CLC Chapter 2
Not far from the Santa Domineo Convent stood the Palazzo of the Del Brenta family, a grand structure towering like a fortress.
The three-story rectangular building, with its high ceilings, appeared stark and plain at first glance—like a brick box. But once inside, every corner of the palazzo was adorned with luxurious details that captured the eye.
A young man, having returned from a long journey, handed off his horse to the guards stationed at the palazzo and stepped inside. As the servants welcomed him warmly, he asked:
“Where’s Father?”
“He’s at the bank, sir, working with Master Enzo and Mr. Ugo Solomon,” a servant replied. “Shall I let Lady Adriana know you’ve returned?”
“Tell her I’ll greet her shortly. By the way, is Matteo at the bank as well?”
“The youngest master stayed home today. He’s in the study.”
“Perfect.”
With a nod, he began ascending the grand staircase, receiving bows and greetings from the maids and servants along the way. As he headed toward the study, he almost collided with a group of painters emerging from the chapel. Startled, the painters quickly bowed their heads.
“Our apologies, Father.”
“It’s all right. How is the work coming along?”
He spoke kindly, his gaze briefly flickering past the painters to the chapel interior. The sharp scent of fresh paint filled the air, and glimpses of an unfinished mural caught his eye.
The head painter, gauging the young priest’s expression, hesitated before offering a cautious explanation.
“The face of Saint Peter opening the gates of heaven was modeled after Lord Salvator, your father. And the Virgin on the clouds… well, she closely resembles Lady Adriana.”
The painters exchanged hopeful glances, nervously observing the young priest. However, his green eyes, which lingered on the mural, seemed enigmatic and distant, making it hard to discern his thoughts.
Breaking his gaze from the mural, he turned to the painters.
“Will my brothers and I also appear in the painting?”
“Of course!”
The head painter nodded eagerly, pointing to the still-blank faces of several figures, explaining at length which saint or angel each family member would represent.
“And as for your face, Father Nicolò, it will go right over—”
“Don’t.”
His firm tone made the painters flinch. Though Nicolò’s handsome face was framed by a gentle smile, his eyes betrayed an unmistakable disillusionment.
He reiterated with sharp finality:
“My father, mother, and brothers are fine to include. But I don’t want to be part of it. Paint someone else in my place. That’s all.”
Leaving the bewildered painters behind, Nicolò turned and resumed his walk toward the study.
When he reached the corridor outside the study, he exhaled a long sigh. The wall, once draped with an older tapestry, was now covered with a newer, larger, and more lavish one—a change made in just a few months.
Eyes strained from focusing too long, Matteo leaned back in his chair and closed the ledger he’d been poring over. He had planned to go out as soon as the morning’s awaited news arrived, but now it seemed wise to take a brief rest.
Had he dozed off? A knock at the door and the faint sound of footsteps roused him.
“Leave it on the desk, Luco. Thanks for your trouble,” Matteo murmured groggily.
But there was no reply. Blinking sleepily, Matteo opened his eyes to find someone standing at the large mahogany desk, staring down at him. The desk was cluttered with a balance scale, an abacus, thick ledgers, and coin boxes.
“Do I look like your servant? You’ve got some nerve.”
“Nicolò!”
Matteo stood and greeted his brother with a beaming smile. The two embraced tightly, their bond unmistakable. The two young men were nearly identical in height, their strikingly handsome features, jet-black hair, and vivid green eyes marking them clearly as blood brothers.
The warm embrace quickly turned into playful teasing. Nicolò grabbed Matteo’s face with one hand, tilting it this way and that.
“You’ve become even more beautiful, Matteo. Those striking green eyes, a nose so perfectly sculpted, and those charming lips. They say excessive beauty is the seed of sin and corruption—this is truly dangerous.”
Matteo laughed, pushing his brother away.
“People say it’s a tragedy for Bellezza that you became a priest.”
The two moved to sit by the fireplace.
While Matteo poured wine, Nicolò loosened a few buttons on his priestly robes, rubbing the back of his neck with a grimace. Fatigue was etched onto his face, evidence of an arduous journey.
“Drink up. How’s the situation in the Vatican?” Matteo handed him a glass, his gaze now lingering on his older brother with concern.
At first, he had chalked up Nicolò’s appearance to travel exhaustion, but now he could see it went deeper. Nicolò looked noticeably thinner. His sleeves hung loosely, his cheekbones were sharp, and his complexion was pale and wan.
“Well… tense,” Nicolò muttered, taking a sip of wine and staring into the fireplace.
“The Pope grows weaker with each passing day. He was once the strongest of men, but now everyone realizes his time is running short.”
“Everyone must be scrambling.”
“Exactly. As soon as it became clear that preparations for the papal election were inevitable, the sharks started circling. Of course, I’m one of those sharks, too.”
“Who are the leading candidates?”
“Well, initially, there were five or so serious contenders, but it’s narrowed down to three. First, Lotti Marcelli from the North. Second, Diente Alighieri, backed fervently by our rivals, the Spontanza family. And lastly, someone we know well—Cardinal Guido of the Riardelli family.”
“The Del Brenta family will back Riardelli, I assume?”
“We’ve already allied with them. As soon as Father gave the order, I went around meeting the cardinals in the Vatican, begging them to cast their votes for Riardelli and promising them the support of the Del Brenta family. I’ve practically lost my voice doing it.”
Nicolò closed his eyes briefly, massaging his neck. Matteo silently finished his wine.
The papal election wasn’t merely a matter of religious significance. For families like the Del Brenta, it was a critical political event tied directly to their survival and interests.
If the Del Brenta family fell out of favor with the Pope, their commercial and banking ventures could suffer devastating consequences.
Other city-states, wary of angering the Church, might sever trade ties with them. Negotiations on trade agreements could turn disadvantageous.
And what if the Church declared excommunication?
No matter how much the Del Brenta family dominated Bellezza’s economy, they could never surpass the absolute authority of the Church.
Should they fall out of the Church’s favor, the citizens of Bellezza would likely turn on them first, harshly expelling the family and begging the Vatican for reconciliation and forgiveness.
On the other hand, aligning with the Pope would secure immeasurable advantages. The Del Brenta Bank could become the Vatican’s principal bank, granting them unparalleled benefits and influence. The more politically savvy the Pope, the more favorable it would be for the Del Brenta family.
However, the Del Brenta family was not yet in full control of this game. The authority to elect a Pope lay exclusively with the cardinals, and Nicolò, for all his efforts, was still merely a lowly priest within the Vatican.
“You’re doing well, though,” Matteo said warmly, gently massaging Nicolò’s tense neck.
In truth, Matteo was troubled by how cynical his once-joyful brother had become. Perhaps it had started when he followed their father’s orders and entered the priesthood. Even when Nicolò smiled, there was always a cold, somber undertone that never fully disappeared.
“No, Matteo. You should have been the one to take on this role,” Nicolò murmured, leaning into Matteo’s touch and closing his eyes.
“Every day, I feel like this isn’t my place. This is a job for someone like you—loyal to Father and meticulous to a fault.”
“Hm, I don’t think so. I’m not interested in being a priest,” Matteo said with a chuckle, brushing off Nicolò’s disheveled robes.
Seeing his favorite brother so weighed down, Matteo couldn’t stand it. Hoping to lighten the mood, he playfully teased.
“Why not? Is it because you like women too much?”
Nicolò didn’t shy away from the banter, eagerly retaliating. Grabbing Matteo by the neck, he wrestled him to the ground, ruffling his hair in mock punishment.
The two large young men rolled across the floor, laughing and tussling. But when Matteo countered by shoving Nicolò with his shoulder, sending him sprawling onto the rug, Nicolò quickly conceded.
“All right, all right! You’ve gotten stronger, Matteo,” Nicolò said, catching his breath and laughing.
“I could still overpower you when you were seventeen.”
“You’re just too frail now. Why’ve you gotten so skinny? Eat properly, will you?” Matteo grumbled, brushing himself off and getting to his feet.
Before Nicolò could reply, a presence at the door caught their attention. Loyal servant Luco entered briskly, handing a bundle of documents to Matteo before quietly withdrawing.
Matteo’s lips curled into a smile as he scanned the papers.
“What’s that about?” Nicolò asked, narrowing his eyes.
But Matteo swiftly tucked the documents away and sprang to his feet, grabbing his coat.
“I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Where are you going?”
“You know the Santa Domineo Monastery, right?”
“The monastery where the nuns oversee the girls’ silk workshop? Enzo’s in charge of it now.”
Matteo nodded, pulling a black cloak from the wall.
“Exactly. I’m taking it back from Enzo.”
“You’re taking over Santa Domineo Monastery? Does Father know about this?”
“No.”
Matteo responded with a grin.
“As you know, that business was mine to begin with, wasn’t it? I was the one who suggested to Father that we convert the warehouse and bring the monastery in. But then Enzo snatched it away from me.”
“Of course, I remember. But…” Nicolò replied with a faintly ambiguous smile, adding, “I doubt Enzo will just hand it over to you.”
“I know. According to my sources, someone filed a report accusing Enzo of embezzlement. I plan to take advantage of that.”
“Wait a minute, Matteo. You don’t mean…” Nicolò’s jaw dropped in shock.
“Did you steal the complaint submitted to the council? Are you planning to use it to pressure Enzo?”
“Well, it’s a long story, but yes, that’s basically it.”
Good grief. Nicolò ran a hand over his face, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You used to be so innocent, and now you’ve turned into a devil, Matteo.”
“Coming from the Vatican’s master schemer, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Matteo casually ran his fingers through his disheveled hair before draping the ‘mantello’ (cloak) over his shoulders. As Nicolò watched him, he suddenly asked,
“By the way, isn’t Enzo getting married? To Berenice Sopporini, wasn’t it?”
Matteo’s hands briefly hesitated while fastening the clasp of his cloak. But the pause was so fleeting that it could have gone unnoticed. He quickly composed himself, smiling as if nothing were amiss.
“So I’ve heard.”
What was that expression? Nicolò studied Matteo’s face intently, unable to decide whether he seemed fine or not. Finally, he came to a tentative conclusion:
‘Nothing to worry about just yet.’ Perhaps Matteo’s lingering attachment to that small workshop was clouding his feelings, he mused.
“Take care out there. Whatever the case, I’m sure you’ll run the workshop far better than Enzo. You’re smart and resourceful, after all.”
“Right? Thanks, Brother.” Matteo beamed before striding out of the study. Nicolò watched his younger brother’s retreating figure, letting out a brief sigh.
“What a fool. Doesn’t even realize his first love is his first love.”
