Excerpt of Portrait of a Conspiracy by Donna Russo Morin

Viviana stood near the front of the congregation beside the
Conte and Contessa, for once as enthralled with Fiammetta’s
rank as Fiammetta always had been. She forgot any and all
earlier concerns; her slippered feet—her best pair, though
worn—tapped upon patterned marble, her thumbs twirled around
in the clasp of her hands. It was the best attempt at quiet
reverence she could manage within the multitude of
distractions.

The Gothic vaults of the central nave towered above, guarded
by the columns and round arches of ancient Rome, so high
only birds could reach its apex, set aglow by the sweet
light streaming in through the mammoth clerestory windows.
It was a cave of wonders built by the hand of man, a hand
guided by God.

Viviana aimed her eyes forward, on the priest standing in
wait, small and encapsulated within the chancel and the
cupola over it.

“Where is our Lapaccia?” Fiammetta leaned close to whisper,
and Viviana could merely shrug in ignorance. They had
planned to be together on this special occasion but the
woman and her son were nowhere in sight.

Mass was often no more than an excuse to see and be seen,
but never before had Viviana witnessed so many watching so
many others. Yes, it was Ascension Day and with a cardinal
coming to celebrate it at that. Still, the congregation
appeared incongruently heavy with men…well-dressed,
well-outfitted, standing side by side, and yet apart.

A metal hinge creaked; Viviana blinked as sunlight and the
Medici brothers burst through the door. The chorus struck a
rousing chord as if to sing their praises and not those of
God. Both brothers accompanied the cardinal to his seat
beneath the cupola. Viviana lowered her head as the priests
began their parade of blessing, thuribles clacking,
releasing the spicy scent of the incense that did little to
mask the odor of so many bodies packed side by side.

The brothers separated, each taking the head of one side of
the congregation, as far apart and as far forward as they
could, Lorenzo to the left, Giuliano to just a few rows
before Viviana. She wondered if perhaps they separated to
discourage contrast of one so powerful and one so beautiful.
With them and their group, the church filled— dignitaries,
nobles, clergy, and dashing soldiers; Viviana tried not to
stare at the luminaries but failed. A few she recognized as
those she had seen approach with the Medici contingent,
malcontent slick upon their faces, shrouded in a disquiet
out of sorts with such a hallowed place.

Many congregants marveled at the sight of the Medici
brothers and their guests. Viviana felt it too, their
magnetism. But at the glimpse of one of the men among them,
at the tall, thin man most simply called da Vinci, her
breath became a shallow, elusive thing. Her emulation of the
artist bordered on obsession, regardless of the salacious
rumors that swirled around him like a storm.

Movement snatched her attention. Archbishop Salviati, the
hem of his rich purple cappa magna slapping at his ankles,
scampered down the far aisle on his short legs. Viviana
turned rudely from the altar—eyes wide, brows high—following
the clergyman hurrying past the ranks. Oh, over there now—an
equally disruptive sight.

Messer Jacopo de’ Pazzi, the presiding patriarch of the
powerful family, yanked her gaze to the right as he too
rushed from the cathedral, and out the opposite door.

Viviana looked round, forehead creased, wide blue eyes
beseeching; had none of the other congregants seen what she
had, did they not find it baffling? True, she was not so
familiar with Mass among esteemed patrons, but none
considered such displays of disrespect normal. Did they?

Viviana pinned her gaze forward, shaking her head softly to
set aside and away all confusing thoughts, for the priest
was making the sign of the cross, three times, over the
great chalice. The Consecration had begun, the blessing of
the body and blood of Christ. In this moment, she often
found the greatest connection to Jesus.

Today it was not to be.

The bell rang, the host was elevated, and…

“HERE, TRAITOR!”

The scream tore through the church, a shrieking, evil
explosion. Viviana’s breath faltered, her heart hammered.
Directly in front of her, directly beside Giuliano de’
Medici, a mad man came to life. He was not alone.

“Look out!” Viviana screeched and pointed at the daggers
raised high. Just as the priest upon the altar raised the
host, the shiny steel flashed in her gaze, the flaying
weapon intent upon spreading pure madness. Downward they
plunged.

Viviana’s world turned blood-red.