Page 57 of The Medici Return

“You made fun of me,” she said. “Like your father did. You laughed at me. I remember. I remember it all. You think I do not?”

Soften her up. Be conciliatory.“I am sorry for that. Truly I am. You told me once that God would show us a way to prove what you said. And He did. Through DNA. I tested the remains of Gregorio Cappello from the cemetery in the mountains. I also tested the remains of Anna Maria. They are related. A positive match. They were mother and son. You were right.”

A lie. But a workable one. He was still waiting on the test results. Which should come anytime. But he had faith that all would be good.

“Gregorio was her son,” his grandmother spit out. “He was Medici.”

“My DNA matches theirs,” he said. “I am Medici. Through you. Which means you are Medici.”

She seemed to consider that concession for a moment, liking it, before saying, “I am the last one alive who knows.”

“You must tell me, before.”

A curious look came to her wizened face. “Before what?”

“Before you forget.”

She went silent for a moment and returned her attention to the window and the sunshine. He’d known this was not going to be easy. But she was right. She was the last one.

“Nonna, please listen to me. It is not enough that we are Medici. To collect the debt, to make the pope pay, we must be a legitimate royal Medici heir. Illegitimacy gets us nothing. Clearly, AnnaMaria became pregnant and birthed a child. But who was the father? And were they married? That is what matters now. You never explained that part of the story.”

“It is a wondrous tale,” she said. “A grand love story.”

She paused.

“Without a happy ending.”

CHAPTER 39

JASON STOOD PROPPED AGAINST THE FENCE AND WATCHED ASCOTTONMalone rounded the dirt track one more time atop the horse.

Camilla Baines stood beside him.

Late afternoon had arrived and the sun was heading down, painting the stable and the track in a golden tan. He was trying to stay composed, but his emotions swayed toward panic. His entire life and career were on the line, everything he ever worked for, ever wanted, at dire risk. Like on a roller coaster that he had no way of stopping. You just kept racing ahead, one drop, one curve after the next.

“He rides that horse with confidence,” she said.

He agreed.

Malone had hopped right onto the back of the stallion and grabbed the reins. The first lap around the track had been a slow trot, Malone apparently testing the animal, getting comfortable riding bareback. The next was a full trot. Now he was up to a solid run.

“I have never ridden a horse before,” he said. “I grew up in a large German city. Our visits to the countryside were confined to a hike, swim, or fishing. No horses.”

“He seems to be trying to get a feel for the animal,” she said.

“Is that difficult?”

She shrugged. “Not with a horse. They can sense the rider. Know when he or she is confident or scared. Horses like confident. It reduces the amount of thinking they have to do.”

Malone rounded the far turn and the horse sped up.

They thundered past for another lap.

“Cardinal Richter,” she said, “may I offer some personal advice?”

“I can use all of that I can get.”

“In the Palio deceit and deception are part of the experience. They are expected, the idea being to make it hard for your enemies to win. No one is immune. No one is a saint. Neither is anyone the devil. We are all simply trying to uphold the tradition of the race.”

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