At the age of seven, Cristina Vespucci had begun to show undeniable prowess in very, well unwomanly skills.
The Vespucci family and the Borgias were fast friends, and once, while staying over in the magnificent Castel Sant' Angelo, a visiting Cardinal had decided to take advantage of the child's blossoming beauty and do some highly unholy things with her. Cristina, was of course not having any of this and her lithe, nimble self had produced a blade (she claimed it was from the Castel's kitchen, but what kitchen stocks stiletto knives) and stabbed the Cardinal through the heart, before he could do so much as utter a prayer.
She was heavily reprimanded, and many cover up stories had to be made, but Rodrigo Borgia had begun to keep his watchful eye on the child.
So, at the age of ten, when the Vespucci family were attacked by Assassins while travelling to their holiday lodging in L'Aquila, the lone survivor was secretly adopted by Rodrigo Borgia. The Assassins it seemed had spared the child's life out of pity or maybe because killing children were beneath them.
Ever since then, Cristina Vespucci (she vehemently opposed adopting the Borgia name in respect of her parents) trained in secrecy, within the Castel, in the nearby catacombs and many times in the inky darkness of the night on the rooftop of the Castel, bathed in starlight and steel. Sometimes, she would be accompanied by Cesare. If a maid were to say, open a window on the top floor of the Castel, she would be greeted with the clangs of steel biting steel, the exchange of grunts and the quick shuffling of lithe feet. In fact, the two fighters had fought together for so many years that their fights resembled more of a dance, their moves so attuned to each other that each swing and swish of a sword, each spin of a body was accompanied by the moves of the other. Once one dancer would overpower the other, they would sink the steel of their blade into the ground beside their head, a solemn reminder that the enemy would have done a more direct, and final job.
On most nights, it was Cristina's blade that cut the ground near his eyes.
"Diavolo" Cesare grinned, as he was hauled up by Cristina's waiting hand. "The enemy will never see you coming"
Cristina sunk to her knees in a mocking bow.
"Grazie, idiota" she laughed. "But maybe when I fight the enemy, we will not have the luxury of you know, the night"
"Perhaps" Cesare said, brushing the dirt off his back "but perhaps we will. I find that attacking during the night gives us such a well-deserved advantage"
"Bene, coniglio" she smirked, sheathing her blade. Taunting the Pope's bastardo was a luxury not many had. In fact, Cesare Borgia, was an evil little pezzi di merda, and she would be reminded of this fact on a day to day basis, when she would see him berate and assault the maids of the Castel. The Pope however, had made sure to install within him high respect of Cristina Vespucci, so thankfully none of this evil had ever been directed at her. Well none in recent memory, she shuddered. Cesare, who was in deep thought thankfully missed this quiver of her shoulders.
"Cristina" Cesare said suddenly "I'll be asking something of you tomorrow, something very important. You'd do to agree, especially in front of my Father." Cristina cockd her head, her braid swinging around her face. She studied his expression with narrowed eyes. Thoughts raced around her head. She couldn't really think of anything too stupid she had done recently, well nothing that needed reprimanding.
"What do you want?" she asked, a bit suspiciously.
He gazed at her with hooded eyes, as if calculating her response and wiped his blade with his cloak. Silence. And then-
"A favor."
"Stronzo, spit it out" she urged. God, she thought. The melodrama could maybe possibly kill her.
Finally, he reached behind him and took out a crinkled page.
"Can you kill him?" he asked reservedly, handing over the page.
And really, as silly as it sounded, the Rome Cristina Vespucci knew and the common citizen knew were two different ones. Sometimes, she would sneak out disguised as a commoner, wearing cheap clothing and he hair drawn in front of her face like drapes and she would walk around the city, drinking in the sights and sounds and the smells (occasionally awful). But really, she felt like an outsider in the city she once knew so well. It was mainly the Pope's doing, as he made it clear that nobody was to find out about Cristina, not ever, clear with his intentions that she was meant for some higher purpose.
So really, she hadn't expected to recognize the face on the wanted poster.
But she did, and her heart dropped and her head spun and she felt herself fall back into another time, another life perhaps.
MORTI DI VIVO was splayed across the page and in careful script, under an old picture was a handsome reward of 50,000 florins.
Can you kill him, he had asked her again.
Of course she said.
Of course.