Vito set the cup down without drinking. His hand had already decided this was a moment for more conviction than wine.
Every scheme he had built came apart in one breath.
He had sent word through his men, so it reached the right doors without leaving his fingerprints on it. Boniface had been seen first, before this room, which meant the story was already walking around before Dandolo ever laid eyes on him.
All of it had depended on one simple notion, how nobody in this city could keep watch on both ends of the board at once.
It appeared somebody could.
And had managed it without needing working eyes.
Vito kept his expression casual and let the rest of him take the news lower down, where a man’s stomach was supposed to handle such things.
Dandolo’s free hand, the one not occupied with his beads, tapped once against the arm of his chair.
"Rumors travels strangely in this city. I’ve watched that trick a hundred times, and every man doing it was sure he’d invented it himself."
He let the beads hang still. "One man knew just enough to make me curious, another knew a little more, then one more turns up before I had forgotten my interest. By the time I heard the Marquess had been approached as well, I knew I wasn’t hearing gossip."
Vito parted his lips open to argue, then found that he had nothing worth putting into it.
"Lion’s blood, don’t look so wounded. I’m not your enemy."
Dandolo’s grin even lacked some teeth, "Mostly I’m curious how a Barozzi learned that game so young, when the rest of your family has spent three generations forgetting how to play anything except cards."
There was no version of this in which Vito outplayed a man who had seen the whole hand before the game had even started.
He put both hands flat on his knees, and let the rest of his performance go.
"Che diavolo..."
The words came under his breath, more whisper than voice.
Then he met those clouded eyes, from old habit more than any serious hope that they would meet his.
"Fine. I’ll skip the part where I pretend I wasn’t hoping you’d hear exactly that."
He leaned forward over the table between them, close enough now that wine and old wood occupied the space where his charm usually did the work.
"Crete’s important to Venice whether I’m the one saying it or not. That much you already know better than I do."
He turned his cup once between his fingers without drinking. "What you may not know is how little time we’ve got left to settle it like reasonable men, before some thug with a fleet and no patience arrives there first."
His thumb brushed along the rim of the cup, an old habit from another life, "I’d rather have the negotiation finished in a few weeks, not a few months. Once we’ve got the agreement, La Serenissima can start putting men and ships on the island and build from there."
He clicked his tongue.
"And I would hate to leave Genoese the best beaches."
That was enough to make Caterina set her cup down on the table, interest hidden beneath her sharp eyes.
Dandolo replied, unsurprised, "I imagine you promised him more than just a fair price. Tell me plainly, all of it, the way you told him."
"I told him Venezia could make a handsome thing of an island he hasn’t got the ships to enjoy properly."
Vito kept his eyes on Dandolo, though he could feel Caterina’s attention focus on him like a hand against the back of his neck. "Once he’s got Thessalonica and I’ve got Crete, he’ll have a friend in me, separate from whatever business either of us has with La Serenissima. We settle the family debts between us, and that’s that."
Dandolo exhaled, as if to judge the bargain, "Tell me, boy, what do you imagine that friendship will be worth in two years? You’ve got one little post on an island and a promise of an alliance. Why should a prince with a kingdom care what use you might be to him?"
Vito’s lips twitched. "Because I’m buying the first two years, not the last twenty. Give me time to become worthy and he’ll have enough reason to care.
Dandolo turned the beads once. "And what does this friendship buy him besides a pleasant supper? Better prices? First choice at Venetian markets? Favors when his merchants come knocking?"
"Probably all three, if he’s clever enough to ask."
"And if he’s less clever? If he calls to war and expects your private retinue beside his?"
"Then I’ll promise him just enough to keep him happy and see what else I can get out of it."
Vito shrugged, though his pulse had not quite caught up with the ease in his shoulders.
"Zara seemed to work out nicely for you."
Dandolo let the beads lay against his palm.
Then he spread that hand over the arm of his chair, like an old man finally getting around to the part of the conversation he actually cared about. "Marco Sanudo has his eye on that island, and he’s got better ships and a longer purse than you’ll see for years."
He paused. "Did that name ever cross your table, or were you too busy admiring your own reflection in Boniface’s wine?"
Vito knew the name from another life, and knew exactly what Sanudo had planned for the partition.
He kept it off his face. "It’s crossed my table, and it doesn’t worry me in the slightest. By the time he’s done carving up the Aegean, I’ll have Crete nicely out of his way."
For the first time, Dandolo’s fingers missed a bead.
Before either man could carry the argument any further, Caterina tapped her finger against the table.
"All very grand. Crete, Thessalonica, new ships, the whole of it. But who’s paying for this little venture of yours?"
Her eyes stayed on Vito, amused but attentive. "Investors? The Republic? Your own purse? And your galleys, Vitale. Are those meant to occupy an island, or merely introduce themselves?"
Vito had built a career on exactly that question, in two different centuries. "Whoever I can charm into throwing their rat into the pot, mostly. Merchants, patricians, fools with more coin than sense."
He gave her a bright smile.
"I’ll keep a seat at the table for you, mia cara."
Caterina’s eyes narrowed.
Beneath the sharpness that looked more like genuine curiosity than doubt.
Dandolo turned his own cup once on the table without lifting it, an old man waiting to hear a number before deciding what expression to wear.
"And once you’ve got your foothold, what is it actually for?"
"Alexandria."
Vito did not hesitate. "Crete gives me the perfect little trade stop. I’ll make friends with Egypt and let the money find its way back to me."
It was the obvious reason, and Dandolo simply moved on, "And what do you imagine Venice ought to pay Boniface for the privilege?"
Vito clicked his tongue, as if he had to count invisible numbers, "A thousand silver marks up front. Enough to lay keels for two new war galleys with some coin left in the purse, or bankroll a trade venture large enough that every merchant on the Rialto will pretend he thought of it first."
He continued before either of them could interrupt. "Ten thousand gold hyperpyra a year after that, paid out of Constantinople for as long as the contract is valid."
Dandolo’s hand found the beads again and took up the motion where it had stopped, slow and easy, as though the last quarter hour had meant him nothing at all.
"Interesting."
He sat with that, his blind eyes finding Vito even if there was nothing for them to see.
"I’ve heard enough."