We spoke in French.
"It is so nice to know someone who speaks the language of love in this dirty city," said the man, taking another sip of his wine.
"We are in Italy, after all. It is like expecting the British to speak Russian," I replied nonchalantly. My eye kept glancing out the window where the festive lights were sparkling and the people who laughed and danced around it.
The man looked at me weirdly, as if it were strange for a courtesan to make comparisons that made sense.
"You are too smart to be a whore, much less an Italian whore. What was wrong with France that made you come here?"
I caressed his cheek as I was taught those long months ago and replied, "Do not make this personal."
"I could help you. You do not need to be a whore if you do not want to," he said, moving his arms to grab my waist and I looked out the window and I saw the fat man I was told to watch for.
I moved back so he could not reach me and opened the door to the small apartment building.
"Who said I do not want to be a whore?" I said, holding onto the doorknob with my weak hand. "I must go."
"I did not pay you yet," he said.
"No need; enjoy the rest of your night, sir."
I closed the door as I left and I looked around for the other girls. The festive party was out of hand and I feared to be alone at sunset with the wild men and women who screamed and revealed so much skin. I finally saw the other three waiting in the corner near a small table and approached them.
"Louise, where have you been?" said Carla, one of the courtesans I had grown to become attached to. She was taller than the other ones but she had a pretty smile and beautiful blonde hair that reminded me of Lucrezia.
"This old man would not stop talking to me when he found out I spoke French," I said as I scanned the crowds. "Where is he?"
"We do not know, but we saw Juan Borgia walk by. I hope nothing happened…" answered Francesca. She was the shortest one but the men liked her the best, probably because she had such a way with words. She had two personalities, a confident one she showed her customers and a kind and shy one she showed only to her family—us.
The last one in our group was Bianca. She was always more rebellious than the rest, wishing to play a bigger part in the war. When she was with men she would rather speak of politics and battles but never got the chance, so she expressed her feelings with the only people who actually listened to her.
"There! There he is," whispered Carla, gesturing to a group of people. They were walking towards the entrance that led to the section of the party that was exclusively for important people and their guests.
"Go now, we must go now," I whispered, ushering the girls to start moving towards the guards and Juan Borgia.
Bianca went for the guard escorting Juan Borgia and Francesca went for Juan Borgia himself. Their flirtation distracted them while Carla and I went for the big wooden box and snuck through the dark alleys with it.
"Almost there," said Carla, panting, since she was holding most of the weight
We were out of the dark alley and in a secluded area behind an old building. A man on horseback waited for us and we gave him the box.
"It is a little heavy," I teased.
The man laughed and told us that he would take the wooden box to Machiavelli. We watched him ride out into the country and then let out a sigh of relief.
I did not know why Carla sighed, but I sighed at the thought of going back to the crazy party. She realized this, I suppose.
"What is wrong, Louise? Did that French man do anything to hurt you?"
"No, Carla. It is not that man," I replied.
"Is it Ezio?" she frowned.
It was not that French man or Ezio that made my stomach turn at the thought of going back. It was none other than he who hosted this party. It had been thirteen months since I left him in that villa and I thought I'd never see him again until Ezio told us that he had a task for us. He and the Assassins always talked about him but his name was so commonly spoken that it did not sting me as it used to. But knowing that after thirteen months of separation he was so close by, it scared me. What would he think of me if he saw me in the state I was in now? My hands never fully healed after he attacked me. Incapable of detailed things, I could not sew or draw or even write. My mind had been on it all day, and if I could only avoid his presence for the rest of the night I would be safe forever. If only.
"No Carla. Come, let's go—we have work to do," I said.
"Alright. Do you want to see the exclusive area? I heard it is the prettiest of all the areas. I'm sure we can find some men to take us in," she suggested.
She was right. We found two men who took us into the area that everyone wished to be in. Guards were everywhere, but the view was beautiful—that is, until Ezio appeared out of nowhere and killed Juan Borgia.
If I thought the Borgia's party was wild, it was doubly so after Juan Borgia was killed. Carla and I silently watched as our dates left us to fight against Ezio, and we watched as he ran up a column and disappeared into the darkness.
I looked at Carla and a smile had formed on her face—the same smile that had also formed on mine. I blushed and forced my face back into its somber look. I did not have to force it for long. I felt that someone's eyes were staring at me and I looked to see who's they belonged to. It was the black eyes of a man who loved nothing but power, it was the eyes of Cesare.
We stared at each other for what seemed like hours. My eyes were so satisfied by his visage that they would not look away. "Look away, look away, look away…" my head kept repeating. It was pointless. I looked at the beard that had grown darker and the skin that had grown older and the posture that looked so misanthropic. He stared at me as well. Judging, most likely, the way I had turned: a whore. From where he stood he was better off without me, but I had stooped so low…
I also gained Rodrigo's attention. He watched me and I felt my skin burn as though it would light on fire and singe my flesh. He looked away and whispered something to Cesare and walked back inside the house. Cesare nodded and walked up to the guards and gave them instructions—instructions that made them run in the direction of Ezio.
"Lets go, Louise," said Carla, grabbing my arm.
We stopped in our tracks as Cesare approached us and blocked our path. Carla was clearly awestruck because her grip on my arm became tighter.
"Messere," she smiled with a subtle anxious tone.
"May I borrow your friend?" he asked.
Somewhat disappointed, Carla said, "Of course."
"Oh I shouldn't leave you alone," I said to Carla.
"No it is fine, I was going to find Bianca anyway. Go on," she said, unaware of the fact that she was leading me to the very man who tortured the heart she tried to help.
Cesare extended his arm out for me and I stared at it for a moment before doubtfully taking it. Carla smiled at me as she walked away and I forced a smile for her.
We walked in silence for almost half an hour before he took me inside the building Rodrigo had gone into earlier. The inside was somewhat like the Vatican, the curtains were a dark red that covered the windows to prevent any outside light from entering and the ground was a dark mahogany. The room we went into had brown seats with a small fireplace—the main source of light—at the side.
"This is not as extravagant as the Vatican. How do you bear to live in such a comfortable place?" I said.
He let go of my hand for the first time since he got hold of it and casually sat down on the sofa. "I suppose it isn't as suitable as the brothels, but it is satisfactory on the days you want to disappear."
I rubbed my bare arms and said, "What do you want from me?"
"Am I not allowed to ask how you are?" he said.
"No."
"You have ignored the morals of society and became a woman of the streets… yet you are stubborn as ever."
"Your brother just died. Why am I here?"
"Juan? He deserved to die…" he said, getting up and standing beside me. "Beside, I thought I could get your help. Betrayal is your strong suit, after all."
"I would never betray him," I said, understanding what he really meant.
"Why not? I gave you—I gave him a year to sweep you off your feet and prove he loved you. Does he love you, Louise?"
The way he annunciated my name made my spine shiver. "I do not see how that has anything to do with you."
"What do you even see in him? He has tried to kill everyone in this family except for Lucrezia. I was once proud of you for your brave personality and the way you stood up for yourself, but you can't anymore because you try to stand up for that imbecile."
"I am leaving," I finally said, going for the door.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me close to him.
"He did this to you, you know. You may spit on me and say I did this but we both know that is wrong," he whispered in my ear.
"Let go," I said, my heart pounding anxiously.
His face was so close to me that the only place I could look away from him would be to look at my shoulder, but that did not stop him from looking at my eyes and luring me back. The fire illuminated his face. The fire made the cruel eyes look desperate; the fire made the strong features look soft and kind; the fire made him seem trustworthy.
"I can't, not now."
Rather than argue with him, I obeyed my own demand. His words made him seem so small and weak, and when he embraced me and sighed I knew he was lying about not caring for his brother's death. I understood him again in those few hours we spent together. The defeat and anger he felt every time he heard his plans were being ruined, the dreams he had that were slowly fading away from his grasp, and the feelings he refused to show the world that he kept bottled deep inside. Whether it was his defeat and sorrow or my disappointment and confused feelings, I let him in. I opened myself to him and hoped that when I woke up at dawn he would still be there, but it was like a saying my mother had once told me: hope is for the hopeless.