Nicco picked the remaining scraps of meat off the bone before proceeding to gnaw on one end. Although the table had been packed with figs and dates, shellfish and pheasant, as well as cakes and cheeses, he could never resist a perfectly roasted boar. The cartilage pleasantly crunched under his teeth as four sets of inquisitive eyes watched from nearby. When he licked the grease off his fingertips, the two Bracco Italiano pointers anxiously scooted closer.

Holding up the now bare rib, Nicco chuckled before tossing it on the floral-patterned kilim rug. The dogs didn't wait for permission, jumping at the discarded morsel with teeth bared and ears retracted. Their smooth coats shone in a deep amber under the light of the hearth as they angrily tussled over the lone treat, emboldening Nicco's laugh. But as he reached for his cup of wine, not everyone in attendance showed similar amusement.

"Stop!" Pietro Grimani's command bellowed across the room as he stepped out from behind a dressing screen.

Nicco instinctively fell silent, not quite sure whether the directive was meant for him, the dogs or the frazzled looking attendant emerging from the Doge's shadow. Knowing his father's penchant for efficiency and order, it most likely covered all of them.

Dismissing the servant with a wave of his hand, Grimani adjusted his sleeves as he approached. The French silk that stretched over the screen's panels in their gilded frames may have been elegant, but it paled in comparison to the heavy, layered robes weaved with gold thread reserved for the man who ruled the Republic.

With fine slippers on his feet, an ermine collar on his shoulders, and a conical cap on his salt-and-pepper hair, the elder Grimani enjoyed all of the trappings of an oligarch while receiving the wholehearted support of his nobility—but only for as long as he held his esteemed office. While he was expected to rule for life unless he was forcibly removed, there was very little he could do to achieve such humiliation. The complex electoral machinery that had chosen him from an already narrow inner circle of powerful Venetian nobles would not risk admitting that they had picked incorrectly if-not for an undisputed cause of malfeasance.

The dogs respected their master as equally as did his human subjects. Obeying the authoritative, but simple command, the pointers dropped the tug-of-war with the rib and sat. As Grimani neared, their ears flopped back and their tails wagged in a rhythmic show of affection.

"Bravo, Romulus. That's a good boy, Remus," he said, patting each on the head with ring-laden fingers as their appreciation grew into loud thumping on the carpet. Turning to Nicco, the Doge's pleased expression fell into a scowl.

"Your fondness for strife isn't welcome here," he said to his older son while plucking a plump date from a bowl. After biting the sweet fruit in two, he continued. "I would have thought that after the unfortunate events of this morning, you'd be more subdued, Niccolo."

Nicco downed the rest of his wine. "You mean Delfini?"

His father lowered himself into a plush armchair and adjusted the fur draped over his upper body. "Of course I meant Delfini. The Councilman's fate is the talk of the islands."

Nicco shrugged as he placed his cup on the table. "He will not survive until sundown."

The Doge scoffed. "So my intuition was right. You were behind his attack."

"Are you mad, Papá?" Nicco asked, hoping to get an honest reaction out of the man. Respect was certainly welcome, but he'd take appreciation or even acknowledgement. "Tommaso Delfini did question your authority just a few days ago, did he not?"

Grimani leaned forward, the jewel-encrusted cross around his neck clanking on its thick chain. "Does that deserve a death sentence?"

"Some may say so," Nicco answered with indifference.

"And some are saying that there was a witness to the act," Grimani whispered. "For how else could have a gravely injured man gotten to a physician several blocks away?"

Nicco cleared his throat, but didn't allow himself to break his unwavering expression. The fact that his hired thugs could have been identified didn't bother him. There was no way they'd ever be tied back to the Grimani family. His father's disappointment, however, placed a greater weight on his conscience.

"You worry too much, Papá," he said with an appeasing smile. "I will take care of—"

The Doge slammed his hand on the table, making the plates rattle and the dogs perk their ears. "You need to be more careful!" he exclaimed, staring into his son's eyes.

Nicco had angered his father on many previous occasions, but he'd always come out on top. This was not going to be any different. Their methods may have differed, but both men ultimately craved the same thing: power. Success only came to those who were willing to take risks, and Nicco Grimani was nothing if not daring.

Reaching for a dried fig that one of his own ships had brought from Egypt, Nicco tempered his increasing breathlessness. "Oh, I'm always careful. Why, just yesterday I made the heartbreaking decision to stow my beloved away until our wedding day as a precautionary measure for her own safety," he said while squeezing the fruit between his thumb and index finger.

As hoped, the unrelated disclosure turned his father's attention away from the Delfini incident.

"Is that so?" asked the Doge, leaning back in his chair once more. "What does Ottavia need protection from?"

Nicco shook his head in a charade of filial innocence. "Oh, you know how it is with women. Their lack of forethought for anything coupled with problems of impulse control will be their downfall. My dear Ottavia is no different, I'm afraid. So in order to more easily pass the time until we are wed, I have asked the good sisters of Saints Cosma and Damiano to look after her."

The elder Grimani finally laughed. "Say no more," he said before reaching for the jug of wine and pouring himself a cup. "I can well imagine your need for peace in your final weeks as a single man. But does Bartolomeo know of his daughter's fate? As you recall, he's a strong supporter of our family, and there is currently little room for us to alienate our allies."

"There is no reason for worry, Papá," Nicco said with a sigh. "Don Michiel had no objections to my plans for Ottavia. In fact, he was happy to relinquish his responsibilities over her."

The Doge took a sip of his wine. Using the rare moment of peace between them, Nicco decided to make another revelation.

"I do have some other news that should please you," he said, rubbing his palms on the fabric on his thighs. If his father knew of all the trouble he'd gone through to exploit the advantageous situation the quarantine had provided on maritime commerce, he'd surely look at him with more favor. "My current endeavors—if they continue to flourish as they are now—should add considerably to our family's wealth—"

"Halt right there," his father commanded with a wave of his hand. "If I know you as well as I think I do, then I will guess that I should not want to learn of the subsequent details, for that is where the Devil lies. And the Devil will not have a stranglehold on a Grimani as long as I can help it. Now, have you heard of the strange occurrences within our city of late?"

Nicco glanced away to hide the disappointment that surely crept over his face. Looking into the fire's glowing embers, he took several deep breaths and cleared his blurry vision before responding. "Strange occurrences? How so?"

"There is talk of roving mobs attacking our citizenry, usually when they're out alone at nighttime past curfew," Grimani said.

Nicco froze. He'd been assured that the scheme had been fool-proof and that no unwilling participants would come to harm.

"Mobs? How is that possible?" he asked with as much feigned incredulity as he could muster, but a concurrent knock signaled the appearance of a guardsman at the door.

"Your Excellency, it is time," said the soldier, bowing his head in both required duty and honest reverence.

The Doge stood and nodded in acknowledgement before turning to his son once more. "I do not have all of the details, but fear not, we have put measures in place to keep Venice safe. Now, if you don't mind, I have a meeting of the Signoria to preside over," he said.

With that, Nicco's audience ended.

Tucked between the Ducal chapel and the canal-facing rear wall, the Doge's private apartments were accessible by Sansovino's golden staircase, and it was this same path Grimani now took to the Minor Council chamber. As Nicco followed his father and his ever-present dogs, he lifted his gaze to the intricately adorned vaulted ceiling. The naked bodies—immortalized in both frieze and fresco, draped in wisps of fabric covering all of the right places, and ensconced in octagonal frames— stared down on him. As if mocking the political impotence embedded within his position thanks to succession, the celestial imps followed him with every step ultimately leading to the hall that he could not enter.

As the attendants at the door opened both panels for his father to enter, Nicco curled his fingers into a fist at his side and squeezed until his nails dug into his palm. 

Soon, he thought. Soon you will see me for not what I could be, but for what I am. That I swear to you, Papá. Just you wait.