I haven't seen the third season yet, so I don't know if this scenario is likely or possible to happen, but let's just imagine it is.
The Pope was cursing.
Worse even, he was cursing while standing before the altar. If he would have any faith left, this would be a really bad thing.
Just that he never had much faith besides the faith in his own power, and what little he once had in God had vanished with Juan's death.
Of course, Rodrigo sometimes thought, having lost his beloved son made him more similar to the god the Christians believed in than any good deed he'd probably do – the whole sacrifice thing.
He just wished it would have been Cesare he had lost, and not Juan.
Now more than ever.
"The servants are worried, Holy Father." Vanozza appeared in the door, she herself obviously not worried but rather amused. "They say you lost your manners and that maybe there's a devil sitting on your shoulder, whispering into your ear." She came closer, smiling seductively. "Don't you want to tell me what's wrong? Maybe I could… settle it." Vanozza wasn't a woman of faith either. And being in the mood she was right now, normally Rodrigo would have taken her right on the altar.
Now, however, the mere thought of touching her made him retch. He backed away, trying to forget the pictures he just had had to see.
Lucrezia's laughter had lured him, so happy and free. How could she dare to laugh like that with Juan's blood on her hands? Still, Rodrigo loved his daughter. And she hadn't laughed for a long time. He had followed the sound through a corridor and into a small, round room. Funny how he hadn't heard the moaning at first. Or had he heard it? Had he heard it and just not cared – because he already knew it?
Lucrezia hadn't seen him, her eyes closed in ecstasy, her long blonde hair gently floating down her naked shoulders and breasts, cupped by the hungry hands of –
His own son.
Cesare had looked at him for a second before he dived back into his sister. Just one second, but it had been enough. Cesare had always been protective of Lucrezia, even when they were kids. He would never have anybody hurt her; especially not Juan. That was why he had killed him. Not for Rome, not because he was jealous. He had killed his brother to protect Lucrezia and her baby – the family he loved and craved for. Now finally, Lucrezia seemed to be ready to give it to him, and Cesare would never let them go again.
"Holy Father?" Irritated, Vanozza pulled back. "There must be something terribly wrong", she said coolly, "or what is it that makes me undesirable to you?"
"Nothing, my dear." Rodrigo managed a weak smile. "It's just these French all over the place. My servant should see their manners before they talk about me. Or they should go to Spain."
Vanozzas laughed. Cesare had inherited her eyes, he realized. When he had met her for the first time, what had caught him hadn't been her body (though she was a pretty girl, then) but her mind – sharp, hard, determined and absolutely willing to fight for what she wanted.
With Cesare now this wasn't a seductive combination anymore. It was a threat, a threat to God and mankind and even to Rodrigo himself.
He couldn't tell Vanozza about what he'd seen, the Pope realized. He had to forget it, forget the love in his daughter's every movement, forget the triumph in his son's glance.
Forget that the killers of his little boy were still living with him, unharmed, laughing… loving.
Forget that every breath Cesare took was a mockery of him.
Forget that Lucrezia belonged to her brother now, and not to Rome.
Not to him.
"I beg your excuses, mylady", the Pope said with all dignity he could still feign. "I need to see the cardinals."
"Of course, Holy Father" Vanozza's lips had exactly the same shape as her daughter's as she smiled, and Rodrigo closed his eyes. Much as he hated his son, he understood him. He knew him so well, as well as he knew Lucrezia, as well as he knew himself.
They were Borgias. And only a Borgia could break a Borgia.