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F elix was glad to find Lucretia’s investor at home, and the man received him in his study.

Publius Calpurnius Lentulus was a sturdy man with graying hair who surveyed Felix with a cool, reserved gaze.

“I find myself quite busy this afternoon, so if you don’t mind…

” His fingers tapped the surface of his desk.

Felix heard the unspoken words beneath Lentulus’s outward politeness.

Get to the point. “Of course.” He leaned back in his chair, affecting ease though it was clear the man had only received him out of the barest civility.

“I understand you have a significant stake in the business of the late Gnaeus Cornelius.”

“I have a significant stake in the business of his widow, Lucretia.”

“Yes, of course,” Felix said. “I am of a mind to expand my own holdings, and I would like to make you a generous offer for the purchase of your shares.”

“No,” Lentulus said curtly.

Felix blinked. “You haven’t even heard my offer yet.” Mentally, he increased by half the price he’d originally planned to offer.

“As you are so well-informed about my business holdings, I wonder if you also know that Gnaeus Cornelius was one of my closest friends. We served together in the fifth legion.”

“Ah, the fifth.” Felix racked his brain to come up with anything he knew of that legion, for once cursing his lack of military experience. “My stepfather was in the, er, third.” In fact, he had no idea which legion his stepfather had belonged to, but it seemed a safe enough fib.

Lentulus ignored the remark. “I would never withdraw my support from Lucretia. It would be an affront to Cornelius’s memory.”

“With respect, sir, I find that sentimentality is rarely a good foundation for business decisions.”

Lentulus’s gaze hardened. “Perhaps not, but the fact remains that my holdings are as profitable as they ever were. Lucretia’s management has not faltered.” He rose to his feet, forcing Felix to rise also.

The dismissal was clear, and Felix knew it would be useless to push further. He inclined his head in a formal nod. “Thank you for your time.”

He left Lentulus’s house. The sunlight, which earlier had seemed like a beneficent omen, now made him squint uncomfortably, and sweat dampened the back of his neck as he walked through the streets.

Winning Lentulus would have been the keystone of his maneuvers against Lucretia. It should have been an easy victory—offer Lentulus more than the shares were worth, make a deal, and go on his way.

But Lentulus hadn’t even heard the offer. His affection for Lucretia and her dead husband had outweighed any money Felix could tender.

The rejection rankled. Perhaps this was Lucretia’s edge: people liked her, in a way they had never liked him. Cornelius, too, had been affable and well-regarded by everyone.

Felix never seemed to form those sorts of attachments with people.

He was competent at maintaining business relationships, but having friends purely for social purposes seemed like a waste of time.

He would much rather spend an evening haggling over the price of olive oil than socializing at a dinner party, though he forced himself to accept the occasional invitation, recognizing the valuable connections they could cultivate.

Well, if he couldn’t beat Lucretia when it came to the connections she had built, he would have to take more drastic measures. He just didn’t know what they were yet.

When his mind was fuzzy and he was faced with a problem he couldn’t solve, he went to the gymnasium. The pain and physical suffering of a boxing round—whether against an opponent or a sand-filled leather bag—often jolted loose the wheels of his mind.

He traversed the few blocks to the gymnasium, a large building which also housed a bathing complex. There was nothing more pleasurable than sinking into a hot, steamy bath after a brutal boxing session.

Felix paid the small entrance fee, then went to the changing room to shed his tunic, leaving himself clad in a loincloth.

He picked up a clean towel and also bound his knuckles in strips of cloth to protect them.

Professional boxers wore metal knuckle casings to deal maximum damage to their opponents, but such vicious measures were not necessary for a hobbyist like Felix.

In the outdoor training area, a tall, elegant colonnade bordered a running track, with an open field in the center.

In the field, men practiced javelin throwing and wrestling.

Inside the shaded colonnade, there were spaces for weightlifting, bags hung for boxing, and benches lining semicircular niches for those who came to the gymnasium to socialize.

The clang of heavy weights hitting the stone floor echoed through the colonnade.

Felix found an unoccupied boxing bag. He set down his towel and stretched to warm up, loosening his shoulders, back, and wrists.

As he did so, he gazed around. On the exterior wall of the building that housed the baths, a large mural depicted the mythic runner Atalanta.

Wearing a hip-length tunic that exposed one breast, she was rendered in motion, running with her feet barely touching the ground.

Felix had often thought the mural was an ironic choice for the gym, where no women were permitted.

A thought struck him, and he straightened sharply from his sideways bend.

Lucretia was a woman, and like Atalanta, Lucretia was attempting to carve her own path in a world of men. Of course, he had always known Lucretia was a woman—he was painfully aware of it most of the time—but he had never fully comprehended how he could use that to his advantage.

Because he had just realized how to cut off Lucretia’s operations from their very origin.

Women were allowed to engage in business only with permission from a male guardian.

In practice, this rule was loosely observed, but if her guardian should explicitly withdraw consent, then Lucretia would have to cease her operations.

If Felix could only contact her guardian…but he didn’t know who it was. Lucretia’s father was deceased, and as far as he knew, she didn’t have any brothers. Perhaps she had an uncle or a distant cousin who had assumed the role after Cornelius died.

Thus, he first had to discover the identity of her guardian, and then persuade, bribe, or otherwise coerce the man into forcing Lucretia to cease her business endeavors.

Then Felix could swoop in and buy up her ships, taking control of her lucrative merchant relationships and trade routes in the western Mediterranean.

His mind full of his fledgling plan, Felix finished stretching and approached the boxing bag. He landed one swift punch to the center of the bag. The impact radiated through his knuckles all the way up his arm.

Something about this plan felt uneasy, bereft of the satisfaction that usually filled him when he solved a nagging problem.

Yes, perhaps it was unfair to target Lucretia based only on her gender, but business was business.

If Felix was able to combine her mastery of trade in the western Mediterranean with his control over the eastern Mediterranean, he would be unquestionably the most powerful businessman in Ostia.

And from there, he could expand north to Genua, south to Neapolis.

That was the path to true power—not through politics or statesmanship, like his murdered father. But through simple, cold money.

Atalanta had eventually succumbed to a man’s trickery, and if Felix had his way, Lucretia would too.