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Lion’s large hand reached up to caress her throat.

“Does it matter that there are other women?” His fingers gently stroked the hollow where her heart was pounding wildly.

“Why? I never ask you how many men you service when I’m not here.

” He pulled down the square neckline of her gown to bare her breasts, one callused palm moving to the left.

He spread his fingers over her breast and watched the nipple tauten in response.

“It’s what we are together that concerns me.

” He leaned forward and his lips closed on her now distended nipple, and she felt his warm tongue tease and caress the distended tip.

“Lion…” She swayed toward him, her fingers tangling in his hair. “I could come with you to Mandara.”

His head quickly lifted and his eyes became shuttered. “No.”

How stupid to make such an offer. It had tumbled out before she’d thought it through, and, she knew, it was generated by sheer jealousy of those other women in his life.

Lion would never take her to Mandara. He would not even talk to her about his life away from her.

“I was only joking,” she said quickly, rubbing her swollen breast teasingly against his lips.

“Why should I give up my fine life here in Florence? I have everything I want. Money, beautiful jewels, and one man is much like another.”

“True.” Lion’s tension eased. “But there’s only one Giulia,” he said lightly. “Giulia, the divine.” He stood up and pulled her toward the bed across the room. “Giulia, the generous.”

She could see the hunger growing in him, his manhood pressing hard and bold against the material of his hose. Lust speared through her. “Generous?”

“I’m in the mood to test your kindness tonight.

” He smiled as he sat down on the bed, spread his legs, and pulled her down on her knees before him.

He took her palm and brought it to his lips before lowering it to cover his rigid manhood.

“And you are going to be generous to me tonight, aren’t you, cara? ”

Tonight, tomorrow, for a few days. It would never be more than that with Lion.

But what did it matter? Her hand moved slowly, teasingly on his body as she gazed up at him through her long lashes.

He was aroused, hurting, feeling with an intensity that made her heady with power.

She was filled with breathless excitement.

Lion would be wild, strong and lustful as a satyr, insatiable as he always was when aroused.

More . “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m going to be very generous, amo mio. ”

“You don’t seem to understand, my enchanting Sanchia,” Caprino said mildly.

“You have no choice. You will go to the piazza and relieve the gentleman of his purse. Then you’ll bring the purse to me and I’ll see that you’re suitably rewarded.

You will do this or you will never lift another purse in Florence ever again. ”

“Why me?” Sanchia asked fiercely. “I told you earlier today that I didn’t want—”

“This is a special task.”

“It’s too soon. I can’t—” She broke off as she realized her voice was rising.

She cast an anxious glance at the door of the shop set in the alcove behind her.

Giovanni mustn’t know she was out here with Caprino.

It was only because Giovanni had started on his third jug of wine of the evening and was unlikely to notice her absence that she had dared to slip out when Caprino had appeared a few minutes before.

“You know I can’t leave the shop in the middle of the day. Giovanni will ask questions.”

“And you will lie.” Caprino shrugged. “It’s not as if you haven’t lied to him before.”

“Not often.” Lies were sometimes necessary to survive, but Sanchia had found that an occasional lie surrounded by the truth was much more likely to be believed. “And not unless it was important.”

“But this is important. It was you who came to me three years ago and asked to be trained. Out of the goodness of my heart I made you one of the finest thieves in all of Florence and what did I ask in return? Nothing.”

“Two thirds of every purse I stole is far from nothing.”

“I could have asked for all but a few ducats.”

And gotten it, Sanchia thought wearily. She would have had no choice but to give in to his demands. Caprino got his share or there were no thefts, whoring, or killings in Florence. “I’ve never tried to cheat you of your share, Caprino.”

“I know. Such a virtuous child. It warms my heart.” He took a step closer. “How are your three little friends? I hear Bartolomeo is becoming quite as skilled as you as Giovanni’s helper in the shop. How old is he now?”

“Ten,” she said warily.

“And Elizabet? I saw her a few days ago. Such a lovely maid, all golden hair and soft pale skin. She must be fifteen by now.”

Sanchia stiffened. “Fourteen.”

“Old enough,” Caprino said. “When are you going to send her to me? There are easier ways for a pretty pullet to make her way in the world than the one you’ve chosen for her.”

Sanchia’s initial surge of panic was quickly washed away by anger. “Stay away from her, Caprino.”

“Ah, now that’s what I like to see. A little fire.

” He studied Sanchia objectively. “You’re really not bad-looking.

A little color in your cheeks and a few pounds on those skinny bones, and I might be able to use you too.

” He brought his lace-trimmed kerchief to his nose with a moue of distaste.

“After a dozen scented baths and a thorough perfuming.”

“You do use me.” Her lashes lowered to veil her eyes. “I steal for you.”

“Only enough to feed that brood you hold so dear.”

“It will have to satisfy you.”

“But I’m never satisfied. I’m a very greedy man.

Haven’t you realized that yet, Sanchia?” He smiled faintly.

“Give me Elizabet and I’ll share the ducats I get for her.

I might even be able to persuade Giulia Marzo to take her.

Your Elizabet could become the courtesan of a rich and powerful lord. Fine food, pretty gowns—”

“No!” Sanchia saw the frown forming on Caprino’s face and instantly began to placate him. “Not yet. Perhaps in another year.”

“Why not now?” Caprino’s voice lowered to a silky threat. “I’m desolate you’re not returning the kindness I’ve shown to you. Ingratitude make me very unhappy. First you refuse to do me a small favor in the piazza tomorrow, and now you’re hoarding that sweet child from me and telling me—”

“I’ll steal the purse,” Sanchia interrupted.

Then, as she saw the flicker of satisfaction on Caprino’s face, she realized with frustration that he’d gotten exactly what he wanted from her.

He had used the threat to Elizabet to force Sanchia to steal again.

Why had she expected anything else? Caprino always got what he wanted through guile or cunning or force.

Still, it had been only a threat this time, she thought with relief.

“Why do you want that particular purse? If I see an easier—” She stopped.

Caprino was shaking his head. “It has to be the man I point out to you. And why I want it is no concern of yours.” He turned to go. “The piazza at two. Don’t be late.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “If I don’t get that purse, I’ll have to seek…compensation. You understand, Sanchia?”

“I understand.” A shiver ran through her as she met his gaze. “You’ll have your purse.”

“Good. Such a sweet child.” A moment later he had faded into the darkness, and the breath Sanchia had not realized she had been holding came out in a rush.

Dio , she had been frightened. She had known it was only a matter of time until Caprino realized Elizabet’s potential value to him. Nothing and no one escaped Caprino’s notice for long if it meant money flowing into his purse, but perhaps she had staved him off for a little while.

She stood gazing at the darkness into which Caprino had disappeared.

Something would have to be done soon about Elizabet, who was becoming too comely for Sanchia to protect.

She had caught Giovanni gazing often at Elizabet of late.

His eyes held the same lust he had had for Sanchia’s mother.

Soon he would attempt Elizabet, if Caprino hadn’t already forced the girl into one of his brothels.

One solution to Elizabet’s problem had occurred to Sanchia, but it would take more ducats than she could manage to salvage from her share of the purses she snatched for Caprino.

Perhaps if she could find a way to get away from the shop more often—

She jumped as a crash of splintering pottery sounded in the shop behind her. The sound was immediately followed by Giovanni’s loud cursing. “Sanchia! Where the devil are you?”

She consciously braced herself and turned to open the door.

“I was just getting some air. It’s so—” She gazed in horror at the disaster across the room.

A pottery jug lay broken on the scribe table, and Giovanni was making futile dabs with a cloth at the rich red wine spreading on the two leaves of parchment in front of him.

“No!” Sanchia hurried across the room to stand looking down at the first leaf.

It was ruined, the ink running over the parchment.

She carefully lifted it away from the one beneath.

The second leaf was still legible, but the liquid had soaked through and it would also have to be recopied. “You’ve ruined it.”

“You can fix it,” Giovanni mumbled, shaking his shaggy graying head. “I don’t have to deliver the work until noon tomorrow.” He turned and walked unsteadily toward the room at the back of the shop. “Sleepy…You can fix it.”