A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY WIFEY! I know I'm an awful human being for withholding your present, but I hope you can forgive me. I really wanted to make this perfect, and I hope that everyone that reads this (especially you) enjoys the story as much as I did writing it :)
Little side notes: All of my chapter titles are the names of songs from The Great Gatsby soundtrack. There will also be quotes and other details incorporated from both the novel and from The Borgias. I don't own any of that stuff, just appropriating it for my own devices.
1. A Little Party Never Killed Nobody
The Borgia Estate stood proudly on the shores of West Egg, the more fashionable part of town just outside of New York City. It was the largest and most opulent estate on the block, and at this time of night, the grounds were lit up like a beacon to welcome in anyone who wished to join the party going on inside. The music was so loud that it could be heard a mile away. The cars kept piling in the driveway, dumping out their riders by the dozens and driving away. People from all walks of town came pouring through the wrought-iron gates, sinner and saint alike grasping at the chance to walk inside the holy grail of all parties, and among those people was a sharply dressed young man looking up at the marble fortress thinking, this is my life now.
But if someone had told Cesare Borgia what his life would be like two years ago, he wouldn't have believed them.
Just two years ago, he was a simple farm boy in a small village on the western coast of Italy. He lived a meager life with his mother, Vanozza, just he and her together in their tiny little house on the hills. They herded sheep, kept goats, sold their produce at the town market. He thought he'd had everything he'd ever need.
Then his mother died and left him a will that turned his provincial life upside down.
He discovered he had a father, and a very powerful father at that. Rodrigo Borgia was a business man, a shark in a suit, and a master manipulator. But most of all, he was known as The Pope: New York's most dangerous and powerful crime lord. Of course, none of that was stated in the will. Cesare had to do his own digging in dark places to find that out. He thought he would be disgusted in his father, that he would want nothing to do with a criminal, but he thought wrong.
It only took one week in the slums and ghettos of New York City for Cesare to discover that he had a...talent...for making people comply. Years of labor had made him a strong man. He was tall and wide, his hair as dark a brown as his eyes covered by angry, furrowed brows. He'd been loved in his village, but covered in shadows, Cesare was a force to be reckoned with.
His reputation grew, and it didn't take him long for The Pope's men to approach him and offer him a position. He'd spent rest of his time working his way up the ladder. It wasn't hard to rise above the rest. By the end of his first year, Cesare was managing his own little sector upstate. If Cesare played his cards right, he could be a Cardinal - member of The Pope's inner ring - by the end of this one. However, now that he was well respected in The Pope's eyes, he was looking for something more: a place at his side. After all, it seemed only right that a son of The Pope got his fare share of running the empire his father had built.
That was why he'd shown up to the Borgia Estate tonight dressed in his best suit, braving the social scene he so despised. Cesare was hoping to catch The Pope and tell his story. However, that was far easier said than done. He was quickly finding out, as he scanned face after face and searched room after room with no luck, that The Pope might be a difficult man to locate.
What kind of man doesn't show up to his own party? Cesare thought to himself, leaning up against the bar and ordering the best whiskey in the house. The bartender set him a crystal glass with a large chunk of ice in the center, the amber liquid poured smoothly over top. It almost looked too good to drink. Almost. He'd long since been immune to the burning sensation that usually came with hard liquor, but the buzz still worked all the same. He felt more relaxed and at ease, actually smiling at the guests who bumped into him on accident instead of glaring like he had been.
His mood only lifted when he saw an old friend across the room, the tall ginger man with the scruffy beard leaning discretely up against a marble column smoking a cigarette. Per usual, he had no suit jacket over top of his disheveled white button-down, revealing black suspenders. Cesare walked over to the man, cutting off people on his way.
"Finally, a familiar face," Cesare sighed, thankful to have a reprieve from all the noise of the party. Not that Micheletto was the best company to keep; the man was decidedly antisocial and remained strictly professional at all times. But there were perks to keeping your own personal hitman. If plans went to shit, Micheletto could just kill all of The Pope's men and get them the hell out of the city by morning.
"The party boring you already Sir?"
"This is not a party Micheletto. This is insanity," Cesare corrected, sighing disapprovingly as he watched two drunk guests trip over their feet straight into the fountain. "What are you doing here anyway? You hate these types of things."
"True, but tonight I'm on the job."
"And here I thought you wanted to have a drink with an old friend," Cesare joked, giving Micheletto a hard time. There was a time when Micheletto would've taken that personally, but they'd both reached the point in their relationship where they could recognize their very different types of sarcasm. Now, Micheletto only raised an eyebrow, his eyes expressing the amusement his mouth refused to show.
"Maybe next time, Sir," Micheletto apologized, though Cesare knew that next time would never come. "A Sforza spy has climbed their way up the Pope's ranks, and if my sources can be trusted, that spy will be here sometime tonight."
"And you've been hired to do what you do best," Cesare finished, knowing the end to this story all too well.
"Yes."
"I pity the man who must cross you," Cesare said, taking a swig of his glass of whiskey. Micheletto was known to be the best in his field. Cesare had no doubt that the spy would be dealt with and the body dumped in the Hudson by daybreak.
"Man or woman," Micheletto commented as a rather gaudy young lady passed them by, her perfume nearly choking them.
"A woman? Now there's a novel idea…" Cesare mused, though the idea wasn't so far fetched. He'd known his fair share of femme fatales over the years, especially in his line of work. Still, the idea of a spy in a level of power, standing in The Pope's inner circle. That seemed unlikely, unless he was using her for sex.
"I'm not quite sure. I wasn't given a picture of the target."
"How do you even know where to start?"
"It won't be difficult. I'm good at reading people - watching how they move, who they talk to. The spy will reveal themselves soon enough."
Micheletto made it sound so easy, effortless. He was scanning the crowds while Cesare had to squint and focus to get a single person to stand out amongst the masses, and it wasn't like he was incompetent by any means.
"Well, I wish you luck my friend," Cesare said, not that Micheletto ever needed it.
"Luck has hardly anything to do with it."
"It's just a saying, Micheletto," Cesare sighed, chuckling under his breath as he reached out to grip the man's shoulder. "Lighten up. Have a drink. Enjoy yourself. It is a party after all."
"I believe you just called this insanity," Micheletto countered.
"Cheeky bastard," Cesare cursed half-heartedly, earning the slightest bit of a crooked grin from Micheletto. "I have to go find The Pope in this God-forsaken mess."
"What a paradox that is," Micheletto commented. "Good luck Sir."
Cesare rolled his eyes and walked away. Micheletto could be a downright ass when he wanted to be, but Cesare appreciated him. They had been partners in crime - quite literally - for years now, and Cesare couldn't think of anyone better to have at his side.
Weaving his way through the crowds, Cesare made his way out back. The patio was even more crowded than the inside - if that were even possible. Well dressed guests flocked across the vast expanse of yard reaching all the way down to the water's edge where some of the more daring ones were stripping down to bare skin to jump in the dark river below. Butlers by the dozens sifted through the masses with tray upon tray of champagne, cognac, and various liquors. Flappers were dancing in time to the big band and fat men were smoking cigars. And through all of this, The Pope was nowhere to be found.
He was just about to go back inside when he saw her.
Sitting at a secluded table across the lawn was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on: pale skin, blonde hair curled and pulled up to the side in a bun, jewels dripping from her ears, hands, and neck. It didn't take her long to notice him too, large blue eyes sliding up to meet his through a sea of strangers. Her red lips curved into an inviting smile, her gloved fingers curling into a come hither motion. All thoughts of finding The Pope slipped out of mind as he found himself obeying, the closer he got to her the stronger her hold over him became. She exuded sophistication, power, and wealth. She was everything he aspired to be, everything he ever wanted, and she was close enough to touch. Not that she would let him, if the men in black suits standing discretely behind her had any say in the matter.
"Who are you?" she asked, looking him up and down as if he were the most interesting person she'd seen.
The people around her - just as wealthy and influential as she was no doubt - all dimmed their conversations to watch him through their periphery, failing at being discrete as most gossips were inclined to do. It was a pet peeve of his, being watched, but he swallowed down the disdain long enough to answer.
"Cesare."
"Just Cesare?" she asked, her tone light and teasing. She didn't seem to mind when he refused to give his last name, uncomfortable letting the whole city know he was a Borgia before the Pope himself knew. She merely carried on, completely ignoring the people around her in favor of him. "Where are you from? You're clearly not from the city."
"How could you tell?"
"You're a stranger. If you were anyone in this city, you'd have been invited to one of these parties months ago, and I would have met you."
Her tone was so confident, and if he wasn't mistaken, condescending, that he couldn't help but prickle at it. He wondered who she was to talk to callously to those around her and have no one object. The guests at her side merely looked on with interest, eyes shifting back and forth, waiting to see what would happen next.
"That's rather presumptuous don't you think?" he replied, leaning in across the table to get a bit of privacy.
"Am I wrong?"
Her blue eyes gleamed, excited at the stranger bantering back at her. Most men refused to look her in the eye, but he was a novelty. Of course, how could Cesare have known that? She was a stranger to his eyes, a frustratingly beautiful stranger with a sharp tongue and a lot of power.
"No," Cesare admitted, earning a pleased smile from the blonde woman. "Upstate, I'm afraid. I've only lived in America for a few years now."
Cesare watched her interest in him grow, curiosity getting the better of her.
"Oh? Where do you call home?"
"Italy."
"Well Cesare, do they have parties like this in Italy?"
She gestured to the space around them, to the patio covered with finely-dressed guests, to the jazz band in the corner by the open bar and the swimming pool large enough for a hundred people.
"No. The ones I went to were much smaller, not quite as loud, and not nearly as gaudy."
"Oh but I love large parties. They're so much more intimate. Small parties there isn't any privacy," she replied, peering up not-so-innocently from those thick black eyelashes.
She was toying with him, and he knew it. The way her fingers traced up and down the glass of champagne in her hands, the way she pouted her perfectly rouged lips, the way she looked his way when no one else was looking. It would be absolutely scandalous if anyone were to take notice, but Cesare could not look away.
"Do you want to see something beautiful Cesare?"
I believe I already have, he thought to himself. He did not dare to speak those words aloud. They were painfully sentimental and she did not seem like the type of woman who wanted to be romanced.
She held out her gloved hand and he took it, letting her guide him up from the table and through the maze of people until they reached the magnificent stone mansion. She led him up marble stairs, down halls as long as city blocks, and through rooms with ceilings so high they could have touched heaven. Cesare would have called it all beautiful, but she did not stop at the golden grand piano, nor the library with infinite rows of books, nor the observatory landing that just went up and up and up...
No, she passed all the wonderful and breathtaking feats of human craftsmanship only to end up in front of a closed door. Cesare was confused at first, but when she reached down the top of her dress to retrieve a small golden key, he understood completely. She placed the key into the lock and twisted the knob, the heavy mahogany door falling open effortlessly. She walked inside the room like she owned the place, beckoning him in after her. Cesare checked the hall, though there was no one this far into the mansion, before heading in after her.
"How did you get that key?" he called out to her receding figure. The question was quickly forgotten, however, as he actually took a look at his surroundings.
He was currently standing inside one of the biggest bedrooms he had ever seen. The floors were wood parquet polished to a shine surrounded by gold gilded walls that went up to mural ceilings depicting angels and gods. Marble columns lined the back walls to reveal an open balcony, sheer white curtains billowing in the nighttime breeze. A large four poster bed stood on a platform off to one side of the room, other feminine furniture such as a massive wardrobe and vanity standing in the other.
While he was admiring the view, she was making her way to a small table near the balcony, popping open a new bottle of very expensive champagne and pouring herself a glass. She filled another and made her way over to him, holding out the glass for him to take.
"I have my ways," she replied playfully, waving the key in front of his eyes before dropping it back down her chest until it disappeared in her cleavage.
"Enlighten me then."
He was ready to hear what was bound to be an extraordinary story, but instead of a story, all he got was a cocked head and a bemused look.
"Do you really not know who I am?" she asked curiously.
It was true. He did not even know her name, though her tone would make it seem as though he should.
"Who are you?"
She did not reply. Once she determined that he was telling the truth, she sauntered across the room to grab the bottle of champagne, pouring herself another glass. "All you need to know is that I am allowed to be in here. I didn't steal that key."
"Why do I have a hard time believing that?"
"Believe what you may," she shrugged, taking a sip off her drink.
"You want to know what I believe?" he asked, circling her slowly.
"Hmm," she hummed with her lips around the glass of champagne, eyeing him from head to toe as he walked around her.
"I believe that you're some sort of crazy harlot who finds far too much excitement in cornering strange men and doing things she shouldn't."
She laughed, a light and airy sound that filled the room.
"That's rather observant...and specific."
"Am I wrong?" he replayed her words back to her, and she smiled.
"Very, I'm afraid," she sighed, feigning disappointment. "But you were right about finding excitement in things I shouldn't, especially if they're dangerous. What's the point in living if there isn't a thrill?"
"Do you find me dangerous?" Cesare asked, stepping in closer, close enough that he could tower over her petite frame.
Most people found him intimidating, but she looked him straight in the eyes and replied, "Yes."
"You don't seem scared."
"I'm never scared."
"You should be."
"Then make me," she demanded, and the banter they'd built up took on a whole new meaning. The room suddenly felt a thousand degrees hotter, and Cesare refrained from taking off his jacket. She stepped back and walked over towards the bed, stopping short at the foot of the platform before she turned to him and said, "You. Me. This room. This bed. Anything could happen..."
Her fingers ran down red silk sheets, creating ripples in the fabric, and Cesare found it nearly impossible to get a hold of his thoughts.
"Is this what you brought me here for? To seduce me?" he accused.
She clicked her tongue as if she were chiding him like a child. "Do you really want to know why I brought you here Cesare?"
"You said you wanted to show me something beautiful," Cesare replied, now knowing that to be somewhat untrue. While she and the room were beautiful, that was hardly her intention at all.
"I brought you here because I saw a man who takes what he wants. So take what you want," she commanded, looking at him expectantly.
"You presume to think that I want you."
It sounded like he didn't, but great God above, did he want her. He was furious at her games, taken aback by her forwardness, but damn it he was too far in to walk away now. And she knew that too.
"I know you do. You wouldn't have followed me inside if you didn't."
They both stood there for a moment, waiting to see what the other would do. Her expression was patient and waiting, and the only thought that ran through his mind was Damn it all.
He was not gentle.
He walked right up to her smug face, stuck both hands through her perfectly curled hair, and rammed her up against the wall, pinning her arms above her head so she could not move. He kissed her roughly, pushing his way into her mouth and taking what he wanted, just like she told him to. He hoped she was thrilled now, writhing and pushing her chest out to try and get closer to him. The sounds she was making, groans and sighs and something that sounded damn near purring, were absolutely obscene, spurring him to go further, kiss her harder, longer. He could barely breathe his brain was screaming for air, but she tasted like smoke and liquor and sin and he wanted more.
When they finally broke apart she was gasping for air, but he gave her no break to catch her breath before he latched himself onto her ear, the corner of her jaw, leaving a trail of nips and kisses as he went. He sucked on her pulse, feeling it jump under his lips. He took his time at the junction of her neck and shoulder, biting down harder than before, earning a sharp gasp from her.
Her hands slipped out of the slick fabric of her gloves, freeing her from his grip as she rushed forward to bring their bodies together. She grabbed his hips and pulled them to hers, and the touch made the breath catch in his throat. His arousal was growing quickly, if the hardening bulge in his pants was anything to go by, and the confines of his clothes were getting painful. It was hot, he had too many layers on, and the only thing he wanted in this moment was to feel her bare skin on his.
As if reading his mind, she reached through his jacket to find his shirt, pulling it open with so much force that the buttons ripped off. He didn't even mind, shoving the ruined garment off his shoulders along with his jacket. Her hands raked over his chest, down the muscles in his arms and back again. He made quick work of her dress, the satin slipping off her body like water, revealing her slip, corset, and stockings. He tugged at the strings at the corset to no avail.
How did women stand wearing these things? he cursed, pulling and pulling but getting nowhere.
She started laughing, and guided his hands to where they needed to go, unlacing the corset with ease until it - along with the key - fell to the ground. She unclipped her stockings and kicked out of her heels. He toed off his shoes, and they both backed up to the foot of the bed. He pushed her down with ease, climbing on top of her as she rose to her elbows. Her hands reached out to the buckle of his belt, snaking the item out of the loops, letting it clatter onto the floor. He pulled her slip up over her head, leaving her exposed to him. She was beautiful, all smooth, creamy white skin a perky breasts. If he hadn't known better, he'd have said she was an angel. But angels didn't wear devious smirks, and she gave him the mother of all smirks as she stuck her hand down his pants and squeezed.
Dear God in heaven, he prayed, relishing the feeling of her small hand wrapped around him. His forehead fell to hers as she continued her exploration, giving him a firm tug, her fingers tracing the veins along the shaft. He ran a hand up her leg, to the top of her thigh until she wound it around his own and used the leverage to put herself on top.
Now, it was her turn to be dominant.
Cesare reached out to grasp at her hips, but she removed his hands quickly, holding them above his head.
"Don't move," she ordered. Though she was not physically stronger than him, there was a strength to her words. She spoke and he obeyed. It was that simple.
Though not allowed to move, Cesare could admit there were perks to his current position. She was a vision from this angle: chest heaving, hair a mess, lipstick smeared, and a trail of bruises just beginning to blossom on her neck. She looked down on him through hooded lids as she lowered herself onto him, her blue eyes near black with lust. She felt like sweet perfection around him, and the desire to touch her as she rode him was overwhelming. He didn't dare defy her though, his hands gripping the sheets tightly, throwing his head back against the pillows as he let out a loud groan.
He'd never had a woman like this before, never given up his control of his own volition. Take what he want be damned. He was hers to take now, and she did. She took pleasure from him in droves, writhing above him as her hips moved in staggered circles. She threaded her hands into his curls, needing something to anchor herself to. She was plastered to him, hot sweat-slicked skin sliding against each other with each slight shift. He wasn't going to last long at all.
Orgasm came like sweet release, blindsiding him while she tossed her head back and shouted his name. She rode him through the waves, watching as his hips jerked up off the mattress. When all was said and done, she collapsed on top of him, bringing her forehead down to touch his before she slid off him entirely.
They both lied on the bed, breathing heavily and staring at the paintings on the ceiling, neither one speaking. Cesare watched the angels fly through the clouds, blaring their trumpets and offering gifts of love and peace. And though she looked like one of their kind, Cesare was fairly sure he'd just lied with the Devil.