The servant’s hand was steady, but he did not look Alessandro in the eye.

I watched the wine fill the glass, the dark liquid swirling against the crystal.

Matteo reached for his own glass but did not drink.

He was watching Gianni, his hand resting near the edge of the table where his jacket hung open.

“The council will want to see the trust documents,” Gianni said.

“They will see them when the time is right,” Alessandro replied.

The rain began to beat harder against the stained-glass windows of the dining room.

The wind rattled the heavy wooden shutters outside.

“A toast,” Gianni said, raising his glass.

“To the new bride. May she find what she is looking for in Rome.”

The other men at the table raised their glasses slowly.

Alessandro reached for his glass, his hand trembling slightly as he lifted it.

I looked at the servant who had poured the wine.

He was standing near the door now, his hands folded in front of him, his eyes fixed on the floor.

There was a small smudge of white powder on the cuff of his black jacket.