The Pain

He saw.

He saw the man he loved conferring with a Borgia guard.

It cannot be!

Oh but it can. It is.

He had first met Niccolò when the latter was only young, 18. Far too young.

He was 43. Far too old.

But that moment he saw Niccolò, he knew he was lost. Watching Niccolò while Ezio was properly inducted into the order, watching that handsome face cite the creed. He was 18, far too young to be an assassin without due cause.

But gods was he beautiful.

They fell in love quickly and easily, far too easily for the two most cynical men in all of Italia. They were both surprisingly tender towards each other, devoted til death.

But after the attack at Monteriggioni, Niccolò started becoming more distant, cold even. But they still embraced the time that they had together.

That last time, Volpe remembered bitterly… That goddamned last time.


Volpe watched his lover stir on their bed, his gorgeous dark eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones as his body fought for more sleep. Volpe watched his lover from the doorway, leaning as he cut an apple. Niccolò finally woke and turned his head to face his lover. That smile, that gorgeous smile that cut through hearts and throwing knives did.

He beckoned for his lover and Volpe set down his apple eagerly, half running to the bed, where he leaped into his young lover's arms. Though he accidentally knocked the breath out of Niccolò, that didn't stop them laughing happily and kissing sweetly.

After they had enjoyed a gentle round of morning sex, Volpe collapsed on his lover and buried his face in Niccolò's neck, sucking lightly, as he loved to do, drinking Niccolò's scent in deeply. Niccolò let loose a stray chuckle, sighing "Gilberto" as he did.


That was the last time they had made love, talked to each other, seen each other.

Now Volpe knew why his lover did not reply to his notes, did not meet him when he sent Paganino with messages.

He was a traitor.

His beautiful, beautiful Niccolò was a traitor.

And Volpe felt that he had driven him to it.

It was all his fault.