TMWolf: So, we're in for a bit of slower chapter after the crazy before, and we're going to skip around some time a bit. Nothing as crazy as Chronos, but just know sometimes weeks or even months can go by. The Arc is steadily coming to a close, and a LOT of things are about to go down. This is kind of the crazy build up and then it gets crazier. It also gets dark, so be ready.

For reviews, as always I love y'all for 'em! They help inspire me to write more, and I'm always happy to answer questions, or if anyone has input, be hit historical or canon, or you find any errors please speak up! :'D

In the meantime... this chapter's title is from Muse - Time Is Running Out. Definitely not related to the story theme, but the title works xD

Anyways, enjoy more things going downhill! xD

09 – Time Is Running Out

March 20, 1500

Castel Sant'Angelo

Rome, Italy

Cesare Borgia had commanded she have no visitors, and so Catherine expected she would be alone well until the next day of his command. Already she didn't have a maid come clean her chamber pot—which she was using far more than usual now—nor give her any clean sheets, clothes, or warm food. Her stomach was left to groan with want, which she ignored in favor of pulling her knees to her chest as much as her swollen belly would allow. She'd buried her head into them, willing herself to just go back to sleep to forget it all, but it would not come. There were only memories of the day before, and the ache in her arm and throat. She hadn't bothered to look at the mirror to check the bruises—she knew they were bad. She'd preferred to remain pulled into herself instead, willing the day go by faster.

As such, she was surprised when she heard the lock jiggle. She freed her legs and swung them over the side of the bed, refusing to let anyone—even Paula, if it was her—see her in such a state. It was bad enough she had the bruises, but to seem defeated? No. She refused. She wasn't beaten yet. She could still fight them, even if only with defiance, and Ezio wouldn't forgive her if she gave up. Diana wouldn't. Claudia wouldn't. Maria wouldn't. Her child wouldn't. Mario definitely wouldn't. She wouldn't forgive herself. So she steeled her gaze as she waited for the door to open, hoping it was food rather than Cesare again. She wasn't sure she could stand him right now. Or perhaps he could not stand her—it was anyone's guess.

Her stalwart gaze faltered, however, when none of her expectations were met. Of anyone to pass through the door, she had not thought it would ever be Lucrezia Borgia. Even the guard looked a little surprised as the woman stood there in the doorway, eyes leering at the redhead. She wore a red, gold-accented, pompous, and even gaudy dress, the top just barely containing her breasts. Her hair was pulled back as opposed to down this time, restrained by a fancy hairnet. She had the ridiculous collar, though, and wore a necklace wielding a large cross that settled conveniently in the crevice of her bosom. She stood with one hip jutted out slightly, and her mouth twisted down in what was probably the accepted form of a frown for a lady of the highest nobility.

"Leave us," she told the guard, whom hesitated. She turned a fierce eye on him, "Now, guard! Or need I remind you what happens when you defy the Borgia?"

The man did not need to be told again; he made haste to slam the wooden door shut, though did not lock it. That done, Lucrezia made a huff-like sound before regarding Catherine once more. The redhead couldn't help—for all the glaring the woman could do—considering her to not be much of a threat. She wasn't necessarily a push over, but the redhead had a feeling her bark was worse than her bite—at least compared to her brother.

"Well? What did Cesare talk about, mm? I see he had plenty of fun," she sneered, eyes flicking to the bruises on the redhead's neck.

"You and I have very different definitions of 'fun'," Catherine snorted.

Lucrezia stepped closer, "Answer the question."

The redhead rolled her eyes, "About what he wants with me? Seriously? Are you that concerned about what he does? Pretty sure it's no business of a lady what he does."

"Be silent. Was that all he spoke of?"

"Oh dear, jealous of the attention I got?" she spat back, lifting her neck some. "Guess you must like it rough, or does he use his fingers elsewhere on you, mm?"

It wasn't meant to be a literal jab at the woman, but Lucrezia's reaction was far too genuine for Catherine to not raise a brow. She also had to raise her arm up to stop the blonde's hand from slapping her across the face. She locked her fingers around her wrist and refused to let go even as the woman tried to wrench her arm free. Venomous fire was in her eyes as she nearly shrieked, though it came out more as a frustrated growl.

"How dare you, you cur! You whore! How dare you speak to me that way!" she hissed. "What did he say? What did you talk about, hmm!? How happy he was for that little brat inside you? How he wanted more?"

"Oh my God," the redhead breathed, doing her best to not let the woman hit her in some way. It was a fleeting thought, or it was supposed to be, but it made too much sense. Of all the things that had happened—the way Lucrezia hung on her brother; the way her hands always touched him or caressed him; the way she looked at him and he her; the desire to keep the child; the absurd rage that had come over her at her comment.

Lucrezia was jealous. Jealous. Of her.

It couldn't be possible, but it was the only explanation. And if the blonde was jealous of Cesare giving her attention—however fucked up her concept of attention was—then that had to mean something else; something so vastly wrong it made Catherine's stomach cringe and draw back, face contorting some.

"You love him. You—you're disgusting."

Lucrezia's rage paused—for a split moment—and then returned even more fiercely, "How dare you!"

The woman's other hand drew back, palm aimed to come across the redhead's face. Catherine was ready, though, and yanked Lucrezia's other arm down, pulling her with it. The woman gasped as she found herself half on the floor, half on the bed. The redhead quickly twisted the arm slightly, earning another short gasp that was about to become a shriek before she clamped her free hand over her mouth. The woman struggled, eyes wide as she realized her predicament. Her fingers scrambled to try and pry herself free, but Catherine was stronger. The notion made her heart race, and a rage she didn't know she'd had left bubbled within and up.

"No. How dare you. How dare you take my home—my family! How dare you attack my people and imprison me here. How dare you try to take my child from me and make him yours. How dare you!" she spat, fingers tightening both over her mouth and wrist. She heard a frightened sound come from behind her palm, but did not free the woman. "You are a fucking disgusting piece of shit whore who doesn't deserve what she has. You think that man loves you? You think your brother loves you? You don't know love then. You don't know what it's like to be truly loved by someone, and if I didn't want to gut you, I might feel pity, but you crossed the line when you decided to take my child.

She paused to finally free the woman's mouth, but before she could scream, she grabbed the rim of her dress to pull her close, "If you ever try to hit me again, I will make sure you suffer. You aren't your brother, Lucrezia. You're weak. And if you forget, then I will remind you again, and again. And I know you're going to tell that fucking bastard brother of yours about this, so you tell him to come. Tell him I will gladly hit him again and again and again, and he can choke me all he wants, but he will not break me, and the more he hurts me… the more Ezio is going to hurt him. Because my husband will come for me. He will come and he will make sure each and everyone of you pays for what you've done. And you… you'll pay the worst. You'll watch Cesare die, and you'll get to live knowing it was your fault."

Catherine finally let her go then, stepping back to let the woman stand. She did so slowly, refusing to meet her gaze, but scowling with defiance all the same. She wiped her lip—lipstick smeared some now—and adjusted her dress. She adjusted her posture, too, and looked more like a noblewoman once more. She turned, regarding the redhead coldly.

"You think you are brave, but I know your kind. You have been beaten. You are no more than a cornered dog. You bite, but you know it is the end," she spoke coolly, and somewhere in the back of Catherine's mind, she felt a flicker of regret. But it was small and quiet compared to her anger, so she only glared back. "The Borgia do not forget, Auditore. You will rue this day. I will make sure of it. Enjoy your time while it last. Once that child is born… once our son is born… you will wish you had been a good little dog."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see won't we? Best hope Cesare is gentler with you, Lucrezia—wouldn't want to bruise that pretty little neck of yours," the redhead spat, and although she had a good idea the Borgia woman wanted to hit her, the blonde refrained. Her eyes narrowed, but her hands remained by her side, and she left—perhaps a little too quickly. The guard called after her, only to be berated, and then the door was closed and locked, shutting Catherine off from the world once more.

-O-

April 5, 1500

Castel Sant'Angelo

Rome, Italy

Her bump was much bigger—enough so that it was obvious she was pregnant. She hadn't shown much of a belly before this, but now it was protruding out prominently. Not as much as with Diana, but her second born was on the way. She couldn't fathom how far along—maybe five months? If that was the case, it wouldn't be much longer before he came. It could even only be three more months. She prayed it would be more than that, but hoping for such things was too dangerous. Regardless, it wouldn't be long before her child came into the world and was taken from her. Then all that was left for her was to be used as some tool for the Pieces of Eden, and after that who could say what would be left? They'd probably kill her—assuming they didn't think her fit enough to be a hostage should Ezio come.

Should being the imperative word.

Catherine closed her eyes, her reflection turning to a red-tinted darkness. Four months. She'd been a prisoner for four months now, and Ezio hadn't come. Neither the Doctor nor Paula had spoken of any rumors of an Assassin or some "unknown" person changing things. There wasn't even talk of Borgia influence decreasing. Cesare never seemed worried, either; always cocky; always mocking; always taunting her. There was no sign of Ezio here in Roma, and it made everything all the worse. It was impossible to keep her fears at bay. Thoughts of him lying dead in Monteriggioni came too often and in too many different ways. She would see him, his body tied to a post next to Mario's head on a pike. She'd see Claudia and Maria and all the others beside him. They would be in graves next to his father and brothers. All dead. And she was alone, but her grave wasn't with them. She was given no grave. She was just another forgotten soul, tossed aside once the Borgia was done with her. All her deeds and efforts gone to waste. Her family destroyed.

It was terrifying, but she couldn't let any tears falls. She couldn't even confess to Paula of her fears, lest someone hear and rip her heart in two. Not that she didn't expect Cesare to suddenly bring her husband before her, either in chains, or just as a head. She dreaded it every time the lock turned, and she would breathe a sigh of relief when it was a maid or the doctor or Paula who appeared instead. All of it served to drive her mad. Or perhaps madder. She couldn't be sure. She only knew the madness had sunk in at some point, and it was hard to think right all the time.

"What a world you're going to be born into… I'm so sorry, little one," Catherine whispered, voice threatening to crack as she caressed her growing belly.

"I'm sorry?" Paula's voice replied in her child's place, and the redhead looked over at the maid, a weak smile on her face.

"Nothing—was just mumbling. Thinking out loud," she chuckled and turned away from the mirror. She eased onto the bed slowly, unable to do much else now. Certainly, she couldn't run in this state, or chance a fight anymore. She would risk the child, although now she was wondering if it were better to lose the child than let it fall in the Borgia hands. Of course, she would banish the thought in the next moment. She could never do such a thing—not really. She couldn't give up her child. Her heart wouldn't let her, no matter how far into the dark her mind went.

"Do you feel alright? Should I call the Doctor?" the maid inquired, coming over to touch at the redhead's brow. "You look pale… you haven't been yourself lately, either, my Lady."

"Comes with being pregnant," she grinned slightly. "I take it you haven't had the chance to experience it yet?"

Paula's cheeks flushed as she waved her hand, "Oh, no—I've yet to marry. I'm old enough, yes, but… well, times are rough and I hardly meet suitors working here. A maid isn't exactly attractive… well, maybe to the guards, but… those men are just… so uncouth."

"Yeah, well, they work for the Borgia. What do you expect?" the redhead snorted, earning a giggle. "Anyways… so you're not married, huh? Just you and your parents then?"

"Mmhmm. Mama and Papa wish me to marry soon, but they keep busy working as well, so they can't pester me much," she snickered. "Of course, I'd love to find someone to fall in love with. I always love hearing the poems and songs. To be in love sounds wonderful!"

"Oh, it is. Trust me. It's… it's the most wonderful thing there is," Catherine smiled gently, recalling her husband—of all their moments together.

"You and your husband love each other very much, don't you?" Paula asked softly, to which she nodded. "That's why he's coming to rescue you—why you're so sure?"

Catherine wanted to laugh and sob at the same time, but she nodded instead. Her maid—no, her friend, she realized—sat down on the bed, watching her for a moment. The redhead couldn't help wondering if the young woman could see through the façade? Did she know the madness raging within her? How every moment awake was agony, and every moment asleep was a thousand times worse? Did she know what it meant to hope and despair at the same time? She prayed she didn't, and yet longed for someone to share in the agony; to understand it with her.

"I… I wish I could give better news, but…"

The redhead waved with her hand, "It—don't worry about it. Just… you know what, tell me about your family some more. You only got to tell me about your mother, but what about your father? What does he do?"

"Oh! Well, he's always been a good carpenter, and even built some homes, but he does mostly childrens' toys. He's quite popular, and we used to do so well until the Borgia raised the taxes," Paula began, their friendship having become comfortable enough that she could speak so candidly. It was a boon Catherine cherished, and so enjoyed herself as the young woman went on and on about her childhood—when her father would let her sit in the workshop and watch him work. It was a fun tale, and it did help lift Catherine's spirits, if only a little. She even imagined how it could have been her—or rather, her own child, perhaps a boy, watching Ezio work. He'd see his Papa cleaning his blade, and then use it to strike a dummy. The child would stare in wonder and awe, amazed at how powerful his Papa was. And yet, he'd see how kind he could be, too; how he use the Hidden Blade only to protect others, and the young boy would grow to be just like him one day.

Catherine set her hand on her belly, wishing now more than ever, she could be home. That she could have Maria and their Doctor there, encouraging her; letting her know everything was fine and how it should be going; assure her the child would be healthy and strong. She wished her husband could be there, kissing her belly with such love and gentleness it made her want to cry as her heart swelled with joy. She wished he could kiss her on the lips, so happy to have created a child they longed so much for together—a creation of the love they had and cultivated. She wished for so many things, and now they could not be.

Something stirred beneath her hand, and she gasped. Paula paused mid-work, and both women looked to each other with wide eyes. The redhead felt another stir and looked down. Her heart skipped a beat and then began to hammer. Her body went cold as she looked to her comrade once more.

"I… the baby… It kicked."

"Oh! Ah, congratulations, my Lady!" Paula beamed, a smile on her face.

It should have been a joyous occasion, but no matter what she did, Catherine could not help but think her friend's smile was forced. In the end, her own smile wasn't so different.

-O-

April 10, 1500

Rome, Italy

An inn had been a good choice. The little hovel that was the den for the Thieves in Roma looked no more than the average inn in a small town in the middle of nowhere. It would easily evade the prying eyes of any Borgia Captain and especially Cesare himself. Simple Borgia guards might come by, but they would be none the wiser, and their money would go to a great cause—all without their realizing, of course. Better yet, secrets tended to float around when drinks were involved, and the inn had plenty of ale and wine to give to their "honored" guests. With thieves all about the place, loitering in the corners, joining in the games, or causing a ruckus, no words would ever go unheard. And anything of value would always find its way to the leader of the den—the most elusive and crafty fox one would ever try to hunt.

"Welcome, Ezio, to The Sleeping Fox," the very wily creature in question called out as the Assassin strolled through the inn, having been taking in the new sights. It had been completed a week ago, but he had been busy attending to other business and visiting his daughter as the outlying buildings had also been reconstructed along with the main building. Now he approached the hooded thief, his orange attire standing out, yet blending in perfectly with the crowd.

"The inn looks perfect. No one will ever suspect its real purpose," Ezio grinned back, gesturing all around.

Volpe smirked as he motioned to an opening leading to a smaller room in the back, "The guild will be run from here. Visit me whenever you like. I should have objectives for you to pursue that will help our cause in the city."

"I will do all I can, although I must seek out Bartolomeo soon—I need to secure his aid as well," the Assassin replied as he followed the thief into the back room, pulling the curtain closed behind him. Despite the rancor out in the main area, the smaller section was fairly quiet.

"Ah, yes. You already have the courtesans with your sister and mother," the thief hummed, raising a brow when Ezio snorted. "Well, I have good news: Bartolomeo should be returning to his barracks in about a week or two, if my spies overheard his soldiers properly. What? I keep tabs on everyone—even my allies."

"For which I'm grateful, I assure you," Ezio chuckled, clapping his shoulder playfully. "Although, I hope you have no ill intention towards Machiavelli?"

"I may not trust him… but as I told you before, I trust you. I will always keep an eye on him, but unless there is definitive proof that even you would believe, then I will hold no ill will towards the man. You have my word."

"My thanks, Volpe," Ezio replied, smiling a little as he allowed a bit of relief to come over him. He had been worried before, with the whole fiasco involving their fellow Assassin and his secret meeting. It had seemed suspicious, but Ezio could not believe Machiavelli was a traitor—not after all he had done. He was only grateful he was able to keep La Volpe's trust and his gratitude with the child, Claudio, whom had been injured during an assault on the men who Machiavelli had supposedly "conspired" with. It had been a lucky break—especially for the boy, who would live with a dashing scar—but the Assassin did worry what would come later. In the meantime, though, there was another matter to consider, for which his expression grew sullener as he regarded his thieving companion, "Now…"

"On to business. You need my spies," Volpe hummed, leaning back against a stack of barrels.

Ezio nodded, "Yes… despite Claudia's work with the courtesans, all we have are rumors to go by, but… Catherine… she was taken by the Borgia. They have her somewhere, but we can't figure out where exactly. Our best guess has been in the Vaticano district, and I've yet to find her anywhere else, but if it's true… I've not found a good way in. Guards line the bridge and the walls of the Castel, and I don't want to risk alerting them and moving her or… or worse. She's in no condition to escape."

"She was harmed in the attack?"

"No—or, rather, I'm not sure. But she's with child," he replied, and Volpe's eyes widened. "She should be months along now… trying to break her out grows more difficult with every day, and I worry…"

"This… is troublesome. And tricky. The Castel is no easy place to infiltrate—even I would have trouble, and none of my thieves are within the district…" he began, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But… I will have my men scout day in and day out. We will find you a way in and confirm the rumors. Shall I commune with Claudia to compare our information?"

"Please do. I intend to call upon Bartolomeo to perhaps distract the guard—draw them away, but it is only a hope," Ezio frowned, gaze falling. It lifted when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Stay strong, my friend. Your wife is no fragile creature. She may be with child, but she is an Assassin. We will find a way."

"Thank-you, Volpe. Truly… and do not worry. I will not falter. Catherine is counting on me—and so is Diana. I won't fail her… I only… our second child…" he began, but shook the thought away and looked to Volpe firmly. "There is another thing I must ask of you: the Apple was taken from me in the attack. I need your spies to find that as well."

"Consider it done… but—what of the Clock? Was it taken, too?" the thief inquired.

Ezio shook his head, "No… it was left at the Villa. I'm certain of it… and it is of no use anymore—thankfully. The Borgia, at the very least, will never have that power."

"Then my spies will search high and low for Catherine and the Apple. We will not fail you, my friend."

"Good… As soon as you have anything, come find me at Isola Tiberina."

"Of course. And call on my thieves should you ever need them. They will not hesitate to help you," La Volpe bowed his head, and Ezio clapped him on the arm, nodding his thanks.

He left the inn then, pausing on the steps to take it all in—and the reality that his wife was still captured. It pained him more than any wound to know he had been unable to rescue her, let alone find her. He couldn't even send her a message that he was here to reassure her. The guilt ate at him, and it was only his promise that he would bring her—and their child—back home that kept him strong. Diana, too, kept him going; an oath to return her mother and make their family whole again. All the while, he loathed the Borgia for what they had done, and the pain they had caused his family. They had taken so much, and his only respite was that he had already taken a good chunk of the city back. Many Captains had fallen to him, and while the richer sections of the city remained tight in their grip, the outskirts where the heart of the people lay was slowly turning to the Assassin's side. They would never know it, but they were supporting the Order, and it would be the ultimate key to bringing Cesare down.

He still had a long way to go, but he would not stop until he had Catherine and his child back in his arms, the Apple safe within the Order again, and his Hidden Blade through Cesare's heart. He would ensure every single one of the bastards that had tried to destroy all he knew paid.

For now, though, Ezio Auditore mounted his horse, and made for his headquarters. He still had much work to do, including bringing Barotlomeo d'Alviano and his mercenaries into the fold. Then, at long last, they could truly begin to bring down the reign of the Borgia.

"Just hold on a little longer, Catherine. I swear—I'll bring you home," he whispered, hoping his words would carry to her on the wind, and spurred his horse into a gallop, disappearing into the night.

-O-

April 22, 1500

Castel Sant'Angelo

Rome, Italy

Catherine tried to sleep, but the nightmares she saw were worse than the reality of things, so she gave up on it. She didn't know the hour, but she'd stopped caring some time ago. It didn't matter if the sunlight lit her room or a candle did, although she had neither at the moment. When it was just her in the darkness it made it easier to pretend things weren't real—that she wasn't stuck in some tower in the Castel, hoping—praying—someone would come get her. It would last maybe a little while, and then she'd feel a kick or her emotions would simply overcome her, and it'd be too much. She didn't cry so much as she had a week ago, but her throat would hitch and she'd want to sob, but what was the point? Her only way out was her husband, and now she had doubt about even that. She'd tried for so long to hold onto it, but she couldn't anymore.

Her only respite was Paula. The woman was a shred of sanity in the madness, and she longed for the few hours she would have the woman to clean her room and tell her all about the city and her life. She, in turn, would tell the young woman of her own—of her adventures in Firenze and then the Toscana country-side. She'd even talked of her romance with Ezio, and how it had taken years to come about. Paula enjoyed it like a child listening to a fairytale—particularly when talk of battle or assassinations came about. She took the violence well enough, and even seemed to understand the necessity of it, although she was still hesitant. But she understood, and that was something. It also seemed to endear the woman to her situation, and now Paula would only leave after assuring Catherine things would "be alright". Of course, she didn't really believe it much, but it helped. Paula was her friend, and that was the one thing she needed.

If only it could get her out of here.

That was impossible, though. The guard prevented it, and Paula was no fighter. She was assertive at times, but when it came to the soldiers, she was meek and shy and afraid. She wouldn't and couldn't fight, and if she dared try to help Catherine escape she could be severely punished if not killed. The redhead couldn't risk her skirting her out of the room and hoping they could evade attention. She'd considered making having her take a message, but who could the girl go to? What allies did she have in the city? Even if Ezio were here, the woman would have no idea who to look for, and Catherine had no idea where he might be. If they were in Toscana or even Firenze, maybe, but Roma? Roma was practically another country.

Paula was a friend, but that was all. Perhaps it was better that way. She was a sweet girl. A young woman with a long life ahead of her. She would meet a young man and fall in love with and marry and have many children and a good life with. Not like her. Paula had much better waiting for her.

Catherine reached up to her collar, wishing her husband's necklace was there. At the very least it could have brought her comfort, but she had taken it off the night before the Villa attack and never recovered it. It was yet another blow to it all, and made the tears want to well up once more.

She did not let them come, though—and a jiggle of the door handle helped keep them away. She frowned, thinking it just her imagination, but then there was another jiggle. She sat up then, bracing herself. Was it the guard? No, they wouldn't dare. It couldn't be a maid, either. Cesare, then? Perhaps Lucrezia, despite the woman never coming by since their last meeting? Or was it the bastard Micheletto? He rarely come now, but sometimes he would surprise her. Why at night, though? That was unusual.

Her questions were brought to a halt as her answer was given, and it was no one she could have ever expected: a young boy, looking worried he was about to be caught. The light of his candle wasn't much to make him out by, but she knew him. He was the young boy who had appeared during her confrontation with Cesare and Micheletto. Yes, she recognized his dark hair and dark, kind eyes. He wore a white tunic with dark pants this time, and tucked under his arm was a small cloth pouch. He paused before coming in, looking behind himself quickly, and then shut the door. He breathed a sigh of relief before looking at Catherine, his expression brightening ever so slightly.

"Good evening," he spoke, so polite the redhead nearly balked. He was so unlike his father, she could barely believe they were related except for their similar looks.

"Good, ah, evening to you, too… Giovanni, was it?"

He beamed, "You remember! Yes, I am Giovanni! I… er… wait… um, I need to… okay, right: pardon my, um… in… intrusion. I just… wanted to see you. Again. If… that's okay?"

Catherine's lip curved upward slightly, "Yes, that's alright. It's good to see you again… but, you shouldn't be here…"

"I-I know," he chuckled sheepishly, and came to stand beside her. He noticed her candle by her night stand and looked to her. She nodded, reading his silent question, and he lit the candle with his own. He set his own beside it and placed his pouch on the bed. "I just… You're the mother of my new brother. I know Papa doesn't want me to be here, but… I wanted to give my brother a gift—before he was born. I want him to know I'm happy to be his big brother."

"You're very kind, Giovanni. You remind me of your brother's grandfather… he was called Giovanni, too, and he was a very good man," she replied, her smiling widening. Some part of her knew she should hate this young boy. He was the spawn of her enemy, but he was just so kind. So pure. He was the epitome of what she and her husband fought to protect. The innocence of the world. He was one of the few good things of the Borgia, and she couldn't hate him just for being born to the family. He would be the one good thing for her child.

The notion both eased and broke her heart. She could no longer deny that she would lose her son to the Borgia. She hated it. Loathed it. It made her want to scream, but—at the very least—he would have Giovanni by his side. One good thing, and that was something.

Her eyes were wet as she reached out, stroking his head, "You'll be a good big brother, won't you?"

"Of course!" he grinned, but then tilted his head. "Why do you cry? Is it… did father… upset you? He can be very mean. Micheletto, too… He is… very, very mean. He says that is how the world is, but… I don't think that's right. Auntie isn't very mean. She is nice to me, and tells me she loves me all the time, though she looks sad when she says it sometimes."

"Don't worry—I'm just… happy you are going to be his brother," she told him, her chest tightening with every syllable. "He's going to be so lucky… you'll have to protect him, though. Keep him safe from people like Micheletto. He's a very bad man. Just like you said. You mustn't listen to him. The world is full of good people, just like you think. So many good, wonderful people. You'll find them if you look, and not even that mean man can change that."

"Don't worry, I'll keep him safe. I'll keep you safe, too! You're very nice so I'll protect you, too. Brother will be sad if you're gone," he grinned, and Catherine bit back her sob. This was becoming too much, but she couldn't break down. Not in front of him. Thankfully, he turned his attention to his pouch and put it in her lap. "Here! I want it to be the first gift he gets… but I guess you can have some, too. Grandpa gave me some when I was very little, too. He wanted me to learn quick, so I will help my brother get a head start, too!

He paused to step back and grab his candle, "I have to go now, or Papa may notice I'm gone. He might get mad, so I have to go. I'll try to come again if I can, but I got you your gift, so that is good. Good night, Lady!"

"Good night, Giovanni. You hurry back to your room. I'll be sure to tell your brother the gift is from you," the redhead chuckled, wiping a round of tears away. The little boy beamed and slunk out as quietly as he had come, inadvertently revealing the snoozing guard on the other side. The lock clicked in place, and Catherine realized she'd hoped he'd leave it unlocked. His innocence was a double-edge it seemed, but she let it go in the face of his kindness and the gift he'd left. She regarded it for a good, long while, no longer sure she wanted to look. In the end, though, she unwrapped the cloth, and could scarcely believe what she was seeing.

Paper. Pen. Ink.

The young boy had given her paper and pen to write—for his brother to write.

Catherine let her sob go this time, and covered the items back up. She wiped her tears, but they kept coming, though this time they were not so sad; rather, there was a bit of joy in them. Hope, even.

"Thank-you, Giovanni… thank-you."

09 – End

TMWolf: Aaaaaaaaaand oh look a ray of hope.

It would be a shame if someone were to...

...snuff it out :'D

Jk we'll see what happens next chapter. More shit hits the fan and Ezio gains his last allies! If you notice, there's some... minute changes at the moment on things, and even more will change as we keep going, buuut it's an OFFICIAL AU by the story plot line so we're safe ;)

Anyways, until next time... the torture continues :'D