Excerpt
PROLOGUE LEONARDO DA VINCI didn’t belong to the 15th century. He barely belonged to Earth. This was a man born out of wedlock, raised in the hills of Tuscany, trained in the messy workshops of Florence, and somehow, he cracked open the future like it was already written down. He painted with godlike precision, engineered machines that wouldn’t exist for centuries, and peeled back the layers of the human body just to see how it worked. Then he kept going. Da Vinci wasn’t a painter. He wasn’t an engineer. He wasn’t an anatomist, sculptor, cartographer, or physicist. He was all of them. At once. Without hesitation. And without boundaries. He painted the most famous face on the planet. He...