"She knows something." His index finger playing around his lower lip Niccolò Veneri thoughtfully squinted his eyes at the only female figure who caught his attention this night. Conveniently situated at the closest table to the door and wearing an Adriatic-blue dress that strongly contrasted with the dark brown furniture of the establishment, Giulietta Rerieri clearly made a point of catching everyone's eye.

"Judging by the length of this conversation, the only thing she knows is what mask she'd like to wear to the ball." His brother mockingly imitated Niccolò's posture and added with a conspiratorial whisper: "But she hasn't made her final decision yet, so everything is still possible."

Niccolò remained silent, choosing not to acknowledge the teasing of his younger brother. Tiredly, he sighed, gesturing to the girl at his side to leave. There were only few things in life he hated more than this place. For all he knew, no man should ever have to pay for the attention of a woman, but society dictated other rules.

"Those are women brother," Lorenzo tried again, more serious this time, "they simply have other priorities in life. And while they'd do anything for love and a pair of pretty shoes, their concern does not extend to politics."

The confidence in his voice surprised Niccolò, making him wonder if the third of Veneri children really was this naïve. He finally tore his eyes from Giulietta and gave his brother a pretentiously curious glace. 

"So how, in your eternal wisdom, do you explain the fact that she is always able to adequately react to any changes in trade, despite having no seat in the council? Oh, wait, there is more to it. Stubborn as she is, she even dismissed her late father's advisor as soon as she took over the House. So, by all means, tell me where she gets her information from?"

Unsurprisingly, Lorenzo's attention span reached its limit, as his mind drifted away, disregarding his brother's monologue. Niccolò tried his best to remain patient, defeatedly looking through the big dirty window at the nighty streets of the city. At eighteen years of age, the boy was still young and thrilled by the pleasures of the place – an excitement that Niccolò recognized from his friends, but never shared.

"So what, she pays off someone from the council to keep her informed. Nothing that hasn't been done before," Lorenzo carelessly shrugged with one shoulder, while his eyes were flirting with a dark-haired beauty next to the patron at another table.

Thoughtfully Niccolò nipped on his wine as his mistrusting gaze returned to the single spot of colour in the Salon. The warm, yellow candlelight wasn't bright enough to illuminate the entire room, keeping it in semidarkness, though contributing to the rising temperature that contrasted with the winterly chill outside.

Giulietta sat with her back turned to him, so he couldn't see her face but only her raven black hair artfully knotted on the left side of her head with a few locks playfully flowing down her neck. And yet, judging by her body language, he could imagine she looked as pleased as when she closed the deal with his supplier before he could extend his contract last week.

"That was my initial thought as well," he finally admitted. "Until she rerouted her ships even before the council ruled to raise taxes on-" he interrupted himself, realising he was just wasting his breath on Lorenzo's ignorance. Instead, he focused his attention on a grim suspicion that germinated in his mind for a while now and cried to be released into the world. "She must be getting her information straight from the source of all this scheming," he assuredly mumbled to himself.

To his surprise, his brother laughed sincerely amused: "According to your logic, all women have one shared intelligence that they use with the sole purpose of plotting against you."

"Then why those meetings here?" Niccolò raised his voice, impatiently running his fingers through his dark heavy locks.

Lorenzo stared at him as if Niccolò just announced he'd decided to go on an expedition to find Atlantis. Realising it was a serious question, he replied: "Isn't that obvious? Some people get pleasure from being here."

"This is Giulietta Rerieri, Lorenzo, the first woman to ever bear the weight of being an heir to a House - a responsibility that would overstrain you by even imagining it. She does nothing for pleasure." Except for making points.

As Fate so wanted, with only nineteen years of age, Giulietta was not only the first female to ever head a House, but she was also the youngest Head in decades – even younger than Niccolò when he had to step in for his late father two years ago at the age of twenty-one. With the only difference that he was accepted by society while she was merely endured by law.

Hiding this face in his hands, Lorenzo seemed to finally have accepted that his brother would ruin his fun night out anyway. "Alright, who was this girl," he started his investigation from the beginning, guessing correctly that his brother kept tabs on all people that he thought stood in his way. And that were a lot of tabs.

"Child of a slave, they grew up together," Niccolò recited from the card his investigator had on the girl who just left with the whores. "Rerieri had her released when she was fifteen as a birthday present for the then thirteen-year-old Giulietta. She last worked as a maid for-."

Lorenzo gasped in disbelieve: "Suspecting them of plotting something is like suspecting the two of us. And if the stories about her father are true, they might even be sisters."

Niccolò sighed tiredly. His brother had still so much to learn: "Don't speak ill of the dead. There is no glory in being shady about a man who cannot stand up for himself. Rerieri was desperate but still an honourable man."

"For the love of God, Niccolò. They are from the Old House. They always pretend like they are above everyone else - even your precious law! Where is the honour in that?" Frustrated, Lorenzo spat the last words in his face.

The Old and New Houses didn't necessarily like each other but managed to create a peaceful co-existence, sharing the scope of the same city. Only the hostility between Rerieri and Veneri surpassed decades and generations building up to the sort of hatred that came from a special place and was only reserved for one another, especially since operating in the same business.

"Their family has been there at the formation of this Republic. They produced a line of the greatest Doges in history. That should deserve some respect, even from you." Niccolò wasn't exactly sure why he felt the urge to protect the Rerieri's honour - probably just to teach his brother some manners, he assumed. "They are an Ancient House."

"They are merely three lost girls and a widow, desperately trying to keep up their appearances."

Niccolò knew when a discussion led nowhere, and this was one of them. So he dropped it, returning to the more pressing matter.

"I am still convinced she knows something, and I will find it out," he announced, lazily pushing his empty cup away.

"And what pray tell is your brilliant plan on this delicate matter, oh you, the wisest of our House," Lorenzo grinned mockingly, slightly slurring the words.

Niccolò smirked confidently. "As you said, brother, women would do anything for love. And I am sure they cannot keep secrets from the one person they truly love, can they?" Determined, he got up from his chair, convinced the young, stubborn girl will be a simple game. The laughter from his brother stopped him in motion.

"Is that how you solve all your problems? Seduce and sleep with them! Then being Head of the House sounds like a fine career to me. I might have to murder you for this position," Lorenzo continued teasing his older brother.

Alerted by Lorenzo's roaring voice, Niccolò looked around to make sure no one was listening to them. He gave his bother a warning look that made him uncomfortably wiggle in his chair. His rosy cheeks and unfocused eyes spoke volumes. Suddenly the boy leaned forward and whispered as if he was letting Niccolò in on a secret.

"You are a Veneri. She is a Rerieri. You won't be able to pull it off without arousing her suspicion while drawing attention of the entire city."

"Attention is what she desires, is it not?" Niccolò vaguely motioned into the direction of her table. "So, allow me to fulfil this wish of hers and give her the attention she deserves, shall I?" With these words, he straightened his maroon coat and left the table with confident steps, breaching the short distance to the light blue dot on the other side of the Salon.

"Veneri," she half-moaned his name without opening her eyes before he could even open his mouth. "I don't mix business with pleasure."

Ignoring her closed eyes and the busy fellow at her side, he gave her a playful half-smile. "I wager I can perform this task far more efficiently than your current company," he replied in the deep voice, leaning against the wooden door.

Her eyes flew open, reflecting the flickering light in their pale-blue pupils. Slowly, she let her gaze wander over his coffee-brown hair, his equally dark eyes, his full lips and back to his eyes. Then she scoffed: "A kind offer that I intend to decline. You shag me enough without laying your hands on me. A horror to imagine how you try to please other women."

„Let me assure you that I am highly aware of my reputation thus I trust you don't have to strain your imagination. But I shall see myself arranged someone to practice with. It would not fit my profile leaving you disappointed," he smirked amused about her struggle to maintain a nonchalant expression.

With a small step back, he indicated the movement of a bow. Still smiling to himself he opened the wooden door, he just leant against and stepped into the fresh air of the nighty city.

This promised to be a fun undertaking.