Lair of the Lion

to sleep, cara mia. I have no intention of being angry with you or Rolando. On the contrary, I'm in his debt." He stroked a caress down her hair, bent to brush a kiss against her temple. "Captain Bartolmei is investigating how such a thing could have happened and will report to me. You have nothing to worry about. Sleep, piccola. I'll watch over you." Nicolai abandoned the chair to stretch out beside her on the bed, curving his body protectively around hers.
    "I think this would earn you another lecture," he teased softly, his breath warming the nape of her neck. "But I don't intend for you to have nightmares, bellezza, so I'm going to stay for a while and chase them away for you."
    "I'm too tired for conversation," she said without opening her eyes, pleased that he'd called her beautiful. There was comfort in the strength of his arms, the hard frame of his body. But Isabella didn't want to talk or think. She wanted to escape into sleep.
    "Then stop talking, Isabella." He nuzzled her hair with his chin. "I have four dignitaries waiting to be received, and I'm here with you. That should tell you how much you mean to me. I need to be with you right now. Go to sleep, and let me watch over you."
    Where she had been ice cold, inside and out, heat blossomed and spread. She snuggled deeper beneath the coverlets and fell asleep with a smile curving her mouth.

Chapter Eight
    In the next few days that went by, no one mentioned the incident with Captain Bartolmei.
    If anyone had witnessed Isabella's bedraggled appearance and the captain's coat around her shoulders, they were being discreet. She saw little of Don DeMarco, as he had many duties and often consulted with his two captains and counselors. People came continually to the don, asking for favors, expecting him to solve problems from domestic arguments to affairs of state. Isabella spent her time learning her way around the palazzo. She worked at getting to know the servants, learning their names and faces and strengths and weaknesses.
    Sarina was often at Isabella's side, explaining how things were done, what was considered unchangeable law, which things were the don's personal preferences, and what could be changed should Isabella decide she would prefer it.
    They finished conducting an inspection of storage when they heard a commotion in the lower hall. Voices were raised in anger, and a child cried shrilly. Together, Sarina and Isabella rushed down the stairs to see Betto shaking a young boy. Betto's face was twisted with rage, a terrible mask of malignity as he shouted accusations at the child. A crowd of servants surrounded him, but no one dared defy his authority.
    Sarina gripped Isabella's arm, her fingers digging into the young woman's skin. "What's wrong with him? He never raises his voice. Betto is always calm and reliable. He would not act in such a way, especially not for the servants to see." The housekeeper was horrified.
    She stood frozen, her mouth gaping open, her eyes wide with shock. "What's gotten into him? This isn't my Betto. This isn't like him at all."
    The words echoed in Isabella's ears. She had seen Betto, a kindly soul, bustling about the palazzo in the course of his duties. Dignified. Efficient. The epitome of the discreet manservant. This isn't Betto. Sarina had been married to him for most of her life. Knew him intimately. His behavior was so out of character, so bizarre, his own wife didn't recognize him.
    Isabella remained very still, studying Betto's stiff, jerky movements. The elderly servant's features were distorted with hatred and rage. He shook a bony fist at the young boy, cuffing the child's ear. A torrent of curses exploded out of his mouth, foul words, vicious and cutting. This isn't Betto.
    Tears streamed down the child's face, and he struggled wildly to pull away from the old man. His mother, a pretty young woman named Brigita, stood wringing her hands and weeping. "Let him go, Betto. Please let Dantel go. He was only playing. He would never steal from Don DeMarco."
    "If you had been watching him the way you should have been, you daughter of a whore, the no-good brat wouldn't have been stealing the Master blind."
    Sarina gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. She swayed and went so pale Isabella was afraid she might faint. Isabella circled the housekeeper's waist with one arm to help hold her up. "Betto." Sarina whispered his name softly, tears glittering in her eyes. Her voice was broken, reflecting the state of her