Marco! He had heard that the head of the Filippeschi family was a young Conte Marco di Filippeschi.
"What do you propose, Messere?" said Marco.
"Meet me in front of the Church of Sant' Agnes," Lorenzo said. "This evening at Compline. Come alone, as I will. There are things we can discuss, I think, to our mutual profit."
Marco bowed to Lorenzo. "I shall expect you, Messere." He gestured, and the man in the reddish cape and one other picked up the body of Alfredo.
"Momento, Messeres," said Sordello, moving to the body in three quick strides. He bent down, reached under the body, and with a jerk of his hand pulled free a long, thin throwing knife, which he wiped on his cape.
"I can ill afford to lose so well-balanced a knife as this."
Alfredo's cousin, holding the body by the shoulders, said, "I know your name, Andrea Sordello, and your face. You will not need that knife much longer."
Sordello made a mock bow. "Be assured, Messere, this knife will not miss you, if we should meet again."
A moment later the Filippeschi and their burden had disappeared into the alley.
Daoud studied the dark irregular stain where the fallen man had bled on the rain-damp paving stones of the campiello. It was dawn, already past Fajr, the time for morning prayer.