Who is this man? Who is he to look at me like this? To look in my face and dare me to look away first? Me, Cesare Borgia?
How dare he! How dare he laugh in my face. He is not my equal. A lowly beggar who stumbled upon a sword.
Look at his dark face. He spends too much time in the sun. Peasants tan. His teeth look so white against his skin when he smiles. I want to smash them in, beat his girlish lips into pulp.
What is he, a courtesan? He is standing there, arms akimbo, his hip mocks me as he pushes it out. How strong his legs are. I will break them.
I am staring at him, but his eyes hold my glare. They are dark, with amber freckles. I will make him see stars. He will never dare to lift his gaze to me.
The obscene gesture he makes with his hands lets my blood boil. He wants to ride me? We will see who will be the mare.
My collar seems tight all of a sudden, and my breeches as well. He throws back his head and laughs.
Like lightning he jumps on a cart and then onto the rooftop. Within seconds he is a white speck against red tiles.
Michelotto asks if he should follow him. I shake my head and send them all away. My hand, balled into a fist, opens and slides in my pants. I can almost feel his hidden blade against my skin.