Puzzled glances were exchanged at the unexpected development, and when it became evident that neither Alessandro nor Vittorio had any firm grasp on what was happening, both did the only wise thing at their disposal.<br/><br/><strong>”Tell me, boy, what do you make of this? What might this all mean, do you imagine?”</strong><br/><br/>The boy’s reticence to be drawn into his masters’ plan was apparent, but as he had not yet been paid or tipped he could hardly decline to offer the requested opinion.<br/><br/><strong>”It would seem, good master Alessandro the Brave, that your household mourns your passing. They ask for some offering, some token of your sorrow at interrupting their sorrowful feast.”</strong><br/><br/>With a leery eye did Alessandro regard Vittorio as he considered the boy’s words, for such was ill news indeed. That the Dragon had gone to such trouble as this? They would not be hearing the end of this - not for days, as he had envisioned, but likely not even for weeks.<br/><br/>Still, an offering was demanded, and he would make one. It was a start.<br/><br/>He went to spread his arms wide in addressing them, but soon was reminded of the likely source of the Dragon's ire as his left arm ached in protest. Cradling it to his chest for a moment, he put on his best devil-may-care visage and bowed to the host... but was well aware that the eyes of the Dragon were upon him, noting no doubt his pain.<br/><br/>It did little, likely, to improve her mood, and so he pressed on with aplomb as he addressed the assembly.<br/><br/><strong>”You require a token of our regret, is it? Fair enough, then. I shall capitulate, for your demand is reasonable.”</strong>In spite of the copious amount of wine flowing through his veins, still did Alessandro manage oratory of a sufficiently impassioned nature as to convince of his sincerity.<strong>”You may have… the boy!”</strong><br/><br/>At this the young boy and Vittorio exchanged glances, and Vittorio nodded reassuringly to their protégé, holding up a hand to forestall any protests. Leaning over, Vittorio hurriedly whispered into Alessandro’s ear, and his words appeared to have some magical powers, for quickly comprehension broke upon their leader’s face.<br/><br/><strong>”Our wine! You may have our wine!”</strong><br/><br/>At this the assembly seemed pleased and voiced with enthusiasm their acceptance of the offer. Whether it was received as favorably by the Dragon remained to be seen, but then one could hardly anticipate her reaction in many things, could they?<br/><br/><strong>”Yes. You many have the wine. <em>We’re</em> keeping the boy.”</strong>Alessandro nodded confidently, elbowing Vittorio in the ribs as if to imply that he and his second were already in complete agreement on the matter.<br/><br/>At this Vittorio, a step behind his master, looked to their young accomplice and gave a quizzical look and a shrug. For his part the young boy blinked twice, gazing at the estates before him… at the manicured lawns and lovingly tended facades… at the omnipresent wealth and beauty, and at a life he might previously have only dreamed… and at the bounty of beautiful and happy women that leaned from every window and balcony.<br/><br/>It took fully four seconds for him to nod his agreement at the master’s –<em>his</em>master’s – preposterous notion, and for the life of a young orphan boy to take a remarkably fortuitous turn for the better. The boy – who, it was subsequently learned upon his settling into the estates, was named Lucio – was welcomed by the staff with open arms. Had they not, all, landed in the homes of Alessandro and Nicoletta in similarly odd manner?<br/><br/>Such consideration was not for the moment, though, and Alessandro could see by her posture that perhaps the Dragon herself was not quite fully satisfied with his offer. That perhaps his transgression was not forgiven, not yet, for it was of a certainty against her and her alone that he had transgressed by risking his life.<br/><br/>He was not of a mind to be so foolish as to believe that his angel Serafina might feel the sting of his loss, should such have been the outcome of the morning. A loss of opportunity, perhaps, or of favored status, but there was likely no real connection with him in her mind. Not yet. Though he might indulge himself in a moment of fancy, thinking that perhaps in some small measure she might return the longing he felt for her, and the entirely possessive nature of his interest towards all things which come into her sphere of interest… no. Sadly no, there would not likely be deep affection.<br/><br/>Yet.<br/><br/>Love must mature over time, as wine does, for it to be properly heady and satisfying above all else. For it to be wildly intoxicating, and the balm to the soul which all men desire.<br/><br/>And yet… Nicoletta. Yes, it was against her that he had committed the offense of placing himself at unnecessary risk. It was to her that he must make amends, was it not?<br/><br/>Had the situation been reversed… had it been<em>she</em>that had done such a foolish thing by following her passion, Alessandro knew that he would be beyond angry. Would be livid, and with cause. He knew in his heart that it would take no small measure on her part to demonstrate her remorse, and to show that she understood what she had put him through.<br/><br/><strong>”Such an offering, however, is insufficient for the mistress of the house, is it not? Inadequate, in light of the transgression?”</strong>Gone from his voice were the signs of the wine, for sobering moments could do such a thing.<strong>”To you I owe an explanation, and you shall have it. To you I owe my love, and that you already have, in all ways. To you as well, dear Nicoletta my heart, I owe my gratitude – for your patience, and for your indulgence in my many wrongful ways and glaring faults.”</strong><br/><br/>That such confessions were made there, publically before the assembly of their house, guests, and staff, was most unusual. Men did not do such things, did they? Bare their soul so? Such heartfelt admonitions were reserved for private moments, or more likely simply never made, but Alessandro was not that kind of man.<br/><br/>He began to chuckle as he next spoke, though, and whether it was meant to break his moment of vulnerability or whether it was over what was to come? Such was difficult to determine.<br/><br/><strong>”To you I owe this as well: you shall not be so easily rid of me, that I might fall in some duel of honor. For you see, even at my own funeral do I reappear before you…”</strong><br/><br/>At that he began to move towards her, and in spite of his injury to climb the trellis to the half-balcony outside her chosen window.<br/><br/><strong>”… and like a ghost do I return to you, a phantom, for such is my love my darling one. A specter, even!”</strong><br/><br/>Reaching the balcony he hoisted himself up, and swept his darling Nicoletta into his one unstained and uninjured arm. Pulling her close, her soft and perfect body pressed to his hard and lean form, then did our hero lift her mask, and kiss her long and deeply to the cheering cries of those assembled.<br/><br/>It was only they - only his darling lady and her young ‘ward’ - that heard Alessandro softly whisper in a voice thick with emotion.<br/><br/><strong>”I <em>am</em> sorry.”</strong><br/>