fiore’s mouth at the intimate touch and she pulled Maddie closer. When their lips found each other’s again she opened to the honey-sweet tongue that was impatient to delve into it. Without willing them to do so, she realized her fingers were wound in those silky red strands while her other hand slid down Madelena’s back as far as the bench would allow. She could perceive her heartbeat against her own heated breast. This is what she had dreamt of and it surpassed her expectations. All she wanted to do was touch, caress, explore, and please this singular woman. Even as she was rendered breathless from the physical passion, her heart was telling her head that what she felt was far more, endlessly deeper. It was a very dangerous cavern, a bottomless pit that could spell her doom; she was falling in love.