Twenty men rode with Cesare, filling the streets with fire and the sound of hooves, looking for a shadow in the shadows.
When the captain of his guard had asked Cesare where Micheletto lived he'd slapped him right in the face. It was not the business of a lord to know where each and every one of his men slept. What did he care what they did at night? What he did care about them at all?
Of course, their search had been futile. Cesare had known it the moment he drove on his horse, galloping into a night that was almost as dark as his heart.
It was too late. He had given the command long before sunset – by now, Pascal's dead body was cold. And the man who had killed him…

Cesare stood up, reaching for his cup to drown the surge of jealousy that wound up inside him every time he thought about the look in Micheletto's eyes. Pascal. A dirty little spy, one in a thousand the lords of Florence, Forlí or even his own father sent him.
But this one… this one had been high in price. Micheletto had fought and killed for his master, but he had died for another. Died, or disappeared, it didn't really matter.
He was lost to Cesare. Everything they had gone through, every bond between them – a bond that had only been strengthened by Micheletto's time with Lucrezia and Giovanni, as Cesare knew – cut.
"For a nobody!" He hurled the cup against the wall, wine splattering the tapestry.
A nobody with a girlish pretty face. Jealousy mixed with contempt as Cesare picked up the empty cup and saw his own twisted reflection in the shimmering gold. Obviously he was not Micheletto's type – too strong probably, too ruthless, too much of Micheletto himself. A face only Lucrezia loved, it seemed. The rest of the world feared it, probably despised it.
Cesare closed his eyes, shutting out the sadness he had just glimpsed in them. He didn't care for the world. Their hate, their fear, their adoration maybe… he didn't care. Seeing his father favoring Juan in every possible way had hardened him against other's opinions. He had quickly learnt that man was not just, and neither was the world he had built. It was about strength and braveness, about daring to make a life and a way of one own no matter the people standing against you.

They'd returned after a few hours with nothing. Cesare had sent out thirty men in the morning, but he didn't doubt they would come back with nothing as well. Micheletto would not be found unless he wanted to.
"My lord?" The servant blocked the door against a soldier, obviously more worried about the cleanness of the room than of the news Cesare saw shining on the other man's face. With a grunt he shoved the servant away and dragged the rider towards the stairs before he could even open his mouth. "Where is he? Did you talk to him? Will he talk to me?"
Only when the rider's eyes went wide, Cesare realized he must sound like an impatient lover. Maybe he'd have to kill the man, later on. But not now. "Come on, are you…"
"We… didn't find him, my lord." The rider's gaze dropped with shame and something deeper: fear. For a moment, Cesare allowed himself to bask in the strange feeling, then he shook the man's arm. "Then how dare you come back?"
"We found his room, sir!" Now it had crept even into the man's voice. Fear. And contempt, for himself, not for Cesare. Contempt that he, a Roman, was afraid of a Spanish bastard.
His room. He was curious how it would look like – if it carried traces of Micheletto's presence. If it carried traces of him… or of Pascal.
Cesare grinned – at the news and at the man's obvious discomfort. "Good man. Let's go."

Pascal. He was everywhere, the stench of his blood so intense it almost made him turn back. Then he saw the bundle next to the marble white corpse.
"No!" He knelt down, not wasting one look on the dead spy as he searched through the bundle, dreading to find another body. The relief not to find a dead Micheletto next to Pascal quickly vanished as he saw the blood around him. Micheletto had not only memorized the boy's betrayal but another word – one that hurt more than anything Cesare'd ever read before.
Goodbye.

"My lord? Shall we…" The man's voice died at a quick wave of Cesare's hand. They all stood still like statues, waiting for his command to speak, to move, to die.
He'd trade all of them for Micheletto. His whole army, his cities… in that moment, Cesare swore that he'd trade it all to wipe away the word that broke his world.
Micheletto had abandoned him. Not like Ursula who had been too scared of her husband and of hell. Not like his father or his mother who could not condone Juan's blood on his hands.
Micheletto had seen into the depths of Cesare's soul, he knew the darkness as well as the light – Lucrezia, Giovanni. They had shared those moments at the abyss, moments in heaven and in hell.
Now Micheletto had abandoned him, had left him there waiting to fall.
And of course, god was not there to hear his desperate plea. Of course.

"Can any of you replace him?" Cesare's voice was harsh with grief. "Don't even try to answer that!" He walked out without a look back, leaving the dead and his men behind. So be it. After all, Cesare had chosen his fate long before Micheletto had done so. He would not turn back from his plan just because the world didn't understand him. Forlí was waiting to be sacked, and he would do it – without Micheletto, as he had won many other cities without his father. Without god.
On his own, the mightiest lord of all. The thought tasted bitter in his mouth today, but on his way back home, Cesare managed to forget about it. He didn't need help to destroy Caterina Sforza.

"Tell the men to get ready." He didn't know the name of the captain of his guard, and didn't want to. Chances were high the soldier would be dead in three days. Chances were high Micheletto already was dead.
Another golden cup was smashed against the wall. This time, Cesare's glance followed the flight, hungrily waiting for the moment when the wine seemed to explode and cascade like a fountain of blood. No more brooding about the assassin's life. He had made his decision, he had left his master. Sparing his life was already a greater mercy than most people received from Cesare Borgia. He would not waste another thought on the man.
"We'll ride tomorrow."
This was what he was born for.

"He will not get over our walls."
"But if he does?"
"He will not! I will gladly slaughter him myself. And if I can't do that – I will not be his prisoner. This I owe to my people. He will not have me." Caterina's eyes gleamed with fire despite the hunger haunting her city. Once again, Rufio could not help but bow in adoration. She was the proudest woman he'd ever seen, and the most stupid, and the bravest. Or maybe it was all the same. Either way he would not see her go down – that was the promise he'd given himself, right after the one to find and kill Micheletto. This one, rumor had it, he would probably not be able to keep. Micheletto had fled from Rome, people said. Rufio smiled. So the man had had a heart as well. It was the only weakness their kind could not allow themselves to have – but what would life be without a few… challenges? Obviously Cesare had broken Micheletto's heart.
Rufio would not let the Borgia break his.
"May I just suggest an alternative, my lady?", he asked smugly, hiding his fear. "Let me do the slaughtering for you. Wait for me to present you Cesare Borgia's head on a silver plate."
"You wrong saint John by using this image for the Borgias", Caterina warned him, but the smile on her face showed her approval.
"Let me kill him for you, my lady. Let me make him drown in his own blood."
Caterina nodded graciously. "If that makes you happy, Rufio, I will gladly put his death into your hands. I just want it to be done."
"It will be done, my lady." Rufio bowed again and kissed her hand. "I swear to you. It will be done."